I was surprised to see that Jack1, who was so bold in playing his match, and who had been so well able to hold his own against the Englishmen, — who had been made a hero, and had carried off his heroism2 so well, — should have been so shamefaced and bashful in regard to Eva. He was like a silly boy, hardly daring to look her in the face, instead of the gallant3 captain of the band who had triumphed over all obstacles. But I perceived, though it seemed that he did not, that she was quite prepared to give herself to him, and that there was no real obstacle between him and all the flocks and herds5 of Little Christchurch. Not much had been seen or heard of Grundle during the match, and as far as Eva was concerned, he had succumbed6 as soon as Sir Kennington Oval had appeared upon the scene. He had thought so much of the English baronet as to have been cowed and quenched7 by his grandeur8. And Sir Kennington himself had, I think, been in earnest before the days of the cricket-match. But I could see now that Eva had merely played him off against Jack, thinking thereby10 to induce the younger swain to speak his mind. This had made Jack more than ever intent on beating Sir Kennington, but had not as yet had the effect which Eva had intended. “It will all come right,” I said to myself, “as soon as these Englishmen have left the island.” But then my mind reverted11 to the Fixed12 Period, and to the fast-approaching time for Crasweller’s deposition13. We were now nearly through March, and the thirtieth of June was the day on which he ought to be led to the college. It was my first anxiety to get rid of these Englishmen before the subject should be again ventilated. I own I was anxious that they should not return to their country with their prejudices strengthened by what they might hear at Gladstonopolis. If I could only get them to go before the matter was again debated, it might be that no strong public feeling would be excited in England till it was too late. That was my first desire; but then I was also anxious to get rid of Jack for a short time. The more I thought of Eva and the flocks, the more determined14 was I not to allow the personal interests of my boy, — and therefore my own, — to clash in any way with the performance of my public duties.
I heard that the Englishmen were not to go till another week had elapsed. A week was necessary to recruit their strength and to enable them to pack up their bats and bicycles. Neither, however, were packed up till the day before they started; for the track down to Little Christchurch was crowded with them, and they were still practising as though another match were contemplated15. I was very glad to have Lord Marylebone as an inmate16 in our house, but I acknowledge that I was anxious for him to say something as to his departure. “We have been very proud to have you here, my lord,” I remarked.
“I cannot say that we are very proud,” he replied, “because we have been so awfully17 licked. Barring that, I never spent a pleasanter two months in my life, and should not be at all unwilling18 to stay for another. Your mode of life here seems to me to be quite delightful19, and we have been thinking so much of our cricket, that I have hardly as yet had a moment to look at your institutions. What is all this about the Fixed Period?” Jack, who was present, put on a serious face, and assumed that air of determination which I was beginning to fear. Mrs Neverbend pursed up her lips, and said nothing; but I knew what was passing through her mind. I managed to turn the conversation, but I was aware that I did it very lamely21.
“Jack,” I said to my son, “I got a post-card from New Zealand yesterday.” The boats had just begun to run between the two islands six days a-week, and as their regular contract pace was twenty-five miles an hour, it was just an easy day’s journey.
“What said the post-card?”
“There’s plenty of time for Mount Earnshawe yet. They all say the autumn is the best. The snow is now disappearing in great quantities.”
But an old bird is not to be caught with chaff23. Jack was determined not to go to the Eastern Alps this year; and indeed, as I found, not to go till this question of the Fixed Period should be settled. I told him that he was a fool. Although he would have been wrong to assist in depositing his father-in-law for the sake of getting the herd4 and flocks himself, as Grundle would have done, nevertheless he was hardly bound by any feelings of honour or conscience to keep old Crasweller at Little Christchurch in direct opposition24 to the laws of the land. But all this I could not explain to him, and was obliged simply to take it as a fact that he would not join an Alpine25 party for Mount Earnshawe this year. As I thought of all this, I almost feared Jack’s presence in Gladstonopolis more than that of the young Englishmen.
