THE Supreme1 Servant had already seated himself on his throne of gold. His virtuous2 subordinates occupied lesser4 seats to his right and left, while the chairs on the pavement, at either side of the dais, were by now pretty well filled, mostly by the womenfolk of the Superlatives. The Numbers still waited in their silent, terrible patience. When Mr. Justice Supreme took his seat they had knelt and again risen, a feat5 only possible because it was done as one surging motion. Here and there a cry or groan6, quickly stifled7, gave testimony8 that, even so, the weaker folk must have suffered.
Between the candidates and the front ranks of the crowd ran the enclosing plush rope. Against it, on the outside, the police guard had now faced about toward the dais. None of the Numbers, save those immediately behind the police, could hope to see what went on before the dais. They could hear, however, and for that privilege they had stood five hours, silent.
Trenmore glanced at his watch. It pointed10 to eleven fifty-nine.
And now Courage, whom the Loveliest had designated as Mr. Justice Supreme’s right-hand man, arose and walked to the front of the platform. In his hands he held a document from which depended the red ribbons of an official seal. Without a preliminary word the Servant began reading:
“To all whom it may concern: Be it known by these presents that I, Justice Supreme and Spiritual Director of the City of Philadelphia under our dread11 lord, Penn, do hereby decree that upon the twenty-third day of September, in the year twenty-one hundred and eighteen, there shall be held in the sacred temple of Penn, beneath the Golden Dome12 of Justice, a series of examinations by which—”
The document proceeded to enumerate13 the various offices for which candidates might contest, related in detail the ghastly penalty of failure, and concluded abruptly14 with the signature and seal of Mr. Justice Supreme.
Mr. Courage—and Trenmore thought it must have required considerable courage to read a document of that nature, with its numerous references to “this democratic and blessed institution, the bulwark15 of your liberties!"—finished and resumed his seat. There was a moment’s pause. Then Pity took the place of Courage on the platform.
“The first examination will be held in the superlative quality of Kindness.”
A short, stocky, heavily built man emerged from behind the dais and took his place, standing17 fairly upon the eagle and dove symbol that covered the pit. Either his features or his title, in Trenmore’s opinion, must be misleading. Those thin, cruel lips, narrow-set eyes, and low, slightly protruding18 forehead indicated several possible qualities; but benevolence19 was hardly of the number. As agreeably as his facial limitations would permit, the gentleman smiled up toward Mr. Pity.
“Is there any other candidate for this office?” droned the latter in his high, singsong voice. “It entails20 the management and control, under Penn Service, of the Bureau of Penn Charities for Philadelphia and environing suburbs. Any candidate? There is no other candidate for Kindest! Present incumbent21 of the office may retire.”
Having reached this foregone conclusion, Pity returned Kindness’ smile, and the latter did retire, as far as the chairs at one side, where he sat down beside a very fleshy, be-diamonded and prosperous looking lady whom Viola remembered to be his wife.
Three other offices followed: the Wisest, appropriately superintendent22 of the Board of Education; the Bravest, chief of the Electrical Bureau; and Most Ingenious, this latter holding the curious office of providing entertainment for the Servants of Penn themselves. The holders23 of these positions came out one by one, stood upon the fatal symbol, and retired24, their right to superlativism unquestioned.
“The fifth quality upon my list is Sweetness of Voice. This office carries with it the honor, duties, and emoluments25 of Director of Civic26 Music.”
Out to the eagle with assured tread waddled27 a mountain of flesh, crowned by a head of flowing black hair which Svengali might have envied, with a beard of astounding28 proportions, and somewhere between hair and beard a pair of small, piglike eyes.
“Is there any candidate for this office?” droned the bored voice of Mr. Pity. “Is there any other candidate for this—”
“Go on out there, boy,” muttered Trenmore, giving the Numbers’ candidate a friendly push. As they waited, he, like Viola, had conceived a strong sympathy for this solitary29, youthful champion of the despised Numbers.
