“THAT comet is going to hit the earth!”
So said one of the two men who got into the train and settled down.
“Ah!” said the other man.
“They do say that it is made of gas, that comet. We sha’n’t blow up, shall us?”. . .
What did it matter to me?
I was thinking of revenge — revenge against the primary conditions of my being. I was thinking of Nettie and her lover. I was firmly resolved he should not have her — though I had to kill them both to prevent it. I did not care what else might happen, if only that end was ensured. All my thwarted1 passions had turned to rage. I would have accepted eternal torment2 that night without a second thought, to be certain of revenge. A hundred possibilities of action, a hundred stormy situations, a whirl of violent schemes, chased one another through my shamed, exasperated3 mind. The sole prospect4 I could endure was of some gigantic, inexorably cruel vindication5 of my humiliated6 self.
And Nettie? I loved Nettie still, but now with the intensest jealousy7, with the keen, unmeasuring hatred8 of wounded pride, and baffled, passionate9 desire.
Section 2
As I came down the hill from Clayton Crest10 — for my shilling and a penny only permitted my traveling by train as far as Two-Mile Stone, and thence I had to walk over the hill — I remember very vividly11 a little man with a shrill12 voice who was preaching under a gas-lamp against a hoarding13 to a thin crowd of Sunday evening loafers. He was a short man, bald, with a little fair curly beard and hair and watery14 blue eyes, and he was preaching that the end of the world drew near.
I think that is the first time I heard any one link the comet with the end of the world. He had got that jumbled15 up with international politics and prophecies from the Book of Daniel.
I stopped to hear him only for a moment or so. I do not think I should have halted at all but his crowd blocked my path, and the sight of his queer wild expression, the gesture of his upward-pointing finger, held me.
“There is the end of all your Sins and Follies,” he bawled16. “There! There is the Star of Judgments18, the Judgments of the most High God! It is appointed unto all men to die — unto all men to die”— his voice changed to a curious flat chant —“and after death, the Judgment17! The Judgment!”
I pushed and threaded my way through the bystanders and went on, and his curious harsh flat voice pursued me. I went on with the thoughts that had occupied me before — where I could buy a revolver, and how I might master its use — and probably I should have forgotten all about him had he not taken a part in the hideous19 dream that ended the little sleep I had that night. For the most part I lay awake thinking of Nettie and her lover.
Then came three strange days — three days that seem now to have been wholly concentrated upon one business.
This dominant20 business was the purchase of my revolver. I held myself resolutely21 to the idea that I must either restore myself by some extraordinary act of vigor23 and violence in Nettie’s eyes or I must kill her. I would not let myself fall away from that. I felt that if I let this matter pass, my last shred24 of pride and honor would pass with it, that for the rest of my life I should never deserve the slightest respect or any woman’s love. Pride kept me to my purpose between my gusts26 of passion.
Yet it was not easy to buy that revolver.
I had a kind of shyness of the moment when I should have to face the shopman, and I was particularly anxious to have a story ready if he should see fit to ask questions why I bought such a thing. I determined27 to say I was going to Texas, and I thought it might prove useful there. Texas in those days had the reputation of a wild lawless land. As I knew nothing of caliber28 or impact, I wanted also to be able to ask with a steady face at what distance a man or woman could be killed by the weapon that might be offered me. I was pretty cool-headed in relation to such practical aspects of my affair. I had some little difficulty in finding a gunsmith. In Clayton there were some rook-rifles and so forth29 in a cycle shop, but the only revolvers these people had impressed me as being too small and toylike for my purpose. It was in a pawnshop window in the narrow High Street of Swathinglea that I found my choice, a reasonably clumsy and serious-looking implement30 ticketed “As used in the American army.”
I had drawn31 out my balance from the savings32 bank, matter of two pounds and more, to make this purchase, and I found it at last a very easy transaction. The pawnbroker33 told me where I could get ammunition34, and I went home that night with bulging35 pockets, an armed man.
