“Montgomery — Craggs!” said he.
A great hush1 fell over the huge assembly. Even the dogs stopped yapping; one might have thought that the monstrous2 room was empty. The two men had stood up, the small white gloves over their hands They advanced from their corners and shook hands, Montgomery gravely, Craggs with a smile. Then they fell into position. The crowd gave a long sigh — the intake3 of a thousand excited breaths. The referee5 tilted6 his chair on to its back legs, and looked moodily7 critical from the one to the other.
It was strength against activity — that was evident from the first. The Master stood stolidly8 upon his K leg. It gave him a tremendous pedestal; one could hardly imagine his being knocked down. And he could pivot9 round upon it with extraordinary quickness; but his advance or retreat was ungainly. His frame, however, was so much larger and broader than that of the student, and his brown, massive face looked so resolute10 and menacing that the hearts of the Wilson party sank within them. There was one heart, however, which had not done so. It was that of Robert Montgomery.
Any nervousness which he may have had completely passed away now that he had his work before him. Here was something definite — this hard-faced, deformed11 Hercules to beat, with a career as the price of beating him. He glowed with the joy of action; it thrilled through his nerves. He faced his man with little inand-out steps, breaking to the left, breaking to the right, feeling his way, while Craggs, with a dull, malignant12 eye, pivoted13 slowly upon his weak leg, his left arm half extended, his right sunk low across the mark. Montgomery led with his left, and then led again, getting lightly home each time. He tried again, but the Master had his counter ready, and Montgomery reeled back from a harder blow than he had given. Anastasia, the woman, gave a shrill14 cry of encouragement, and her man let fly his right. Montgomery ducked under it, and in an instant the two were in each other’s arms.
“Break away! Break away!” said the referee.
The Master struck upwards15 on the break, and shook Montgomery with the blow. Then it was “time.” It had been a spirited opening round. The people buzzed into comment and applause. Montgomery was quite fresh, but the hairy chest of the Master was rising and falling. The man passed a sponge over his head while Anastasia flapped the towel before him. “Good lass! good lass!” cried the crowd, and cheered her.
The men were up again, the Master grimly watchful16, Montgomery as alert as a kitten. The Master tried a sudden rush, squattering along with his awkward gait, but coming faster than one would think. The student slipped aside and avoided him. The Master stopped, grinned, and shook his head. Then he motioned with his hand as an invitation to Montgomery to come to him. The student did so and led with his left, but got a swinging right counter in the ribs17 in exchange. The heavy blow staggered him, and the Master came scrambling18 in to complete his advantage; but Montgomery, with his greater activity, kept out of danger until the call of “time.” A tame round, and the advantage with the Master.
“T’ Maister’s too strong for him,” said a smelter to his neighbour.
“Ay; but t’other’s a likely lad. Happen we’ll see some sport yet. He can joomp rarely.”
“But t’ Maister can stop and hit rarely. Happen he’ll mak’ him joomp when he gets his nief upon him.”
They were up again, the water glistening19 upon their faces. Montgomery led instantly, and got his right home with a sounding smack20 upon the master’s forehead. There was a shout from the colliers, and “Silence! Order!” from the referee. Montgomery avoided the counter, and scored with his left. Fresh applause, and the referee upon his feet in indignation..
“No comments, gentlemen, if you please, during the rounds.”
“Just bide21 a bit!” growled22 the Master.
“Don’t talk — fight!” said the referee, angrily.
Montgomery rubbed in the point by a flush hit upon the mouth, and the Master shambled back to his corner like an angry bear, having had all the worst of the round.
“Where’s thot seven to one?” shouted Purvis, the publican. “I’ll take six to one!”
There were no answers.
“Five to one!”
There were givers at that. Purvis booked them in a tattered23 notebook.
Montgomery began to feel happy. He lay back with his legs outstretched, his back against the corner-post, and one gloved hand upon each rope. What a delicious minute it was between each round. If he could only keep out of harm’s way, he must surely wear this man out before the end of twenty rounds. He was so slow that all his strength went for nothing.
“You’re fightin’ a winnin’ fight — a winnin’ fight,” Ted4 Barton whispered in his ear. “Go canny24; tak’ no chances; you have him proper.”
But the Master was crafty25. He had fought so many battles with his maimed limb that he knew how to make the best of it. Warily26 and slowly he manoeuvred round Montgomery, stepping forward and yet again forward until he had imperceptibly backed him into his corner. The student suddenly saw a flash of triumph upon the grim face, and a gleam in the dull, malignant eyes. The Master was upon him. He sprang aside and was on the ropes. The Master smashed in one of his terrible upper-cuts, and Montgomery half broke it with his guard. The student sprang the other way and was against the other converging27 rope. He was trapped in the angle. The Master sent in another with a hoggish28 grunt29 which spoke30 of the energy behind it. Montgomery ducked, but got a jab from the left upon the mark. He closed with his man.