It was clear, however, that nothing could be done till the Englishmen were gone, and as I had a day at my disposal I determined to walk up to the college and meditate26 there on the conduct which it would be my duty to follow during the next two months. The college was about five miles from the town, at the side opposite to you as you enter the town from Little Christchurch, and I had some time since made up my mind how, in the bright genial27 days of our pleasant winter, I would myself accompany Mr Crasweller through the city in an open barouche as I took him to be deposited, through admiring crowds of his fellow-citizens. I had not then thought that he would be a recreant28, or that he would be deterred29 by the fear of departure from enjoying the honours which would be paid to him. But how different now was his frame of mind from that glorious condition to which I had looked forward in my sanguine30 hopes! Had it been I, I myself, how proud should I have been of my country and its wisdom, had I been led along as a first hero, to anticipate the euthanasia prepared for me! As it was, I hired an inside cab, and hiding myself in the corner, was carried away to the college unseen by any.
The place was called Necropolis. The name had always been distasteful to me, as I had never wished to join with it the feeling of death. Various names had been proposed for the site. Young Grundle had suggested Cremation31 Hall, because such was the ultimate end to which the mere9 husks and hulls32 of the citizens were destined33. But there was something undignified in the sound, — as though we were talking of a dancing saloon or a music hall, — and I would have none of it. My idea was to give to the mind some notion of an approach to good things to come, and I proposed to call the place “Aditus.” But men said that it was unmeaning, and declared that Britannulists should never be ashamed to own the truth. Necropolis sounded well, they said, and argued that though no actual remains34 of the body might be left there, still the tablets would remain. Therefore Necropolis it was called. I had hoped that a smiling hamlet might grow up at the gate, inhabited by those who would administer to the wants of the deposited; but I had forgot that the deposited must come first. The hamlet had not yet built itself, and round the handsome gates there was nothing at present but a desert. While land in Britannula was plenty, no one had cared to select ground so near to those awful furnaces by which the mortal clay should be transported into the air. From the gates up to the temple which stood in the middle of the grounds, — that temple in which the last scene of life was to be encountered, — there ran a broad gravel35 path, which was intended to become a beautiful avenue. It was at present planted alternately with eucalypti36 and ilexes — the gum-trees for the present generation, and the green-oaks for those to come; but even the gum-trees had not as yet done much to give a furnished appearance to the place. Some had demanded that cedars37 and yew-trees should be placed there, and I had been at great pains to explain to them that our object should be to make the spot cheerful, rather than sad. Round the temple, at the back of it, were the sets of chambers38 in which were to live the deposited during their year of probation39. Some of these were very handsome, and were made so, no doubt, with a view of alluring40 the first comers. In preparing wisdom for babes, it is necessary to wrap up its precepts41 in candied sweets. But, though handsome, they were at present anything but pleasant abodes43. Not one of them had as yet been inhabited. As I looked at them, knowing Crasweller as well as I did, I almost ceased to wonder at his timidity. A hero was wanted; but Crasweller was no hero. Then further off, but still in the circle round the temple, there were smaller abodes, less luxurious44, but still comfortable, all of which would in a few short years be inhabited, — if the Fixed Period could be carried out in accordance with my project. And foundations had been made for others still smaller, — for a whole township of old men and women, as in the course of the next thirty years they might come hurrying on to find their last abode42 in the college. I had already selected one, not by any means the finest or the largest, for myself and my wife, in which we might prepare ourselves for the grand departure. But as for Mrs Neverbend, nothing would bring her to set foot within the precincts of the college ground. “Before those next ten years are gone,” she would say, “common-sense will have interfered45 to let folks live out their lives properly.” It had been quite useless for me to attempt to make her understand how unfitting was such a speech for the wife of the President of the Republic. My wife’s opposition had been an annoyance46 to me from the first, but I had consoled myself by thinking how impossible it always is to imbue47 a woman’s mind with a logical idea. And though, in all respects of domestic life, Mrs Neverbend is the best of women, even among women she is the most illogical.