The purchase of my revolver was, I say, the chief business of those days, but you must not think I was so intent upon it as to be insensible to the stirring things that were happening in the streets through which I went seeking the means to effect my purpose. They were full of murmurings: the whole region of the Four Towns scowled36 lowering from its narrow doors. The ordinary healthy flow of people going to work, people going about their business, was chilled and checked. Numbers of men stood about the streets in knots and groups, as corpuscles gather and catch in the blood-vessels in the opening stages of inflammation. The woman looked haggard and worried. The ironworkers had refused the proposed reduction of their wages, and the lockout had begun. They were already at “play.” The Conciliation37 Board was doing its best to keep the coal-miners and masters from a breach38, but young Lord Redcar, the greatest of our coal owners and landlord of all Swathinglea and half Clayton, was taking a fine upstanding attitude that made the breach inevitable40. He was a handsome young man, a gallant41 young man; his pride revolted at the idea of being dictated42 to by a “lot of bally miners,” and he meant, he said, to make a fight for it. The world had treated him sumptuously43 from his earliest years; the shares in the common stock of five thousand people had gone to pay for his handsome upbringing, and large, romantic, expensive ambitions filled his generously nurtured44 mind. He had early distinguished45 himself at Oxford46 by his scornful attitude towards democracy. There was something that appealed to the imagination in his fine antagonism47 to the crowd — on the one hand, was the brilliant young nobleman, picturesquely48 alone; on the other, the ugly, inexpressive multitude, dressed inelegantly in shop-clothes, under-educated, under-fed, envious50, base, and with a wicked disinclination for work and a wicked appetite for the good things it could so rarely get. For common imaginative purposes one left out the policeman from the design, the stalwart policeman protecting his lordship, and ignored the fact that while Lord Redcar had his hands immediately and legally on the workman’s shelter and bread, they could touch him to the skin only by some violent breach of the law.
He lived at Lowchester House, five miles or so beyond Checkshill; but partly to show how little he cared for his antagonists51, and partly no doubt to keep himself in touch with the negotiations52 that were still going on, he was visible almost every day in and about the Four Towns, driving that big motor car of his that could take him sixty miles an hour. The English passion for fair play one might have thought sufficient to rob this bold procedure of any dangerous possibilities, but he did not go altogether free from insult, and on one occasion at least an intoxicated53 Irish woman shook her fist at him . . . .
A dark, quiet crowd, that was greater each day, a crowd more than half women, brooded as a cloud will sometimes brood permanently54 upon a mountain crest, in the market-place outside the Clayton Town Hall, where the conference was held . . . .
I consider myself justified55 in regarding Lord Redcar’s passing automobile56 with a special animosity because of the leaks in our roof.
We held our little house on lease; the owner was a mean, saving old man named Pettigrew, who lived in a villa57 adorned58 with plaster images of dogs and goats, at Overcastle, and in spite of our specific agreement, he would do no repairs for us at all. He rested secure in my mother’s timidity. Once, long ago, she had been behind-hand with her rent, with half of her quarter’s rent, and he had extended the days of grace a month; her sense that some day she might need the same mercy again made her his abject59 slave. She was afraid even to ask that he should cause the roof to be mended for fear he might take offence. But one night the rain poured in on her bed and gave her a cold, and stained and soaked her poor old patchwork60 counterpane. Then she got me to compose an excessively polite letter to old Pettigrew, begging him as a favor to perform his legal obligations. It is part of the general imbecility of those days that such one-sided law as existed was a profound mystery to the common people, its provisions impossible to ascertain61, its machinery62 impossible to set in motion. Instead of the clearly written code, the lucid63 statements of rules and principles that are now at the service of every one, the law was the muddle65 secret of the legal profession. Poor people, overworked people, had constantly to submit to petty wrongs because of the intolerable uncertainty66 not only of law but of cost, and of the demands upon time and energy, proceedings67 might make. There was indeed no justice for any one too poor to command a good solicitor’s deference68 and loyalty69; there was nothing but rough police protection and the magistrate’s grudging70 or eccentric advice for the mass of the population. The civil law, in particular, was a mysterious upper-class weapon, and I can imagine no injustice71 that would have been sufficient to induce my poor old mother to appeal to it.
All this begins to sound incredible. I can only assure you that it was so.
But I, when I learned that old Pettigrew had been down to tell my mother all about his rheumatism72, to inspect the roof, and to allege73 that nothing was needed, gave way to my most frequent emotion in those days, a burning indignation, and took the matter into my own hands. I wrote and asked him, with a withering74 air of technicality, to have the roof repaired “as per agreement,” and added, “if not done in one week from now we shall be obliged to take proceedings.” I had not mentioned this high line of conduct to my mother at first, and so when old Pettigrew came down in a state of great agitation75 with my letter in his hand, she was almost equally agitated76.