“Go on out, boy! Go out and give ’em hell!” was the Irishman’s ambiguous encouragement.
The candidate, however, cast him a grateful glance, sensing the spirit behind the words. As Mr. Pity uttered the third and last call for candidates, the young man advanced boldly into the arena30. He was greeted by a low, thunderous mutter of applause, starting at the front ranks of the crowd and spreading backward in a resonant31 wave. Mr. Justice Supreme grasped the arms of his throne-like chair and half arose.
“Silence!” he snarled33. “Silence, my children! You are committing sacrilege! Do you know the penalty?”
His answer was the silence he had commanded, and the faces in the front rows went very white. Their vantage point was uncomfortably close to the pit.
“Mr. Pity,” muttered the old man, sinking back, “will you kindly34 proceed?”
Bowing, the master of ceremonies turned once more to the contestants36.
“Candidate, what is your number, place of residence, employment, and age? Answer in order, please, and speak clearly.” He held a fountain pen poised37 over the list in his hand.
“My number is 57403. My-my-I live at 709 Race Street.” The boy’s clear tenor38, faltering39 at first, grew firmer. “I am a carpenter’s apprentice40. I was nineteen years old in June.”
“Nineteen years and four months, odd.” Mr. Pity wrote it down forthwith. He capped his pen, replaced it in his vest pocket, and smiled down upon the young carpenter with such a friendly look that Viola’s heart gave a leap. Perhaps, after all, the boy was to have a fair chance.
“Very well, young man.” In Mr. Pity’s tone was a distinct note of encouragement and approval. “If you have the best voice in Philadelphia, now is the time to prove it. Sing your best. Don’t be afraid of hurting any one’s feelings.”
He smiled wickedly upon the fat man, who suddenly lost his composure and glanced downward rather anxiously at the deadly trap under his feet.
“As you know,” continued Pity, “you must sing without notes or accompaniment, as must your opponent. His Supremity is waiting. Penn, the august, will decide through him this free and democratic contest! Sing!”
There was a second’s pause. Then the boy, standing above Death and before the Throne of Justice, raised his clear young voice and sang. His was a ballad42 of the people, unwritten, passed from mouth to mouth. It redounded43 in rhymes of “love” and “dove,” “thee,” and “me.” It was sentiment—crass, vulgar, common sentiment—but the air had a certain redeeming44 birdlike lilt.
The tenor rose to its final high note, held it, and died away. No. 57403 bowed, stepped back one pace, and folded his arms. His face was flushed, alight, and his clear eyes looked fearlessly upward to his judge. No cheering followed, but a great sigh rose from the Numbers—a long, simultaneous exhalation, as if each man and woman had been holding breath throughout that last high, sweet note.
“Very good!” exclaimed Mr. Pity, again smiling. “There might be some criticism of your selection, but to give it is not in my province. And now, having heard this high-voiced young candidate, let us listen to his rival, our present esteemed45 musical director.” He bowed to the hairy mountain. “His Supremity is waiting. Penn, the benevolent46 All-Father, will through him decide this contest. Sing!”
Straightway an aperture47 appeared in the black beard. White teeth flashed. A burst of sound ascended48 to the golden dome and rebounded49 therefrom, assaulting the ears of the multitude beneath. It was a cannonade in bass50; the roar of awakened51 hungry lions; the commingled52 tumult54 of a hundred phonographs all playing bass records with rasping needles—a song intensified55 past endurance by a gigantic sounding board, and also—alas!—hopelessly off key. With an inaudible cry Viola clapped her small hands over her music-loving ears. She saw Sergeant56 53 grinning at her, saw his lips move, but he might as well have talked in a Kansas cyclone57.
The roar crescendoed to a terrible disharmonic laugh. At last Viola recognized the music he was murdering. Of all selections he had chosen the “Serenade of Mephistopheles,” from Counoud’s “Faust,” a number demanding the most refined, sardonic58, and genuinely superlative of voices for an endurable rendering59.
