Fate, which had freakishly hurled1 a ship’s crew out of the void upon this particular bit of coast, as freakishly preserved them.
The very excess of its fury worked this wonder. For the craft came in on a tall billow that flung her, as a sling2 might, clean against the cliff’s face, crumpling3 the bowsprit like paper, sending the foremast over with a crash, and driving a jagged tooth of rock five feet into her ribs4 beside the breastbone. So, for a moment it left her, securely gripped and bumping her stern-post on the ledge5 beneath. As the next sea deluged6 her, and the next, the folk above saw her crew fight their way forward up the slippery deck, under sheets of foam7. With the fifth or six wave her mizen-mast went; she split open amidships, pouring out her cargo8. The stern slipped off the ledge and plunged9 twenty fathoms10 down out of sight. And now the fore-part alone remained—a piece of deck, the stump11 of the foremast, and five men clinging in a tangle12 of cordage, struggling up and toppling back as each successive sea soused over them.
Three men had detached themselves from the group above the cliff, and were sidling down its face cautiously, for the hurricane now flattened13 them back against the rock, now tried to wrench14 them from it; and all the way it was a tough battle for breath. The foremost was Jim Lewarne, Farmer Tresidder’s hind15, with a coil of the farmer’s rope slung16 round him. Young Zeb followed, and Elias Sweetland, both similarly laden18.
Less than half-way down the rock plunged abruptly19, cutting off farther descent.
Jim Lewarne, in a cloud of foam, stood up, slipped the coil over his head, and unwound it, glancing to right and left. Now Jim amid ordinary events was an acknowledged fool, and had a wife to remind him of it; but perch20 him out of female criticism, on a dizzy foothold such as this, and set him a desperate job, and you clarified his wits at once. This eccentricity21 was so notorious that the two men above halted in silence, and waited.
Jim glanced to right and left, spied a small pinnacle22 of rock about three yards away, fit for his purpose, sidled towards it, and, grasping, made sure that it was firm. Next, reeving one end of the rope into a running noose23, he flung it over the pinnacle, and with a tug24 had it taut25. This done, he tilted26 his body out, his toes on the ledge, his weight on the rope, and his body inclined forward over the sea at an angle of some twenty degrees from the cliff.
Having by this device found the position of the wreck27, and judging that his single rope would reach, he swung back, gained hold of the cliff with his left hand, and with his right caught and flung the leaded end far out. It fell true as a bullet, across the wreck. As it dropped, a sea almost swept it clear; but the lead hitched28 in a tangle of cordage by the port cathead; within twenty seconds the rope was caught and made fast below.
All was now easy. At a nod from Jim young Zeb passed down a second line, which was lowered along the first by a noose. One by one the whole crew—four men and a cabin-boy—were hauled up out of death, borne off to the vicarage, and so pass out of our story.
Their fate does not concern us, for this reason—men with a narrow horizon and no wings must accept all apparent disproportions between cause and effect. A railway collision has other results besides wrecking29 an ant-hill, but the wise ants do not pursue these in the Insurance Reports. So it only concerns us that the destruction of the schooner30 led in time to a lovers’ difference between Ruby31 and young Zeb—two young people of no eminence32 outside of these pages. And, as a matter of fact, her crew had less to do with this than her cargo.
She had been expressly built by Messrs. Taggs & Co., a London firm, in reality as a privateer (which explains her raking masts), but ostensibly for the Portugal trade; and was homeward bound from Lisbon to the Thames, with a cargo of red wine and chestnuts33. At Falmouth, where she had run in for a couple of days, on account of a damaged rudder, the captain paid off his extra hands, foreseeing no difficulty in the voyage up Channel. She had not, however, left Falmouth harbour three hours before she met with a gale34 that started her steering-gear afresh. To put back in the teeth of such weather was hopeless; and the attempt to run before it ended as we know.