“How could you write to old Mr. Pettigrew like that?” she asked me.
I said that old Pettigrew was a shameful77 old rascal78, or words to that effect, and I am afraid I behaved in a very undutiful way to her when she said that she had settled everything with him — she wouldn’t say how, but I could guess well enough — and that I was to promise her, promise her faithfully, to do nothing more in the matter. I wouldn’t promise her.
And — having nothing better to employ me then — I presently went raging to old Pettigrew in order to put the whole thing before him in what I considered the proper light. Old Pettigrew evaded80 my illumination; he saw me coming up his front steps — I can still see his queer old nose and the crinkled brow over his eye and the little wisp of gray hair that showed over the corner of his window-blind — and he instructed his servant to put up the chain when she answered the door, and to tell me that he would not see me. So I had to fall back upon my pen.
Then it was, as I had no idea what were the proper “proceedings” to take, the brilliant idea occurred to me of appealing to Lord Redcar as the ground landlord, and, as it were, our feudal81 chief, and pointing out to him that his security for his rent was depreciating82 in old Pettigrew’s hands. I added some general observations on leaseholds83, the taxation84 of ground rents, and the private ownership of the soil. And Lord Redcar, whose spirit revolted at democracy, and who cultivated a pert humiliating manner with his inferiors to show as much, earned my distinguished hatred for ever by causing his secretary to present his compliments to me, and his request that I would mind my own business and leave him to manage his. At which I was so greatly enraged85 that I first tore this note into minute innumerable pieces, and then dashed it dramatically all over the floor of my room — from which, to keep my mother from the job, I afterward86 had to pick it up laboriously88 on all-fours.
I was still meditating89 a tremendous retort, an indictment90 of all Lord Redcar’s class, their manners, morals, economic and political crimes, when my trouble with Nettie arose to swamp all minor91 troubles. Yet, not so completely but that I snarled92 aloud when his lordship’s motor-car whizzed by me, as I went about upon my long meandering93 quest for a weapon. And I discovered after a time that my mother had bruised95 her knee and was lame96. Fearing to irritate me by bringing the thing before me again, she had set herself to move her bed out of the way of the drip without my help, and she had knocked her knee. All her poor furnishings, I discovered, were cowering97 now close to the peeling bedroom walls; there had come a vast discoloration of the ceiling, and a washing-tub was in occupation of the middle of her chamber99 . . . .
It is necessary that I should set these things before you, should give the key of inconvenience and uneasiness in which all things were arranged, should suggest the breath of trouble that stirred along the hot summer streets, the anxiety about the strike, the rumors101 and indignations, the gatherings102 and meetings, the increasing gravity of the policemen’s faces, the combative104 headlines of the local papers, the knots of picketers who scrutinized105 any one who passed near the silent, smokeless forges, but in my mind, you must understand, such impressions came and went irregularly; they made a moving background, changing undertones, to my preoccupation by that darkly shaping purpose to which a revolver was so imperative106 an essential.
Along the darkling streets, amidst the sullen107 crowds, the thought of Nettie, my Nettie, and her gentleman lover made ever a vivid inflammatory spot of purpose in my brain.
Section 3
It was three days after this — on Wednesday, that is to say — that the first of those sinister108 outbreaks occurred that ended in the bloody109 affair of Peacock Grove110 and the flooding out of the entire line of the Swathinglea collieries. It was the only one of these disturbances111 I was destined112 to see, and at most a mere113 trivial preliminary of that struggle.
The accounts that have been written of this affair vary very widely. To read them is to realize the extraordinary carelessness of truth that dishonored the press of those latter days. In my bureau I have several files of the daily papers of the old time — I collected them, as a matter of fact — and three or four of about that date I have just this moment taken out and looked through to refresh my impression of what I saw. They lie before me — queer, shriveled, incredible things; the cheap paper has already become brittle114 and brown and split along the creases115, the ink faded or smeared116, and I have to handle them with the utmost care when I glance among their raging headlines. As I sit here in this serene117 place, their quality throughout, their arrangement, their tone, their arguments and exhortations119, read as though they came from drugged and drunken men. They give one the effect of faded bawling120, of screams and shouts heard faintly in a little gramophone. . . . It is only on Monday I find, and buried deep below the war news, that these publications contain any intimation that unusual happenings were forward in Clayton and Swathinglea.