“Break away! Break away!” cried the referee. Montgomery disengaged, and got a swinging blow on the ear as he did so. It had been a damaging round for him, and the Croxley people were shouting their delight. “Gentlemen, I will not have this noise!” Stapleton roared. “I have been accustomed to preside at a well-conducted club, and not at a bear-garden.” This little man, with the tilted hat and the bulging31 forehead, dominated the whole assembly. He was like a head-master among his boys. He glared round him, and nobody cared to meet his eye. Anastasia had kissed the Master when he resumed his seat.
“Good lass. Do’t again!” cried the laughing crowd, and the angry Master shook his glove at her, as she flapped her towel in front of him. Montgomery was weary and a little sore, but not depressed32. He had learned something. He would not again be tempted33 into danger.
For three rounds the honours were fairly equal. The student’s hitting was the quicker, the Master’s the harder. Profiting by his lesson, Montgomery kept himself in the open, and refused to be herded35 into a corner. Sometimes the Master succeeded in rushing him to the side-ropes, but the younger man slipped away, or closed and then disengaged. The monotonous36 “Break away! Break away!” of the referee broke in upon the quick, low patter of rubber-soled shoes, the dull thud of the blows, and the sharp, hissing37 breath of two tired men.
The ninth round found both of them in fairly good condition. Montgomery’s head was still singing from the blow that he had in the corner, and one of his thumbs pained him acutely and seemed to be dislocated. The Master showed no sign of a touch, but his breathing was the more laboured, and a long line of ticks upon the referee’s paper showed that the student had a good show of points. But one of this iron-man’s blows was worth three of his, and he knew that without the gloves he could not have stood for three rounds against him. All the amateur work that he had done was the merest tapping and flapping when compared to those frightful38 blows, from arms toughened by the shovel39 and the crowbar.
It was the tenth round, and the fight was half over. The betting now was only three to one, for the Wilson champion had held his own much better than had been expected. But those who knew the ring-craft as well as the staying power of the old prize-fighter knew that the odds40 were still a long way in his favour.
“Have a care of him!” whispered Barton, as he sent his man up to the scratch. “Have a care! He’ll play thee a trick, if he can.”
But Montgomery saw, or imagined he saw, that his antagonist41 was tiring. He looked jaded42 and listless, and his hands drooped43 a little from their position. His own youth and condition were beginning to tell. He sprang in and brought off a fine left-handed lead. The Master’s return lacked his usual fire. Again Montgomery led, and again he got home. Then he tried his right upon the mark, and the Master guarded it downwards44.
“Too low! Too low! A foul45! A foul!” yelled a thousand voices.
The referee rolled his sardonic46 eyes slowly round. “Seems to me this buildin’ is chock-full of referees,” said he. The people laughed and applauded, but their favour was as immaterial to him as their anger. “No applause, please! This is not a theatre!” he yelled.
Montgomery was very pleased with himself. His adversary47 was evidently in a bad way. He was piling on his points and establishing a lead. He might as well make hay while the sun shone. The Master was looking all abroad. Montgomery popped one upon his blue jowl and got away without a return. And then the Master suddenly dropped both his hands and began rubbing his thigh48. Ah! that was it, was it? He had muscular cramp49.
“Go in! Go in!” cried Teddy Barton.
Montgomery sprang wildly forward, and the next instant was lying half senseless, with his neck nearly broken, in the middle of the ring.
The whole round had been a long conspiracy50 to tempt34 him within reach of one of those terrible right-hand upper-cuts for which the Master was famous. For this the listless, weary bearing, for this the cramp in the thigh. When Montgomery had sprung in so hotly he had exposed himself to such a blow as neither flesh nor blood could stand. Whizzing up from below with a rigid51 arm, which put the Master’s eleven stone into its force, it struck him under the jaw52; he whirled half round, and fell a helpless and half-paralysed mass. A vague groan53 and murmur54, inarticulate, too excited for words, rose from the great audience. With open mouths and staring eyes they gazed at the twitching55 and quivering figure.
“Stand back! Stand right back!” shrieked56 the referee, for the Master was standing57 over his man ready to give him the coup-degrace as he rose.
“Stand back, Craggs, this instant!” Stapleton repeated.