I now inspected the buildings in a sad frame of mind, asking myself whether it would ever come to pass that they should be inhabited for their intended purpose. When the Assembly, in compliance48 with my advice, had first enacted49 the law of the Fixed Period, a large sum had been voted for these buildings. As the enthusiasm had worn off, men had asked themselves whether the money had not been wasted, and had said that for so small a community the college had been planned on an absurdly grand scale. Still I had gone on, and had watched them as they grew from day to day, and had allowed no shilling to be spared in perfecting them. In my earlier years I had been very successful in the wool trade, and had amassed50 what men called a large fortune. During the last two or three years I had devoted51 a great portion of this to the external adornment52 of the college, not without many words on the matter from Mrs Neverbend. “Jack is to be ruined,” she had said, “in order that all the old men and women may be killed artistically53.” This and other remarks of the kind I was doomed54 to bear. It was a part of the difficulty which, as a great reformer, I must endure. But now, as I walked mournfully among the disconsolate55 and half-finished buildings, I could not but ask myself as to the purpose to which my money had been devoted. And I could not but tell myself that if in coming years these tenements56 should be left tenantless57, my country would look back upon me as one who had wasted the produce of her young energies. But again I bethought me of Columbus and Galileo, and swore that I would go on or perish in the attempt.
As these painful thoughts were agitating58 my mind, a slow decrepit59 old gentleman came up to me and greeted me as Mr President. He linked his arm familiarly through mine, and remarked that the time seemed to be very long before the college received any of its inhabitants. This was Mr Graybody, the curator, who had been specially60 appointed to occupy a certain residence, to look after the grounds, and to keep the books of the establishment. Graybody and I had come as young men to Britannula together, and whereas I had succeeded in all my own individual attempts, he had unfortunately failed. He was exactly of my age, as was also his wife. But under the stress of misfortune they had both become unnaturally61 old, and had at last been left ruined and hopeless, without a shilling on which to depend. I had always been a sincere friend to Graybody, though he was, indeed, a man very difficult to befriend. On most subjects he thought as I did, if he can be said to have thought at all. At any rate he had agreed with me as to the Fixed Period, saying how good it would be if he could be deposited at fifty-eight, and had always declared how blessed must be the time when it should have come for himself and his old wife. I do not think that he ever looked much to the principle which I had in view. He had no great ideas as to the imbecility and weakness of human life when protracted62 beyond its fitting limits. He only felt that it would be good to give up; and that if he did so, others might be made to do so too. As soon as a residence at the college was completed, I asked him to fill it; and now he had been living there, he and his wife together, with an attendant, and drawing his salary as curator for the last three years. I thought that it would be the very place for him. He was usually melancholy63, disheartened, and impoverished64; but he was always glad to see me, and I was accustomed to go frequently to the college, in order to find a sympathetic soul with whom to converse65 about the future of the establishment. “Well, Graybody,” I said, “I suppose we are nearly ready for the first comer.”
“Oh yes; we’re always ready; but then the first comer is not.” I had not said much to him during the latter months as to Crasweller, in particular. His name used formerly66 to be very ready in all my conversations with Graybody, but of late I had talked to him in a more general tone. “You can’t tell me yet when it’s to be, Mr President? We do find it a little dull here.”
Now he knew as well as I did the day and the year of Crasweller’s birth. I had intended to speak to him about Crasweller, but I wished our friend’s name to come first from him. “I suppose it will be some time about mid-winter,” I said.
“Oh, I didn’t know whether it might not have been postponed67.”
“How can it be postponed? As years creep on, you cannot postpone68 their step. If there might be postponement69 such as that, I doubt whether we should ever find the time for our inhabitants to come. No, Graybody; there can be no postponement for the Fixed Period.”
“It might have been made sixty-nine or seventy,” said he.
“Originally, no doubt. But the wisdom of the Assembly has settled all that. The Assembly has declared that they in Britannula who are left alive at sixty-seven shall on that day be brought into the college. You yourself have, I think, ten years to run, and you will not be much longer left to pass them in solitude70.”
“It is weary being here all alone, I must confess. Mrs G. says that she could not bear it for another twelve months. The girl we have has given us notice, and she is the ninth within a year. No followers71 will come after them here, because they say they’ll smell the dead bodies.”
“Rubbish!” I exclaimed, angrily; “positive rubbish! The actual clay will evaporate into the air, without leaving a trace either for the eye to see or the nose to smell.”