What I saw was towards evening. I had been learning to shoot with my new possession. I had walked out with it four or five miles across a patch of moorland and down to a secluded121 little coppice full of blue-bells, halfway122 along the high-road between Leet and Stafford. Here I had spent the afternoon, experimenting and practising with careful deliberation and grim persistence123. I had brought an old kite-frame of cane124 with me, that folded and unfolded, and each shot-hole I made I marked and numbered to compare with my other endeavors. At last I was satisfied that I could hit a playing-card at thirty paces nine times out of ten; the light was getting too bad for me to see my penciled bull’s-eye, and in that state of quiet moodiness125 that sometimes comes with hunger to passionate men, I returned by the way of Swathinglea towards my home.
The road I followed came down between banks of wretched-looking working-men’s houses, in close-packed rows on either side, and took upon itself the role of Swathinglea High Street, where, at a lamp and a pillar-box, the steam-trams began. So far that dirty hot way had been unusually quiet and empty, but beyond the corner, where the first group of beershops clustered, it became populous127. It was very quiet still, even the children were a little inactive, but there were a lot of people standing39 dispersedly in little groups, and with a general direction towards the gates of the Bantock Burden coalpit.
The place was being picketed129, although at that time the miners were still nominally130 at work, and the conferences between masters and men still in session at Clayton Town Hall. But one of the men employed at the Bantock Burden pit, Jack131 Briscoe, was a socialist132, and he had distinguished himself by a violent letter upon the crisis to the leading socialistic paper in England, The Clarion133, in which he had adventured among the motives134 of Lord Redcar. The publication of this had been followed by instant dismissal. As Lord Redcar wrote a day or so later to the Times — I have that Times, I have all the London papers of the last month before the Change —
“The man was paid off and kicked out. Any self-respecting employer would do the same.” The thing had happened overnight, and the men did not at once take a clear line upon what was, after all, a very intricate and debatable occasion. But they came out in a sort of semiofficial strike from all Lord Redcar’s collieries beyond the canal that besets135 Swathinglea. They did so without formal notice, committing a breach of contract by this sudden cessation. But in the long labor87 struggles of the old days the workers were constantly putting themselves in the wrong and committing illegalities through that overpowering craving136 for dramatic promptness natural to uneducated minds.
All the men had not come out of the Bantock Burden pit. Something was wrong there, an indecision if nothing else; the mine was still working, and there was a rumor100 that men from Durham had been held in readiness by Lord Redcar, and were already in the mine. Now, it is absolutely impossible to ascertain certainly how things stood at that time. The newspapers say this and that, but nothing trustworthy remains138.
I believe I should have gone striding athwart the dark stage of that stagnant139 industrial drama without asking a question, if Lord Redcar had not chanced to come upon the scene about the same time as myself and incontinently end its stagnation140.
He had promised that if the men wanted a struggle he would put up the best fight they had ever had, and he had been active all that afternoon in meeting the quarrel half way, and preparing as conspicuously142 as possible for the scratch force of “blacklegs”— as we called them — who were, he said and we believed, to replace the strikers in his pits.
I was an eye-witness of the whole of the affair outside the Bantock Burden pit, and — I do not know what happened.
Picture to yourself how the thing came to me.
I was descending143 a steep, cobbled, excavated144 road between banked-up footways, perhaps six feet high, upon which, in a monotonous145 series, opened the living room doors of rows of dark, low cottages. The perspective of squat146 blue slate147 roofs and clustering chimneys drifted downward towards the irregular open space before the colliery — a space covered with coaly, wheel-scarred mud, with a patch of weedy dump to the left and the colliery gates to the right. Beyond, the High Street with shops resumed again in good earnest and went on, and the lines of the steam-tramway that started out from before my feet, and were here shining and acutely visible with reflected skylight and here lost in a shadow, took up for one acute moment the greasy148 yellow irradiation of a newly lit gaslamp as they vanished round the bend. Beyond, spread a darkling marsh149 of homes, an infinitude of little smoking hovels, and emergent, meager150 churches, public-houses, board schools, and other buildings amidst the prevailing151 chimneys of Swathinglea. To the right, very clear and relatively152 high, the Bantock Burden pit-mouth was marked by a gaunt lattice bearing a great black wheel, very sharp and distinct in the twilight153, and beyond, in an irregular perspective, were others following the lie of the seams. The general effect, as one came down the hill, was of a dark compressed life beneath a very high and wide and luminous154 evening sky, against which these pit-wheels rose. And ruling the calm spaciousness155 of that heaven was the great comet, now green-white, and wonderful for all who had eyes to see.