Before he ended, Viola was sure she must fall upon the porcelain60 floor and writhe61 in anguish62. Fortunately her powers of endurance were greater than she believed possible. The final burst of demoniac mirth died an awful death, and Viola’s endurance received its reward. Henceforth she could appreciate the bliss63 of silence.
Looking around, the girl half expected to see the audience flat, like a field of wheat after a wind storm; but though even the policemen wore a somewhat chastened appearance, they still stood. She glanced toward the dais. Mr. Pity, with a pained, faraway expression, was scribbling64 at his list. Mr. Justice Supreme opened his eyes with a start, like a man unexpectedly relieved from torment65. He snarled incoherently and flapped a yellow hand at Mr. Pity. The bull of Basban stood his ground, his eyes blinking, his beard once more a dark, unbroken jungle. As the two Trenmores learned later, his complacence was not without foundation. His wife was a third cousin of Mr. Justice Supreme, and he himself was distantly connected with the family of Mr. Purity, of the dragging leg.
The master of ceremonies lifted up his own thin, piercing voice, like the piping of a reed after the bellow66 of thunders.
“Sir, His Supremity thanks you for your wonderful rendering of-er-sound.” He turned to the throne. “Mr. Justice Supreme, the contestants in all humility67 submit their respective merits to the high decision of our lord and father, Penn!”
The old dandy dragged himself to his feet. The audience was more than hushed; it wasn’t even breathing now. No. 57403 cast a pitying glance at the bearded mountain and fearlessly eyed his judge.
“Children of Penn,” began that snarling68, senile voice, “in due legal and sacred form two contestants have striven before the father and protector of us all. One is young. He should have further perfected his attainments69 before presuming to air them in this sacred Hall. Yet his very youth excuses him, and Penn the All-Father is merciful. He can forgive even presumption70. For the magnificent bass voice which we have just been privileged to—hm!—enjoy, in a rendering of the work of a great composer, so exalted71 above the paltry72, sentimental73 balderdash of the other contestant35—I-I—words fail me!”
Mr. Justice Supreme glared down at the contestant he was praising with eyes so malevolent74 that the mountain actually cringed—if a mountain can be said to cringe.
“The decision of Penn,” snarled Mr. Justice Supreme, “is that No. 57403 be dropped into the Pit of the Past. Mercy may extend to his immortal75 soul, but not to his presumptuous76 body! And the present musical director will continue in office.”
Dropping back on his throne with a gasp77 of exhaustion78, he recovered sufficiently79 to rasp out: “Go! And Penn bless you!” to the victorious80 contestant.
Then, with the air of one who has got through a tedious but necessary duty, he let his ancient, villainous body relax and his bleared eyes close.
The mountain removed itself with suspicious alacrity81. If the look in its porcine eyes went for anything, that musical director valued the “blessing of Penn” less than the permission to vacate an unexpectedly dangerous neighborhood.
But for poor No. 57403 no such retreat was possible. For an instant he seemed unable to believe his ears. He reddened and glanced uneasily about, as if to question others of this injustice82, this incredible decision. Then the color faded, he drew himself to his slender height and bowed to the condemning83 judge with a dignity worthy84 of some classic young Greek.
Viola clutched at Terry’s arm in frantic85 appeal, but one mightier86 even than Terence Trenmore was present there—a giant crushed, betrayed, bound down in fetters87 of ignorance; but a giant none the less. A low growl88 was the first intimation that he had awakened. It was the voice of the Numbers; a warning protest against this blackest wrong. They surged forward. It was a little motion—half a step—but before it the police were crushed irresistibly89 back against the plush rope. Alarmed, they faced about with threatening clubs. The eyes of the enthroned figure on the dais snapped open.
“Silence!” he snarled. “Guard, open the pit!”