The Master sank his hands sulkily and walked backwards58 to the rope with his ferocious59 eyes fixed60 upon his fallen antagonist. The timekeeper called the seconds. If ten of them passed before Montgomery rose to his feet, the fight was ended. Ted Barton wrung61 his hands and danced about in an agony in his corner.
As if in a dream — a terrible nightmare — the student could hear the voice of the timekeeper — three — four — five — he got up on his hand — six — seven — he was on his knee, sick, swimming, faint, but resolute to rise. Eight — he was up, and the Master was on him like a tiger, lashing62 savagely63 at him with both hands. Folk held their breath as they watched those terrible blows, and anticipated the pitiful end — so much more pitiful where a game but helpless man refuses to accept defeat.
Strangely automatic is the human brain. Without volition65, without effort, there shot into the memory of this bewildered, staggering, half-stupefied man the one thing which could have saved him — that blind eye of which the Master’s son had spoken. It was the same as the other to look at, but Montgomery remembered that he had said that it was the left. He reeled to the left side, half felled by a drive which lit upon his shoulder. The Master pivoted round upon his leg and was at him in an instant.
“Yark him, lad! Yark him!” screamed the woman.
“Hold your tongue!” said the referee.
Montgomery slipped to the left again and yet again, but the Master was too quick and clever for him. He struck round and got him full on the face as he tried once more to break away. Montgomery’s knees weakened under him, and he fell with a groan on the floor. This time he knew that he was done. With bitter agony he realised, as he groped blindly with his hands, that he could not possibly raise himself. Far away and muffled66 he heard, amid the murmurs67 of the multitude, the fateful voice of the timekeeper counting off the seconds.
“One — two — three — four — five — six —”
“Time!” said the referee.
Then the pent-up passion of the great assembly broke loose. Croxley gave a deep groan of disappointment. The Wilsons were on their feet, yelling with delight. There was still a chance for them. In four more seconds their man would have been solemnly counted out. But now he had a minute in which to recover. The referee looked round with relaxed features and laughing eyes. He loved this rough game, this school for humble68 heroes, and it was pleasant to him to intervene as a Deus ex machina at so dramatic a moment. His chair and his hat were both tilted at an extreme angle; he and the timekeeper smiled at each other. Ted Barton and the other second had rushed out and thrust an arm each under Montgomery’s knee, the other behind his loins, and so carried him back to his stool. His head lolled upon his shoulder, but a douche of cold water sent a shiver through him, and he started and looked round him.
“He’s a’ right!” cried the people round. “He’s a rare brave lad. Good lad! Good lad!” Barton poured some brandy into his mouth. The mists cleared a little, and he realised where he was and what he had to do. But he was still very weak, and he hardly dared to hope that he could survive another round.
“Seconds out of the ring!” cried the referee. “Time!”
The Croxley Master sprang eagerly off his stool.
“Keep clear of him! Go easy for a bit,” said Barton, and Montgomery walked out to meet his man once more.
He had had two lessons — the one when the Master got him into his corner, the other when he had been lured69 into mixing it up with so powerful an antagonist. Now he would be wary70. Another blow would finish him; he could afford to run no risks. The Master was determined71 to follow up his advantage, and rushed at him, slogging furiously right and left. But Montgomery was too young and active to be caught. He was strong upon his legs once more, and his wits had all come back to him. It was a gallant72 sight — the line-of-battleship trying to pour its overwhelming broadside into the frigate73, and the frigate manoeuvring always so as to avoid it. The Master tried all his ring-craft. He coaxed74 the student up by pretended inactivity; he rushed at him with furious rushes towards the ropes. For three rounds he exhausted75 every wile76 in trying to get at him. Montgomery during all this time was conscious that his strength was minute by minute coming back to him. The spinal77 jar from an upper-cut is overwhelming, but evanescent. He was losing all sense of it beyond a great stiffness of the neck. For the first round after his downfall he had been content to be entirely78 on the defensive79, only too happy if he could stall off the furious attacks of the Master. In the second he occasionally ventured upon a light counter. In the third he was smacking80 back merrily where he saw an opening. His people yelled their approval of him at the end of every round. Even the iron-workers cheered him with that fine unselfishness which true sport engenders81. To most of them, unspiritual and unimaginative, the sight of this clean-limbed young Apollo, rising above disaster and holding on while consciousness was in him to his appointed task, was the greatest thing their experience had ever known.
But the Master’s naturally morose82 temper became more and more murderous at this postponement83 of his hopes. Three rounds ago the battle had been in his hands; now it was all to do over again. Round by round his man was recovering his strength. By the fifteenth he was strong again in wind and limb. But the vigilant84 Anastasia saw something which encouraged her.