When Ruby looked up, after the crash, and saw her friends running along the headland to catch a glimpse of the wreck, her anger returned. She stood for twenty minutes at least, watching them; then, pulling her cloak closely round her, walked homewards at a snail’s pace. By the church gate she met the belated Methodists hurrying up, and passed a word or two of information that sent them panting on. A little beyond, at the point where the peninsula joins the mainland, she faced round to the wind again for a last glance. Three men were following her slowly down the ridge35 with a burden between them. It was the first of the rescued crew—a lifeless figure wrapped in oil-skins, with one arm hanging limply down, as if broken. Ruby halted, and gave time to come up.
“Hey, lads,” shouted Old Zeb, who walked first, with a hand round each of the figure’s sea-boots; “now that’s what I’d call a proper womanly masterpiece, to run home to Sheba an’ change her stockings in time for the randivoose.”
“I don’t understand,” said his prospective36 daughter-in-law, haughtily37.
“O boundless38 depth! Rest the poor mortal down, mates, while I take breath to humour her. Why, my dear, you must know from my tellin’ that there hev a-been such a misfortunate goin’s on as a wreck, hereabouts.”
He paused to shake the rain out of his hat and whiskers. Ruby stole a look at the oil-skin. The sailor’s upturned face was of a sickly yellow, smeared39 with blood and crusted with salt. The same white crust filled the hollows of his closed eyes, and streaked40 his beard and hair. It turned her faint for the moment.
“An the wreck’s scat abroad,” continued Old Zeb; an’ the interpretation41 thereof is barrels an’ nuts. What’s more, tide’ll be runnin’ for two hour yet; an’ it hasn’ reached my ears that the fashion of thankin’ the Lord for His bounty42 have a-perished out o’ this old-fangled race of men an’ women; though no doubt, my dear, you’d get first news o’ the change, with a bed-room window facin’ on Ruan Cove43.”
“Thank you, Old Zeb; I’ll be careful to draw my curtains,” said she, answering sarcasm44 with scorn, and turning on her heel.
The old man stooped to lift the sailor again. “Better clog45 your pretty ears wi’ wax,” he called after her, “when the kiss-i’-the-ring begins! Well-a-fine! What a teasin’ armful is woman, afore the first-born comes! Hey, Sim Udy? Speak up, you that have fifteen to feed.”
“Ay, I was a low feller, first along,” answered Sim Udy, grinning. “‘Sich common notions, Sim, as you do entertain!’ was my wife’s word.”
“Well, souls, we was a bit tiddlywinky last Michaelmas, when the Young Susannah came ashore46, that I must own. Folks blamed the Pa’son for preachin’ agen it the Sunday after. ‘A disreppitable scene,’ says he, ”specially seein’ you had nowt to be thankful for but a cargo o’ sugar that the sea melted afore you could get it.’ (Lift the pore chap aisy, Sim.) By crum! Sim, I mind your huggin’ a staved rum cask, and kissin’ it, an’ cryin’, ‘Aw, Ben—dear Ben!’ an’ ‘After all these years!’ fancyin’ ’twas your twin brother come back, that was killed aboard the Agamemny—”
“Well, well—prettily overtook I must ha’ been. (Stiddy, there, Crowder, wi’ the legs of en.) But today I’ll be mild, as ’tis Chris’mas.”
“Iss, iss; be very mild, my sons, as ’tis so holy a day.”
They tramped on, bending their heads at queer angles against the weather, that erased47 their outlines in a bluish mist, through which they loomed48 for a while at intervals49, until they passed out of sight.
Ruby, meanwhile, had hurried on, her cloak flapping loudly as it grew heavier with moisture, and the water in her shoes squishing at every step. At first she took the road leading down-hill to Ruan Cove, but turned to the right after a few yards, and ran up the muddy lane that was the one approach to Sheba, her father’s farm.
The house, a square, two-storeyed building of greystone, roofed with heavy slates51, was guarded in front by a small courtlage, the wall of which blocked all view from the lower rooms. From the narrow mullioned windows on the upper floor, however, one could look over it upon the duck-pond across the road, and down across two grass meadows to the cove. A white gate opened on the courtlage, and the path from this to the front door was marked out by slabs52 of blue slate50, accurately53 laid in line. Ruby, in her present bedraggled state, avoided the front entrance, and followed the wall round the house to the town-place, stopping on her way to look in at the kitchen window.