A crouching90, striped form stole forth41, leaned over the Dove, and the symbol dropped. But the young man did not drop with it as ordained91. He had, quite instinctively92 and naturally, stepped backward from the danger.
“In with him!”
“No-no-no!” This time it was a roaring negative from hundreds of throats. Heedless now of sacrilege, the Numbers again surged. The plush rope stretched and broke. In an instant clubs were rising and falling desperately93. The police might as well have attempted to dam Niagara with a toothpick. A few Numbers in the front ranks went down, it is true, but over their bodies came their fellows, pushed irresistibly by the mass behind.
The former enclosure disappeared. A series of piercing shrieks94 cut the uproar96 like knife stabs. They came from below, and Viola, shuddering97 in her brother’s arm, knew that some unfortunate had been pushed into the Pit of the Past.
Mr. Pity, finding himself confronted by a myriad98 of upturned, glaring eyes, retreated precipitately99. But the dais was not stormed—not yet. Too many years of ground-in teaching, too thorough a dread of the awful power of Penn Service held them back.
“Go to it—go to it, boys!” yelled Trenmore, holding Viola in one arm and shaking his other fist excitedly. “Down with the murdering hounds! Scrape the platform like a dirty dish!”
His great voice merged16 indistinguishably with the swelling100 roar beneath the echoing dome. The police were down, or helplessly packed in. One more surge and the wave would have broken over the platform, performing the very feat suggested by Trenmore. But in that fatal instant of superstitious101 hesitance the blare of a bugle102 rang high above the din3. It was followed by a rattling103, crashing sound, mingled53 with shrieks, screams, and horrible, echoing sounds of pain and fear unutterable.
Turning its eyes from the dais, the mob knew that its moment of power was past. Each one of those colored panels in the walls, enameled104 with the figures of strange gods or demons105, had slid to one side. Each had hidden the muzzle106 of a machine gun. Three of them were already in action, spitting curses that killed. There were women and even babies there, but what cared Penn Service for that? They were merely Numbers. And Numbers in revolt must be crushed—massacred if need be.
The growl of the giant was transmuted107 into frantic prayer. Those close to the dais flung themselves on their knees and stretched supplicating108 hands toward the throne they had all but overturned.
A moment Mr. Justice Supreme waited, while the guns still spat109 and swore. Then both his hands went up, palms outward. The crashing rattle110 ceased. Only the prayers and shrieks continued, increased, and echoed from the Dome of Justice to the wail111 of a great city, sacked and full of bloody112 wrongs.
Again the old man raised his yellow, skinny hands, this time with a silencing, pacifying113 gesture, and silence followed, spreading from before the dais as the first growl had spread. Even the wounded, so great is the power of life-long submission114, ceased presently to shriek95. Only the occasional wail of some infant, too young to recognize the supremacy115 of ruthless force, broke the ghastly quiet.
“My children,” began the High Priest of Evil, “you have sinned grievously.” The excitement had invigorated and ennobled his voice, so that it was no longer a snarl32, but a dreadful threat. “You have been punished a little,” he cried. “Beware lest the great and tender patience of Penn be strained to breaking and you be punished past any power to remedy!”
He pointed solemnly upward at the Red Bell. A shivering groan swept the hall.
“You have broken the sacred silence. Beware that it be not broken by a voice more awful! Beware that it be not broken by a tongue at whose speaking you and your sons and your daughters, your women and your men, shall fall into the ignoble116 dust from which you sprang! Ungrateful Children of Penn, gather up your wounded and your dead. Depart from this temple which you have desecrated117. Go home, and on your knees thank the old and faithful servant who intercedes118 for you—even you, the graceless children of a kind and merciful father! But first yield up the body of that young man whose vanity and presumption have caused your sorrow and his. Yield him, I say! Where is he?”