“That bash in t’ ribs is telling on him, Jock,” she whispered. “Why else should he be gulping85 t’ brandy? Go in, lad, and thou hast him yet.”
Montgomery had suddenly taken the flask86 from Barton’s hand, and had a deep pull at the contents. Then, with his face a little flushed, and with a curious look of purpose, which made the referee stare hard at him, in his eyes, he rose for the sixteenth round.
“Game as a pairtridge!” cried the publican, as he looked at the hard-set face.
“Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!” cried the iron-men to their Master. And then a hum of exultation87 ran through their ranks as they realised that their tougher, harder, stronger man held the vantage, after all. Neither of the men showed much sign of punishment. Small gloves crush and numb88, but they do not cut. One of the Master’s eyes was even more flush with his cheek than Nature had made it. Montgomery had two or three livid marks upon his body, and his face was haggard, save for that pink spot which the brandy had brought into either cheek. He rocked a little as he stood opposite his man, and his hands drooped as if he felt the gloves to be an unutterable weight. It was evident that he was spent and desperately89 weary. If he received one other blow it must surely be fatal to him. If he brought one home, what power could there be behind it, and what chance was there of its harming the colossus in front of him? It was the crisis of the fight. This round must decide it. “Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!” the iron-men whooped90. Even the savage64 eyes of the referee were unable to restrain the excited crowd.
Now, at last, the chance had come for Montgomery. He had learned a lesson from his more experienced rival. Why should he not play his own game upon him? He was spent, but not nearly so spent as he pretended. That brandy was to call up his reserves, to let him have strength to take full advantage of the opening when it came. It was thrilling and tingling91 through his veins92 at the very moment when he was lurching and rocking like a beaten man. He acted his part admirably. The Master felt that there was an easy task before him, and rushed in with ungainly activity to finish it once for all. He slap-banged away left and right, boring Montgomery up against the ropes, swinging in his ferocious blows with those animal grunts93 which told of the vicious energy behind them.
But Montgomery was too cool to fall a victim to any of those murderous upper-cuts. He kept out of harm’s way with a rigid guard, an active foot, and a head which was swift to duck. And yet he contrived94 to present the same appearance of a man who is hopelessly done. The Master, weary from his own shower of blows, and fearing nothing from so weak a man, dropped his hand for an instant, and at that instant Montgomery’s right came home.
It was a magnificent blow, straight, clean, crisp, with the force of the loins and the back behind it. And it landed where he had meant it to — upon the exact point of that blue-grained chin. Flesh and blood could not stand such a blow in such a place. Neither valour nor hardihood can save the man to whom it comes. The Master fell backwards, flat, prostrate95, striking the ground with so simultaneous a clap that it was like a shutter96 falling from a wall. A yell, which no referee could control, broke from the crowded benches as the giant went down. He lay upon his back, his knees a little drawn97 up, his huge chest panting. He twitched98 and shook, but could not move. His feet pawed convulsively once or twice. It was no use. He was done. “Eight — nine — ten!” said the time-keeper, and the roar of a thousand voices, with a deafening99 clap like the broad-side of a ship, told that the Master of Croxley was the Master no more.
Montgomery stood half dazed, looking down at the huge, prostrate figure. He could hardly realise that it was indeed all over. He saw the referee motion towards him with his hand. He heard his name bellowed100 in triumph from every side. And then he was aware of someone rushing towards him; he caught a glimpse of a flushed face and an aureole of flying red hair, a gloveless fist struck him between the eyes, and he was on his back in the ring beside his antagonist, while a dozen of his supporters were endeavouring to secure the frantic101 Anastasia. He heard the angry shouting of the referee, the screaming of the furious woman, and the cries of the mob. Then something seemed to break like an over-stretched banjo string, and he sank into the deep, deep, mist-girt abyss of unconsciousness.
The dressing102 was like a thing in a dream, and so was a vision of the Master with the grin of a bulldog upon his face, and his three teeth amiably103 protruded104. He shook Montgomery heartily105 by the hand.
“I would have been rare pleased to shake thee by the throttle106, lad, a short while syne,” said he. “But I bear no ill-feeling again’ thee. It was a rare poonch that brought me down — I have not had a better since my second fight wi’ Billy Edwards in ‘89. Happen thou might think o’ goin’ further wi’ this business. If thou dost, and want a trainer, there’s not much inside t’ ropes as I don’t know. Or happen thou might like to try it wi’ me old style and bare knuckles107. Thou hast but to write to t’ ironworks to find me.”