The fading afterglow of the sunset threw up all the contours and skyline to the west, and the comet rose eastward157 out of the pouring tumult158 of smoke from Bladden’s forges. The moon had still to rise.
By this time the comet had begun to assume the cloudlike form still familiar through the medium of a thousand photographs and sketches159. At first it had been an almost telescopic speck160; it had brightened to the dimensions of the greatest star in the heavens; it had still grown, hour by hour, in its incredibly swift, its noiseless and inevitable rush upon our earth, until it had equaled and surpassed the moon. Now it was the most splendid thing this sky of earth has ever held. I have never seen a photograph that gave a proper idea of it. Never at any time did it assume the conventional tailed outline, comets are supposed to have. Astronomers161 talked of its double tail, one preceding it and one trailing behind it, but these were foreshortened to nothing, so that it had rather the form of a bellying162 puff163 of luminous smoke with an intenser, brighter heart. It rose a hot yellow color, and only began to show its distinctive164 greenness when it was clear of the mists of the evening.
It compelled attention for a space. For all my earthly concentration of mind, I could but stare at it for a moment with a vague anticipation165 that, after all, in some way so strange and glorious an object must have significance, could not possibly be a matter of absolute indifference166 to the scheme and values of my life.
But how?
I thought of Parload. I thought of the panic and uneasiness that was spreading in this very matter, and the assurances of scientific men that the thing weighed so little — at the utmost a few hundred tons of thinly diffused167 gas and dust — that even were it to smite168 this earth fully79, nothing could possibly ensue. And, after all, said I, what earthly significance has any one found in the stars?
Then, as one still descended169, the houses and buildings rose up, the presence of those watching groups of people, the tension of the situation; and one forgot the sky.
Preoccupied170 with myself and with my dark dream about Nettie and my honor, I threaded my course through the stagnating171 threat of this gathering103, and was caught unawares, when suddenly the whole scene flashed into drama . . . .
The attention of every one swung round with an irresistible172 magnetism173 towards the High Street, and caught me as a rush of waters might catch a wisp of hay. Abruptly174 the whole crowd was sounding one note. It was not a word, it was a sound that mingled175 threat and protest, something between a prolonged “Ah!” and “Ugh!” Then with a hoarse177 intensity178 of anger came a low heavy booing, “Boo! boo — oo!” a note stupidly expressive49 of animal savagery179. “Toot, toot!” said Lord Redcar’s automobile in ridiculous repartee181. “Toot, toot!” One heard it whizzing and throbbing182 as the crowd obliged it to slow down.
Everybody seemed in motion towards the colliery gates, I, too, with the others.
I heard a shout. Through the dark figures about me I saw the motor-car stop and move forward again, and had a glimpse of something writhing183 on the ground.
It was alleged184 afterwards that Lord Redcar was driving, and that he quite deliberately185 knocked down a little boy who would not get out of his way. It is asserted with equal confidence that the boy was a man who tried to pass across the front of the motor-car as it came slowly through the crowd, who escaped by a hair’s breadth, and then slipped on the tram-rail and fell down. I have both accounts set forth, under screaming headlines, in two of these sere118 newspapers upon my desk. No one could ever ascertain the truth. Indeed, in such a blind tumult of passion, could there be any truth?
There was a rush forward, the horn of the car sounded, everything swayed violently to the right for perhaps ten yards or so, and there was a report like a pistol-shot.
For a moment every one seemed running away. A woman, carrying a shawl-wrapped child, blundered into me, and sent me reeling back. Every one thought of firearms, but, as a matter of fact, something had gone wrong with the motor, what in those old-fashioned contrivances was called a backfire. A thin puff of bluish smoke hung in the air behind the thing. The majority of the people scattered186 back in a disorderly fashion, and left a clear space about the struggle that centered upon the motor-car.