“They all say that when you tried the furnaces there was a savour of burnt pork.” Now great trouble was taken in that matter of cremation; and having obtained from Europe and the States all the best machinery72 for the purpose, I had supplied four immense hogs73, in order that the system might be fairly tested, and I had fattened74 them for the purpose, as old men are not unusually very stout75. These we consumed in the furnaces all at the same time, and the four bodies had been dissolved into their original atoms without leaving a trace behind them by which their former condition of life might be recognised. But a trap-door in certain of the chimneys had been left open by accident, — either that or by an enemy on purpose, — and undoubtedly76 some slight flavour of the pig had been allowed to escape. I had been there on the spot, knowing that I could trust only my own senses, and was able to declare that the scent77 which had escaped was very slight, and by no means disagreeable. And I was able to show that the trap-door had been left open either by chance or by design, — the very trap-door which was intended to prevent any such escape during the moments of full cremation, — so that there need be no fear of a repetition of the accident. I ought, indeed, to have supplied four other hogs, and to have tried the experiment again. But the theme was disagreeable, and I thought that the trial had been so far successful as to make it unnecessary that the expense should be again incurred78. “They say that men and women would not have quite the same smell,” said he.
“How do they know that?” I exclaimed, in my anger. “How do they know what men and women will smell like? They haven’t tried. There won’t be any smell at all — not the least; and the smoke will all consume itself, so that even you, living just where you are, will not know when cremation is going on. We might consume all Gladstonopolis, as I hope we shall some day, and not a living soul would know anything about it. But the prejudices of the citizens are ever the stumbling-blocks of civilisation79.”
“At any rate, Mrs G. tells me that Jemima is going, because none of the young men will come up and see her.”
This was another difficulty, but a small one, and I made up my mind that it should be overcome. “The shrubs80 seem to grow very well,” I said, resolved to appear as cheerful as possible.
“They’re pretty nearly all alive,” said Graybody; “and they do give the place just an appearance like the cemetery81 at Old Christchurch.” He meant the capital in the province of Canterbury.
“In the course of a few years you will be quite — cheerful here.”
“I don’t know much about that, Mr President. I’m not sure that for myself I want to be cheerful anywhere. If I’ve only got somebody just to speak to sometimes, that will be quite enough for me. I suppose old Crasweller will be the first?”
“I suppose so.”
“It will be a gruesome time when I have to go to bed early, so as not to see the smoke come out of his chimney.”
“I tell you there will be nothing of the kind. I don’t suppose you will even know when they’re going to cremate82 him.”
“He will be the first, Mr President; and no doubt he will be looked closely after. Old Barnes will be here by that time, won’t he, sir?”
“Barnes is the second, and he will come just three months before Crasweller’s departure. But Tallowax, the grocer in High Street, will be up here by that time. And then they will come so quickly, that we must soon see to get other lodgings83 finished. Exors, the lawyer, will be the fourth; but he will not come in till a day or two after Crasweller’s departure.”
“They all will come; won’t they, sir?” asked Graybody.
“Will come! Why, they must. It is the law.”
“Tallowax swears he’ll have himself strapped84 to his own kitchen table, and defend himself to the last gasp85 with a carving-knife. Exors says that the law is bad, and you can’t touch him. As for Barnes, he has gone out of what little wits he ever had with the fright of it, and people seem to think that you couldn’t touch a lunatic.”
“Barnes is no more a lunatic than I am.”
“I only tell you what folk tell me. I suppose you’ll try it on by force, if necessary. You never expected that people would come and deposit themselves of their own accord.”
“The National Assembly expects that the citizens of Britannula will obey the law.”
“But there was one question I was going to ask, Mr President. Of course I am altogether on your side, and do not wish to raise difficulties. But what shall I do suppose they take to running away after they have been deposited? If old Crasweller goes off in his steam-carriage, how am I to go after him, and whom am I to ask to help to bring him back again?”
I was puzzled, but I did not care to show it. No doubt a hundred little arrangements would be necessary before the affairs of the institution could be got into a groove86 so as to run steadily87. But our first object must be to deposit Crasweller and Barnes and Tallowax, so that the citizens should be accustomed to the fashion of depositing the aged20. There were, as I knew, two or three old women living in various parts of the island, who would, in due course, come in towards the end of Crasweller’s year. But it had been rumoured88 that they had already begun to invent falsehoods as to their age, and I was aware that we might be led astray by them. This I had been prepared to accept as being unavoidable; but now, as the time grew nearer, I could not but see how difficult it would be to enforce the law against well-known men, and how easy to allow the women to escape by the help of falsehood. Exors, the lawyer, would say at once that we did not even attempt to carry out the law; and Barnes, lunatic as he pretended to be, would be very hard to manage. My mind misgave89 me as I thought of all these obstructions90, and I felt that I could so willingly deposit myself at once, and then depart without waiting for my year of probation. But it was necessary that I should show a determined front to old Graybody, and make him feel that I at any rate was determined to remain firm to my purpose. “Mr Crasweller will give you no such trouble as you suggest,” said I.