But Montgomery disclaimed108 any such ambition. A canvas bag with his share — 190 sovereigns — was handed to him, of which he gave ten to the Master, who also received some share of the gate-money. Then, with young Wilson escorting him on one side, Purvis on the other, and Fawcett carrying his bag behind, he went in triumph to his carriage, and drove amid a long roar, which lined the highway like a hedge for the seven miles, back to his starting-point.
“It’s the greatest thing I ever saw in my life. By George, it’s ripping!” cried Wilson, who had been left in a kind of ecstasy109 by the events of the day. “There’s a chap over Barnsley way who fancies himself a bit. Let us spring you on him, and let him see what he can make of you. We’ll put up a purse — won’t we, Purvis? You shall never want a backer.”
“At his weight,” said the publican, “I’m behind him, I am, for twenty rounds, and no age, country, or colour barred.”
“So am I,” cried Fawcett; “middle-weight champion of the world, that’s what he is — here, in the same carriage with us.”
But Montgomery was not to be beguiled110.
“No; I have my own work to do now.”
“And what may that be?”
“I’ll use this money to get my medical degree.”
“Well, we’ve plenty of doctors, but you’re the only man in the Riding that could smack the Croxley Master off his legs. However, I suppose you know your own business best. When you’re a doctor, you’d best come down into these parts, and you’ll always find a job waiting for you at the Wilson Coal-pits.”
Montgomery had returned by devious111 ways to the surgery. The horses were smoking at the door, and the doctor was just back from his long journey. Several patients had called in his absence, and he was in the worst of tempers.
“I suppose I should be glad that you have come back at all, Mr. Montgomery!” he snarled112. “When next you elect to take a holiday, I trust it will not be at so busy a time.”
“I am sorry, sir, that you should have been inconvenienced.”
“Yes, sir, I have been exceedingly inconvenienced.” Here, for the first time, he looked hard at the assistant. “Good Heavens, Mr. Montgomery, what have you been doing with your left eye?”
It was where Anastasia had lodged113 her protest. Montgomery laughed.
“It is nothing, sir,” said he.
“And you have a livid mark under your jaw. It is, indeed, terrible that my representative should be going about in so disreputable a condition. How did you receive these injuries?”
“Well, sir, as you know, there was a little glove-fight today over at Croxley.”
“And you got mixed up with that brutal114 crowd?”
“I was rather mixed up with them.”
“And who assaulted you?”
“One of the fighters.”
“Which of them?”
“The Master of Croxley.”
“Good Heavens! Perhaps you interfered115 with him?”
“Well, to tell the truth, I did a little.”
“Mr. Montgomery, in such a practice as mine, intimately associated as it is with the highest and most progressive elements of our small community, it is impossible —”
But just then the tentative bray116 of a cornet-player searching for his key-note jarred upon their ears, and an instant later the Wilson Colliery brass117 band was in full cry with, “See the Conquering Hero Comes,” outside the surgery window. There was a banner waving, and a shouting crowd of miners.
“What is it? What does it mean?” cried the angry doctor.
“It means, sir, that I have, in the only way which was open to me, earned the money which is necessary for my education. It is my duty, Dr. Oldacre, to warn you that I am about to return to the University, and that you should lose no time in appointing my successor.”
收听单词发音 |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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pivoted
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| adj.转动的，回转的，装在枢轴上的v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的过去式和过去分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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crafty
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warily
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converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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hoggish
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| adj.贪婪的 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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31
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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32
depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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33
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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34
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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35
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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36
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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37
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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38
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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39
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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40
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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41
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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42
jaded
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| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
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43
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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45
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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46
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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47
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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48
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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49
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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50
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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51
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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52
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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53
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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54
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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55
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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56
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
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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58
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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59
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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60
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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61
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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62
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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63
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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64
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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65
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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66
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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67
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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68
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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69
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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70
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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71
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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72
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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73
frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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74
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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75
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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76
wile
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| v.诡计，引诱；n.欺骗，欺诈 | |
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77
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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78
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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79
defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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80
smacking
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| 活泼的，发出响声的，精力充沛的 | |
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81
engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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83
postponement
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| n.推迟 | |
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84
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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85
gulping
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的现在分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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86
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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87
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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88
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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89
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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90
whooped
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| 叫喊( whoop的过去式和过去分词 )； 高声说； 唤起 | |
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91
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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92
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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93
grunts
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说； 石鲈 | |
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94
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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95
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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96
shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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97
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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98
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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99
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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100
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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101
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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102
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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103
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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104
protruded
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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106
throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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107
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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108
disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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110
beguiled
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| v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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111
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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112
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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113
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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114
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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115
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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116
bray
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| n.驴叫声, 喇叭声；v.驴叫 | |
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117
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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