The man or boy who had fallen was lying on the ground with no one near him, a black lump, an extended arm and two sprawling188 feet. The motor-car had stopped, and its three occupants were standing up. Six or seven black figures surrounded the car, and appeared to be holding on to it as if to prevent it from starting again; one — it was Mitchell, a well-known labor leader — argued in fierce low tones with Lord Redcar. I could not hear anything they said, I was not near enough. Behind me the colliery gates were open, and there was a sense of help coming to the motor-car from that direction. There was an unoccupied muddy space for fifty yards, perhaps, between car and gate, and then the wheels and head of the pit rose black against the sky. I was one of a rude semicircle of people that hung as yet indeterminate in action about this dispute.
It was natural, I suppose, that my fingers should close upon the revolver in my pocket.
I advanced with the vaguest intentions in the world, and not so quickly but that several men hurried past me to join the little knot holding up the car.
Lord Redcar, in his big furry189 overcoat, towered up over the group about him; his gestures were free and threatening, and his voice loud. He made a fine figure there, I must admit; he was a big, fair, handsome young man with a fine tenor190 voice and an instinct for gallant effect. My eyes were drawn to him at first wholly. He seemed a symbol, a triumphant191 symbol, of all that the theory of aristocracy claims, of all that filled my soul with resentment192. His chauffeur193 sat crouched194 together, peering at the crowd under his lordship’s arm. But Mitchell showed as a sturdy figure also, and his voice was firm and loud.
“You’ve hurt that lad,” said Mitchell, over and over again. “You’ll wait here till you see if he’s hurt.”
“I’ll wait here or not as I please,” said Redcar; and to the chauffeur, “Here! get down and look at it!”
“You’d better not get down,” said Mitchell; and the chauffeur stood bent195 and hesitating on the step.
The man on the back seat stood up, leant forward, and spoke196 to Lord Redcar, and for the first time my attention was drawn to him. It was young Verrall! His handsome face shone clear and fine in the green pallor of the comet.
I ceased to hear the quarrel that was raising the voice of Mitchell and Lord Redcar. This new fact sent them spinning into the background. Young Verrall!
It was my own purpose coming to meet me half way.
There was to be a fight here, it seemed certain to come to a scuffle, and here we were —
What was I to do? I thought very swiftly. Unless my memory cheats me, I acted with swift decision. My hand tightened198 on my revolver, and then I remembered it was unloaded. I had thought my course out in an instant. I turned round and pushed my way out of the angry crowd that was now surging back towards the motor-car.
It would be quiet and out of sight, I thought, among the dump heaps across the road, and there I might load unobserved. . .
A big young man striding forward with his fists clenched199, halted for one second at the sight of me.
“What!” said he. “Ain’t afraid of them, are you?”
I glanced over my shoulder and back at him, was near showing him my pistol, and the expression changed in his eyes. He hung perplexed200 at me. Then with a grunt201 he went on.
I heard the voices growing loud and sharp behind me.
I hesitated, half turned towards the dispute, then set off running towards the heaps. Some instinct told me not to be detected loading. I was cool enough therefore to think of the aftermath of the thing I meant to do.
I looked back once again towards the swaying discussion — or was it a fight now? and then I dropped into the hollow, knelt among the weeds, and loaded with eager trembling fingers. I loaded one chamber, got up and went back a dozen paces, thought of possibilities, vacillated, returned and loaded all the others. I did it slowly because I felt a little clumsy, and at the end came a moment of inspection202 — had I forgotten any thing? And then for a few seconds I crouched before I rose, resisting the first gust25 of reaction against my impulse. I took thought, and for a moment that great green-white meteor overhead swam back into my conscious mind. For the first time then I linked it clearly with all the fierce violence that had crept into human life. I joined up that with what I meant to do. I was going to shoot young Verrall as it were under the benediction203 of that green glare.
But about Nettie?
I found it impossible to think out that obvious complication.
I came up over the heap again, and walked slowly back towards the wrangle204.
Of course I had to kill him . . . .
Now I would have you believe I did not want to murder young Verrall at all at that particular time. I had not pictured such circumstances as these, I had never thought of him in connection with Lord Redcar and our black industrial world. He was in that distant other world of Checkshill, the world of parks and gardens, the world of sunlit emotions and Nettie. His appearance here was disconcerting. I was taken by surprise. I was too tired and hungry to think clearly, and the hard implication of our antagonism prevailed with me. In the tumult of my passed emotions I had thought constantly of conflicts, confrontations205, deeds of violence, and now the memory of these things took possession of me as though they were irrevocable resolutions.