“Perhaps he has come round.”
“He is a gentleman whom we have both known intimately for many years, and he has always been a friend to the Fixed Period. I believe that he is so still, although there is some little hitch91 as to the exact time at which he should be deposited.”
“Just twelve months, he says.”
“Of course,” I replied, “the difference would be sure to be that of one year. He seems to think that there are only nine years between him and me.”
“Ten, Mr President; ten. I know the time well.”
“I had always thought so; but I should be willing to abandon a year if I could make things run smooth by doing so. But all that is a detail with which up here we need not, perhaps, concern ourselves.”
“Only the time is getting very short, Mr President, and my old woman will break down altogether if she’s told that she’s to live another year all alone. Crasweller won’t be a bit readier next year than he is this; and of course if he is let off, you must let off Barnes and Tallowax. And there are a lot of old women about who are beginning to tell terrible lies about their ages. Do think of it all, Mr President.”
I never thought of anything else, so full was my mind of the subject. When I woke in the morning, before I could face the light of day, it was necessary that I should fortify92 myself with Columbus and Galileo. I began to fancy, as the danger became nearer and still nearer, that neither of those great men had been surrounded by obstructions such as encompassed93 me. To plough on across the waves, and either to be drowned or succeed; to tell a new truth about the heavens, and either to perish or become great for ever! — either was within the compass of a man who had only his own life to risk. My life, — how willingly could I run any risk, did but the question arise of risking it! How often I felt, in these days, that there is a fortitude94 needed by man much greater than that of jeopardising his life! Life! what is it? Here was that poor Crasweller, belying95 himself and all his convictions just to gain one year more of it, and then when the year was gone he would still have his deposition before him! Is it not so with us all? For me I feel, — have felt for years, — tempted96 to rush on, and pass through the gates of death. That man should shudder97 at the thought of it does not appear amiss to me. The unknown future is always awful; and the unknown future of another world, to be approached by so great a change of circumstances, — by the loss of our very flesh and blood and body itself, — has in it something so fearful to the imagination that the man who thinks of it cannot but be struck with horror as he acknowledges that by himself too it has to be encountered. But it has to be encountered; and though the change be awful, it should not therefore, by the sane98 judgment99, be taken as a change necessarily for the worst. Knowing the great goodness of the Almighty100, should we not be prepared to accept it as a change probably for the better; as an alteration101 of our circumstances, by which our condition may be immeasurably improved? Then one is driven back to consider the circumstances by which such change may be effected. To me it seems rational to suppose that as we leave this body so shall we enter that new phase of life in which we are destined to live; — but with all our higher resolves somewhat sharpened, and with our lower passions, alas102! made stronger also. That theory by which a human being shall jump at once to a perfection of bliss103, or fall to an eternity104 of evil and misery105, has never found credence106 with me. For myself, I have to say that, while acknowledging my many drawbacks, I have so lived as to endeavour to do good to others, rather than evil, and that therefore I look to my departure from this world with awe22 indeed, but still with satisfaction. But I cannot look with satisfaction to a condition of life in which, from my own imbecility, I must necessarily retrograde into selfishness. It may be that He who judges of us with a wisdom which I cannot approach, shall take all this into account, and that He shall so mould my future being as to fit it to the best at which I had arrived in this world; still I cannot but fear that a taint107 of that selfishness which I have hitherto avoided, but which will come if I allow myself to become old, may remain, and that it will be better for me that I should go hence while as yet my own poor wants are not altogether uppermost in my mind. But then, in arranging this matter, I am arranging it for my fellow-citizens, and not for myself. I have to endeavour to think how Crasweller’s mind may be affected108 rather than my own. He dreads109 his departure with a trembling, currish fear; and I should hardly be doing good to him were I to force him to depart in a frame of mind so poor and piteous. But then, again, neither is it altogether of Crasweller that I must think, — not of Crasweller or of myself. How will the coming ages of men be affected by such a change as I propose, should such a change become the normal condition of Death? Can it not be brought about that men should arrange for their own departure, so as to fall into no senile weakness, no slippered110 selfishness, no ugly whinings of undefined want, before they shall go hence, and be no more thought of? These are the ideas that have actuated me, and to them I have been brought by seeing the conduct of those around me. Not for Crasweller, or Barnes, or Tallowax, will this thing be good, — nor for those old women who are already lying about their ages in their cottages, — nor for myself, who am, I know, too apt to boast of myself, that even though old age should come upon me, I may be able to avoid the worst of its effects; but for those untold111 generations to come, whose lives may be modelled for them under the knowledge that at a certain Fixed Period they shall depart hence with all circumstances of honour and glory.