“Mary Jane, if you call that a roast goose, I cull54 it a burning shame!”
Mary Jane, peeling potatoes with her back to the window, and tossing them one by one into a bucket of water, gave a jump, and cut her finger, dropping forthwith a half-peeled magnum bonum, which struck the bucket’s edge and slid away across the slate flooring under the table.
“Awgh—awgh!” she burst out, catching55 up her apron56 and clutching it round the cut. “Look what you’ve done, Miss Ruby! an’ me miles away, thinkin’ o’ shipwrecks57 an’ dead swollen59 men.”
“Look at the Chris’mas dinner, you mazed60 creature!”
In truth, the goose was fast spoiling. The roasting apparatus61 in this kitchen was a simple matter, consisting of a nail driven into the centre of the chimney-piece, a number of worsted threads depending therefrom, and a steel hook attached to these threads. Fix the joint62 or fowl63 firmly on the hook, give it a spin with the hand, and the worsted threads wound, unwound, and wound again, turning it before the blaze—an admirable jack64, if only looked after. At present it hung motionless over the dripping-pan, and the goose wore a suit of motley, exhibiting a rich Vandyke brown to the fire, an unhealthy yellow to the window.
“There now!” Mary Jane rushed to the jack and gave it a spin, while Ruby walked round by the back door, and appeared dripping on the threshold. “I declare ’tis like Troy Town this morning: wrecks58 and rumours65 o’ wrecks. Now ’tis ‘Ropes! ropes!’ an’ nex’ ’tis ‘Where be the stable key, Mary Jane, my dear?’ an’ then agen, ‘Will’ee be so good as to fetch master’s second-best spy-glass, Mary Jane, an’ look slippy?’—an’ me wi’ a goose to stuff, singe66, an’ roast, an’ ‘tatties to peel, an’ greens to cleanse67, an’ apples to chop for sauce, an’ the hoarders no nearer away than the granary loft68, with a gatherin’ ‘pon your second toe an’ the half o’ ’em rotten when you get there. The pore I be in! Why, Miss Ruby, you’m streamin’-leakin’!”
“I’m wet through, Mary Jane; an’ I don’t care if I die.” Ruby sank on the settle, and fairly broke down.
“Hush ‘ee now, co!”
“I don’t, I don’t, an’ I don’t! I’m tired o’ the world, an’ my heart’s broke. Mary Jane, you selfish thing, you’ve never asked about my banns, no more’n the rest; an’ after that cast-off frock, too, that I gave you last week so good as new!”
“Was it very grand, Miss Ruby? Was it shuddery69 an’ yet joyful— lily-white an’ yet rosy-red—hot an’ yet cold—‘don’t lift me so high,’ an’ yet ‘praise God, I’m exalted70 above women’?”
“’Twas all and yet none. ’Twas a voice speakin’ my name, sweet an’ terrible, an’ I longed for it to go on an’ on; and then came the Gauger71 stunnin’ and shoutin’ ‘Wreck! wreck!’ like a trumpet72, an’ the church was full o’ wind, an’ the folk ran this way an’ that, like sheep, an’ left me sittin’ there. I’ll—I’ll die an old maid, I will, if only to s—spite such ma—ma—manners!”
“Aw, pore dear! But there’s better tricks than dyin’ unwed. Bind73 up my finger, Miss Ruby, an’ listen. You shall play Don’t Care, an’ change your frock, an’ we’ll step down to th’ cove after dinner an’ there be heartless and fancy-free. Lord! when the dance strikes up, to see you carryin’ off the other maids’ danglers an’ treating your own man like dirt!”
Ruby stood up, the water still running off her frock upon the slates, her moist eyes resting beyond the window on the midden-heap across the yard, as if she saw there the picture Mary Jane conjured74 up.
“No. I won’t join their low frolic; an’ you ought to be above it. I’ll pull my curtains an’ sit up-stairs all day, an’ you shall read to me.”