There was a sharp exclamation206, the shriek207 of a woman, and the crowd came surging back. The fight had begun.
Lord Redcar, I believe, had jumped down from his car and felled Mitchell, and men were already running out to his assistance from the colliery gates.
I had some difficulty in shoving through the crowd; I can still remember very vividly being jammed at one time between two big men so that my arms were pinned to my sides, but all the other details are gone out of my mind until I found myself almost violently projected forward into the “scrap.”
I blundered against the corner of the motor-car, and came round it face to face with young Verrall, who was descending from the back compartment208. His face was touched with orange from the automobile’s big lamps, which conflicted with the shadows of the comet light, and distorted him oddly. That effect lasted but an instant, but it put me out. Then he came a step forward, and the ruddy lights and queerness vanished.
I don’t think he recognized me, but he perceived immediately I meant attacking. He struck out at once at me a haphazard209 blow, and touched me on the cheek.
Instinctively210 I let go of the pistol, snatched my right hand out of my pocket and brought it up in a belated parry, and then let out with my left full in his chest.
It sent him staggering, and as he went back I saw recognition mingle176 with astonishment212 in his face.
“You know me, you swine,” I cried and hit again.
Then I was spinning sideways, half-stunned, with a huge lump of a fist under my jaw213. I had an impression of Lord Redcar as a great furry bulk, towering like some Homeric hero above the fray214. I went down before him — it made him seem to rush up — and he ignored me further. His big flat voice counseled young Verrall —
“Cut, Teddy! It won’t do. The picketa’s got i’on bahs . . . .”
Feet swayed about me, and some hobnailed miner kicked my ankle and went stumbling. There were shouts and curses, and then everything had swept past me. I rolled over on my face and beheld215 the chauffeur, young Verrall, and Lord Redcar — the latter holding up his long skirts of fur, and making a grotesque216 figure — one behind the other, in full bolt across a coldly comet-lit interval217, towards the open gates of the colliery.
I raised myself up on my hands.
Young Verrall!
I had not even drawn my revolver — I had forgotten it. I was covered with coaly mud — knees, elbows, shoulders, back. I had not even drawn my revolver! . .
A feeling of ridiculous impotence overwhelmed me. I struggled painfully to my feet.
I hesitated for a moment towards the gates of the colliery, and then went limping homeward, thwarted, painful, confused, and ashamed. I had not the heart nor desire to help in the wrecking218 and burning of Lord Redcar’s motor.
Section 4
In the night, fever, pain, fatigue219 — it may be the indigestion of my supper of bread and cheese — roused me at last out of a hag-rid sleep to face despair. I was a soul lost amidst desolations and shame, dishonored, evilly treated, hopeless. I raged against the God I denied, and cursed him as I lay.
And it was in the nature of my fever, which was indeed only half fatigue and illness, and the rest the disorder187 of passionate youth, that Nettie, a strangely distorted Nettie, should come through the brief dreams that marked the exhaustions of that vigil, to dominate my misery220. I was sensible, with an exaggerated distinctness, of the intensity of her physical charm for me, of her every grace and beauty; she took to herself the whole gamut221 of desire in me and the whole gamut of pride. She, bodily, was my lost honor. It was not only loss but disgrace to lose her. She stood for life and all that was denied; she mocked me as a creature of failure and defeat. My spirit raised itself towards her, and then the bruise94 upon my jaw glowed with a dull heat, and I rolled in the mud again before my rivals.
There were times when something near madness took me, and I gnashed my teeth and dug my nails into my hands and ceased to curse and cry out only by reason of the insufficiency of words. And once towards dawn I got out of bed, and sat by my looking-glass with my revolver loaded in my hand. I stood up at last and put it carefully in my drawer and locked it — out of reach of any gusty222 impulse. After that I slept for a little while.
Such nights were nothing rare and strange in that old order of the world. Never a city, never a night the whole year round, but amidst those who slept were those who waked, plumbing223 the deeps of wrath224 and misery. Countless225 thousands there were so ill, so troubled, they agonize226 near to the very border-line of madness, each one the center of a universe darkened and lost. . .