I was, however, quite aware that it would be useless to spend my energy in dilating112 on this to Mr Graybody. He simply was willing to shuffle113 off his mortal coil, because he found it uncomfortable in the wearing. In all likelihood, had his time come as nigh as that of Crasweller, he too, like Crasweller, would impotently implore114 the grace of another year. He would ape madness like Barnes, or arm himself with a carving-knife like Tallowax, or swear that there was a flaw in the law, as Exors was disposed to do. He too would clamorously swear that he was much younger, as did the old women. Was not the world peopled by Craswellers, Tallowaxes, Exorses, and old women? Had I a right to hope to alter the feelings which nature herself had implanted in the minds of men? But still it might be done by practice, — by practice; if only we could arrive at the time in which practice should have become practice. Then, as I was about to depart from the door of Graybody’s house, I whispered to myself again the names of Galileo and Columbus.
“You think that he will come on the thirtieth?” said Graybody, as he took my hand at parting.
“I think,” replied I, “that you and I, as loyal citizens of the Republic, are bound to suppose that he will do his duty as a citizen.” Then I went, leaving him standing115 in doubt at his door.
收听单词发音 |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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herds
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| 兽群( herd的名词复数 )； 牧群； 人群； 群众 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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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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deposition
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| n.免职，罢官；作证；沉淀；沉淀物 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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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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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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22
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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23
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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25
alpine
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| adj.高山的；n.高山植物 | |
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26
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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28
recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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29
deterred
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| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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31
cremation
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| n.火葬，火化 | |
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32
hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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33
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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34
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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35
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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36
eucalypti
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| n.桉树 | |
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37
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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38
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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39
probation
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| n.缓刑(期)，(以观后效的)察看；试用(期) | |
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40
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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41
precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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42
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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43
abodes
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| 住所( abode的名词复数 )； 公寓； （在某地的）暂住； 逗留 | |
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44
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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45
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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46
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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47
imbue
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| v.灌输(某种强烈的情感或意见)，感染 | |
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48
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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49
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
amassed
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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52
adornment
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| n.装饰；装饰品 | |
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53
artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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54
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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55
disconsolate
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| adj.忧郁的，不快的 | |
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56
tenements
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| n.房屋，住户，租房子( tenement的名词复数 ) | |
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57
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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58
agitating
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| 搅动( agitate的现在分词 )； 激怒； 使焦虑不安； （尤指为法律、社会状况的改变而）激烈争论 | |
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59
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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60
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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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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65
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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67
postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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68
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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69
postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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70
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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71
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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72
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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73
hogs
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| n.（尤指喂肥供食用的）猪( hog的名词复数 )；（供食用的）阉公猪；彻底地做某事；自私的或贪婪的人 | |
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74
fattened
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| v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 )；养肥（牲畜）；使（钱）增多；使（公司）升值 | |
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76
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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77
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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78
incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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79
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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80
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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81
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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82
cremate
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| v.火葬，烧成灰 | |
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83
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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84
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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85
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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86
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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87
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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88
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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89
misgave
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| v.使（某人的情绪、精神等）疑虑，担忧，害怕( misgive的过去式 ) | |
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90
obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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91
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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92
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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93
encompassed
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| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
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94
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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95
belying
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| v.掩饰，与…不符，使…失望；掩饰( belie的现在分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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96
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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97
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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98
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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99
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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100
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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101
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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102
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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103
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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104
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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105
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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106
credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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107
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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108
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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109
dreads
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| n.恐惧，畏惧( dread的名词复数 )；令人恐惧的事物v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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110
slippered
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| 穿拖鞋的 | |
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111
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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112
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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113
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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114
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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115
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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