The other pulled a wry75 face. This was not her idea of enjoyment76. She went back to the goose sad at heart, for Miss Ruby had a knack77 of enforcing her wishes.
Sure enough, soon after dinner was cleared away (a meal through which Ruby had sulked and Farmer Tresidder eaten heartily78, talking with a full mouth about the rescue, and coarsely ignoring what he called his daughter’s “faddles”), the two girls retired79 to the chamber80 up-stairs; where the mistress was as good as her word, and pulled the dimity curtains before settling herself down in an easy-chair to listen to extracts from a polite novel as rendered aloud, under dire81 compulsion, by Mary Jane.
The rain had ceased by this, and the wind abated82, though it still howled around the angle of the house and whipped a spray of the monthly-rose bush on the quarrels of the window, filling the pauses during which Mary Jane wrestled83 with a hard word. Ruby herself had taught the girl this accomplishment—rare enough at the time—and Mary Jane handled it gingerly, beginning each sentence in a whisper, as if awed84 by her own intrepidity85, and ending each in a kind of gratulatory cheer. The work was of that class of epistolary fiction then in vogue86, and the extract singularly well fitted to Ruby’s mood.
“My dearest Wil-hel-mina,” began Mary Jane, “racked with a hun-dred conflicting emotions, I resume the nar-rative of those fa-tal moments which rapt me from your affection-ate embrace. Suffer me to re-to recap—”
“Better spell it, Mary Jane.”
“To r.e., re-c.a.p., cap, recap—i.t, it, re-capit—Lor’! what a twister!—u, recapitu—l.a.t.e, late, recap-it-u-late the events detailed87 in my last letter, full stop—there! if I han’t read that full stop out loud! Lord Bel-field, though an adept88 in all the arts of dissim-u-lation (and how of-ten do we not see these arts allied89 with unscru-pu-lous pas-sions?), was unable to sus-tain the gaze of my infu-ri-a-ted pa-pa, though he comported90 himself with suf-fic-ient p.h.l.e.g.m—Lor’! what a funny word!”
Ruby yawned. It is true she had drawn91 the dimity curtains—all but a couple of inches. Through this space she could see the folk busy on the beach below like a swarm92 of small black insects, and continually augmented93 by those who, having run off to snatch their Christmas dinner, were returning to the spoil. Some lined the edge of the breakers, waiting the moment to rush in for a cask or spar that the tide brought within reach; others (among whom she seemed to descry94 Young Zeb) were clambering out with grapnels along the western rocks; a third large group was gathered in the very centre of the beach, and from the midst of these a blue wreath of smoke began to curl up. At the same instant she heard the gate click outside, and pulling the curtain wider, saw her father trudging95 away down the lane.
Mary Jane, glancing up, and seeing her mistress crane forward with curiosity, stole behind and peeped over her shoulder.
“I declare they’m teening a fire!”
“Who gave you leave to bawl96 in my ear so rudely? Go back to your reading, this instant.” (A pause.) “Mary Jane, I do believe they’m roastin’ chestnuts.”
“What a clever game!”
“Father said at dinner the tide was bringin’ ’em in by bushels. Quick! put on your worst bonnet97 an’ clogs98, an’ run down to look. I must know. No, I’m not goin’—the idea! I wonder at your low notions. You shall bring me word o’ what’s doin’—an’ mind you’re back before dark.”
Mary Jane fled precipitately99, lest the order should be revoked100. Five minutes later, Ruby heard the small gate click again, and with a sigh saw the girl’s rotund figure waddling101 down the lane. Then she picked up the book and strove to bury herself in the woes102 of Wilhelmina, but still with frequent glances out of window. Twice the book dropped off her lap; twice she picked it up and laboriously103 found the page again. Then she gave it up, and descended104 to the back door, to see if anyone were about who might give her news. But the town-place was deserted105 by all save the ducks, the old white sow, and a melancholy106 crew of cocks and hens huddled107 under the dripping eaves of the cow-house. Returning to her room, she settled down on the window-seat, and watched the blaze of the bonfire increase as the short day faded.