Mr. Justice Supreme actually tottered119 forward to the platform edge. Like a bloodthirsty old ferret, questing some particular tender rabbit, he scanned the faces nearest him. The crowd gave back. Here and there the head and blue shoulders of a policeman bobbed into view. But No. 57403 was not produced.
“Give him up!” yelled the old man. Dignity forgotten, he brandished120 his ebony cane121 like a sword. “Yield him up, you—whoever is concealing122 him! Or the guns shall talk to you!”
He was answered by a low mutter, then silence. The Numbers stood with set, dogged faces, staring back at their oppressor.
Trenmore gave Viola a sudden squeeze. “Powers o’ darkness!” he whispered exultantly123. “The pups have the makings of men in them, after all! They’ll not give him up, their sweet-voiced lad. They’ll die by the guns, men, women, and babes, but—”
“Surrender him!” The high priest’s voice crackled ominously124. “I’ll give you while I count three. One-two-th-ree! Oh, very well there!”
His right hand started slowly up, palm out. A second more and the guns would resume their devilish chatter125. There came a swirl126 in the crowd, a struggle, and out into the little open area by the pit sprang the singer, disheveled but triumphant127.
“Don’t shoot!” he cried. “Don’t shoot! Friends, I thank you for everything—what you wished for me, what you have given, and what you would give if I would let you! But you,” he turned upon Justice Supreme with the look and face of a deathless young god, unfearing and scornful, “you I do not even hate! You poor wreck128 of what was one time a man, you are already dead and damned in the rottenness of your vile9 body and viler129 spirit! If you are the servant of Penn, then I am his enemy. I go to tell him so!”
And before any man could stir a hand the boy had dived, head foremost, into the pit.
A moaning sigh rose, echoed, and fell. Those nearest the pit turned aside and covered their ears with their hands; but the shriek they dreaded130 never came. Presently one of the pit guard, lurking131 out of sight behind the dais, sneaked132 cautiously around, crept to the pit, and looked down. Then he raised his eyes to the purple, raging face of Mr. Justice Supreme. The high priest made a gesture with his cane. A moment later and the eagle and dove symbol swung into place again.
收听单词发音 |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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enumerate
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| v.列举，计算，枚举，数 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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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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protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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incumbent
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| adj.成为责任的，有义务的；现任的，在职的 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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emoluments
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| n.报酬，薪水( emolument的名词复数 ) | |
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civic
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| adj.城市的，都市的，市民的，公民的 | |
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waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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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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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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contestant
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| n.竞争者，参加竞赛者 | |
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contestants
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| n.竞争者，参赛者( contestant的名词复数 ) | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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redounded
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| v.有助益( redound的过去式和过去分词 )；及于；报偿；报应 | |
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redeeming
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| 补偿的，弥补的 | |
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esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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46
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
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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54
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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55
intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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57
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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58
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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59
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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60
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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61
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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62
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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63
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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64
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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65
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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66
bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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67
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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68
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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69
attainments
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| 成就，造诣； 获得( attainment的名词复数 )； 达到； 造诣； 成就 | |
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70
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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71
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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72
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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73
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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74
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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75
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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76
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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77
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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78
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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79
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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80
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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81
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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82
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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83
condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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84
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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85
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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86
mightier
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| adj. 强有力的，强大的，巨大的 adv. 很，极其 | |
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87
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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88
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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89
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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90
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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91
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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92
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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93
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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94
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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95
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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96
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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97
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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98
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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99
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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100
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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101
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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102
bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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103
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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104
enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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106
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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107
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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109
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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110
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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111
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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112
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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113
pacifying
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的现在分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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114
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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115
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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116
ignoble
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| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
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117
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
intercedes
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| v.斡旋，调解( intercede的第三人称单数 )；说情 | |
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119
tottered
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| v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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120
brandished
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| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
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121
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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122
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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123
exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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124
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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125
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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126
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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127
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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128
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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129
viler
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的比较级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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130
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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131
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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132
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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