The grey became black. It was six o’clock, and neither her father nor Mary Jane had returned. Seven o’clock struck from the tall clock in the kitchen, and was echoed ten minutes after by the Dutch clock in the parlour below. The sound whirred up through the planching twice as loud as usual. It was shameful108 to be left alone like this, to be robbed, murdered, goodness knew what. The bonfire began to die out, but every now and then a circle of small black figures would join hands and dance round it, scattering109 wildly after a moment or two. In a lull110 of the wind she caught the faint sound of shouts and singing, and this determined111 her.
She turned back from the window and groped for her tinder-box. The glow, as she blew the spark upon the dry rag, lit up a very pretty but tear-stained pair of cheeks; and when she touched off the brimstone match, and, looking up, saw her face confronting her, blue and tragical112, from the dark-framed mirror, it reminded her of Lady Macbeth. Hastily lighting113 the candle, she caught up a shawl and crept down-stairs. Her clogs were in the hall; and four horn lanterns dangled114 from a row of pegs115 above them. She caught down one, lit it, and throwing the shawl over her head, stepped out into the night.
The wind was dying down and seemed almost warm upon her face. A young moon fought gallantly116, giving the massed clouds just enough light to sail by; but in the lane it was dark as pitch. This did not so much matter, as the rain had poured down it like a sluice117, washing the flints clean. Ruby’s lantern swung to and fro, casting a yellow glare on the tall hedges, drawing queer gleams from the holly-bushes, and flinging an ugly, amorphous118 shadow behind, that dogged her like an enemy.
At the foot of the lane she could clearly distinguish the songs, shouts, and shrill119 laughter, above the hollow roar of the breakers.
“They’re playin’ kiss-i’-the-ring. That’s Modesty120 Prowse’s laugh. I wonder how any man can kiss a mouth like Modesty Prowse’s!”
She turned down the sands towards the bonfire, grasping as she went all the details of the scene.
In the glow of the dying fire sat a semicircle of men—Jim Lewarne, sunk in a drunken slumber121, Calvin Oke bawling122 in his ear, Old Zeb on hands and knees, scraping the embers together, Toby Lewarne (Jim’s elder brother) thumping123 a pannikin on his knee and bellowing124 a carol, and a dozen others—in stages varying from qualified125 sobriety to stark126 and shameless intoxication—peering across the fire at the game in progress between them and the faint line that marked where sand ended and sea began.
“Zeb’s turn!” roared out Toby Lewarne, breaking off The Third Good Joy midway, in his excitement.
“Have a care—have a care, my son!” Old Zeb looked up to shout. “Thee’rt so good as wed17 already; so do thy wedded127 man’s duty, an’ kiss th’ hugliest!”
It was true. Ruby, halting with her lantern a pace or two behind the dark semicircle of backs, saw her perfidious128 Zeb moving from right to left slowly round the circle of men and maids that, with joined hands and screams of laughter, danced as slowly in the other direction. She saw him pause once—twice, feign129 to throw the kerchief over one, then still pass on, calling out over the racket:—
“I sent a letter to my love, I carried water in my glove, An’ on the way I dropped it—dropped it—dropped it—”
He dropped the kerchief over Modesty Prowse.
“Zeb!”
Young Zeb whipped the kerchief off Modesty’s neck, and spun130 round as it shot.
The dancers looked; the few sober men by the fire turned and looked also.
“’Tis Ruby Tresidder!” cried one of the girls; “‘Wudn’ be i’ thy shoon, Young Zeb, for summatt.”
Zeb shook his wits together and dashed off towards the spot, twenty yards away, where Ruby stood holding the lantern high, its ray full on her face. As she started she kicked off her clogs, turned, and ran for her life.
Then, in an instant, a new game began upon the sands. Young Zeb, waving his kerchief and pursuing the flying lantern, was turned, baffled, intercepted—here, there, and everywhere—by the dancers, who scattered131 over the beach with shouts and peals132 of laughter, slipping in between him and his quarry133. The elders by the fire held their sides and cheered the sport. Twice Zeb was tripped up by a mischievous134 boot, floundered and went sprawling135; and the roar was loud and long. Twice he picked himself up and started again after the lantern, that zigzagged136 now along the fringe of the waves, now up towards the bonfire, now off along the dark shadow of the cliffs.
Ruby could hardly sift137 her emotions when she found herself panting and doubling in flight. The chase had started without her will or dissent138; had suddenly sprung, as it were, out of the ground. She only knew that she was very angry with Zeb; that she longed desperately139 to elude140 him; and that he must catch her soon, for her breath and strength were ebbing141.
What happened in the end she kept in her dreams till she died. Somehow she had dropped the lantern and was running up from the sea towards the fire, with Zeb’s feet pounding behind her, and her soul possessed142 with the dread143 to feel his grasp upon her shoulders. As it fell, Old Zeb leapt up to his feet with excitement, and opened his mouth wide to cheer.
But no voice came for three seconds: and when he spoke144 this was what he said—
“Good Lord, deliver us!”
She saw his gaze pass over her shoulder; and then heard these words come slowly, one by one, like dropping stones. His face was like a ghost’s in the bonfire’s light, and he muttered again—“From battle and murder, and from sudden death—Good Lord, deliver us!”
She could not understand at first; thought it must have something to do with Young Zeb, whose arms were binding145 hers, and whose breath was hot on her neck. She felt his grasp relax, and faced about.
Full in front, standing146 out as the faint moon showed them, motionless, as if suspended against the black sky, rose the masts, yards, and square-sails of a full-rigged ship.
The men and women must have stood a whole minute—dumb as stones—before there came that long curdling147 shriek148 for which they waited. The great masts quivered for a second against the darkness; then heaved, lurched, and reeled down, crashing on the Raney.
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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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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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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wrecking
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| 破坏 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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31
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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32
eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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33
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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34
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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35
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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36
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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37
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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38
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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39
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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40
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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41
interpretation
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| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
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42
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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43
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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44
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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45
clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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46
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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47
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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48
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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49
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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50
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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51
slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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52
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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53
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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54
cull
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| v.拣选；剔除；n.拣出的东西；剔除 | |
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55
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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56
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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57
shipwrecks
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| 海难，船只失事( shipwreck的名词复数 )； 沉船 | |
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58
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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59
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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60
mazed
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| 迷惘的，困惑的 | |
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61
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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62
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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63
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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64
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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65
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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66
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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67
cleanse
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| vt.使清洁，使纯洁，清洗 | |
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68
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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69
shuddery
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70
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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71
gauger
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| n.收税官 | |
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72
trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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73
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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74
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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75
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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76
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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77
knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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78
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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79
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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80
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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81
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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82
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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83
wrestled
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| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
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84
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85
intrepidity
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|
| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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86
Vogue
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| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
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87
detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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88
adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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89
allied
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| adj.协约国的；同盟国的 | |
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90
comported
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| v.表现( comport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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92
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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93
Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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94
descry
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| v.远远看到；发现；责备 | |
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95
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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96
bawl
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| v.大喊大叫，大声地喊，咆哮 | |
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97
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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98
clogs
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| 木屐； 木底鞋，木屐( clog的名词复数 ) | |
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99
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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100
revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
waddling
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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102
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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103
laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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104
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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105
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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106
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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107
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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108
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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109
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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110
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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111
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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112
tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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113
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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114
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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115
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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116
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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117
sluice
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| n.水闸 | |
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118
amorphous
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| adj.无定形的 | |
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119
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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120
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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121
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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122
bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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123
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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124
bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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125
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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126
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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127
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
perfidious
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| adj.不忠的，背信弃义的 | |
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129
feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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130
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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131
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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132
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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133
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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134
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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135
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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136
zigzagged
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| adj.呈之字形移动的v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
sift
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| v.筛撒，纷落，详察 | |
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138
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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139
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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140
elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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141
ebbing
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的现在分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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142
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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143
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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144
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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145
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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146
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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147
curdling
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| n.凝化v.（使）凝结( curdle的现在分词 ) | |
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148
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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