The next day I spent in gloomy lethargy.
I had intended to go to Checkshill that day, but my bruised ankle was too swollen227 for that to be possible. I sat indoors in the ill-lit downstairs kitchen, with my foot bandaged, and mused228 darkly and read. My dear old mother waited on me, and her brown eyes watched me and wondered at my black silences, my frowning preoccupations. I had not told her how it was my ankle came to be bruised and my clothes muddy. She had brushed my clothes in the morning before I got up.
Ah well! Mothers are not treated in that way now. That I suppose must console me. I wonder how far you will be able to picture that dark, grimy, untidy room, with its bare deal table, its tattered229 wall paper, the saucepans and kettle on the narrow, cheap, but by no means economical range, the ashes under the fireplace, the rust-spotted steel fender on which my bandaged feet rested; I wonder how near you can come to seeing the scowling230 pale-faced hobbledehoy I was, unshaven and collarless, in the Windsor chair, and the little timid, dirty, devoted231 old woman who hovered232 about me with love peering out from her puckered233 eyelids234. . .
When she went out to buy some vegetables in the middle of the morning she got me a half-penny journal. It was just such a one as these upon my desk, only that the copy I read was damp from the press, and these are so dry and brittle, they crack if I touch them. I have a copy of the actual issue I read that morning; it was a paper called emphatically the New Paper, but everybody bought it and everybody called it the “yell.” It was full that morning of stupendous news and still more stupendous headlines, so stupendous that for a little while I was roused from my egotistical broodings to wider interests. For it seemed that Germany and England were on the brink235 of war.
Of all the monstrous236 irrational237 phenomena238 of the former time, war was certainly the most strikingly insane. In reality it was probably far less mischievous239 than such quieter evil as, for example, the general acquiescence240 in the private ownership of land, but its evil consequences showed so plainly that even in those days of stifling241 confusion one marveled at it. On no conceivable grounds was there any sense in modern war. Save for the slaughter242 and mangling243 of a multitude of people, the destruction of vast quantities of material, and the waste of innumerable units of energy, it effected nothing. The old war of savage180 and barbaric nations did at least change humanity, you assumed yourselves to be a superior tribe in physique and discipline, you demonstrated this upon your neighbors, and if successful you took their land and their women and perpetuated244 and enlarged your superiority. The new war changed nothing but the color of maps, the design of postage stamps, and the relationship of a few accidentally conspicuous141 individuals. In one of the last of these international epileptic fits, for example, the English, with much dysentery and bad poetry, and a few hundred deaths in battle, conquered the South African Boers at a gross cost of about three thousand pounds per head — they could have bought the whole of that preposterous245 imitation of a nation for a tenth of that sum — and except for a few substitutions of personalities246, this group of partially247 corrupt248 officials in the place of that, and so forth, the permanent change was altogether insignificant249. (But an excitable young man in Austria committed suicide when at length the Transvaal ceased to be a “nation.”) Men went through the seat of that war after it was all over, and found humanity unchanged, except for a general impoverishment250, and the convenience of an unlimited251 supply of empty ration98 tins and barbed wire and cartridge253 cases — unchanged and resuming with a slight perplexity all its old habits and misunderstandings, the nigger still in his slum-like kraal, the white in his ugly ill-managed shanty254. . .
But we in England saw all these things, or did not see them, through the mirage255 of the New Paper, in a light of mania256. All my adolescence257 from fourteen to seventeen went to the music of that monstrous resonating futility258, the cheering, the anxieties, the songs and the waving of flags, the wrongs of generous Buller and the glorious heroism259 of De Wet — who ALWAYS got away; that was the great point about the heroic De Wet — and it never occurred to us that the total population we fought against was less than half the number of those who lived cramped260 ignoble261 lives within the compass of the Four Towns.
But before and after that stupid conflict of stupidities, a greater antagonism was coming into being, was slowly and quietly defining itself as a thing inevitable, sinking now a little out of attention only to resume more emphatically, now flashing into some acute definitive263 expression and now percolating264 and pervading265 some new region of thought, and that was the antagonism of Germany and Great Britain.
When I think of that growing proportion of readers who belong entirely266 to the new order, who are growing up with only the vaguest early memories of the old world, I find the greatest difficulty in writing down the unintelligible267 confusions that were matter of fact to their fathers.
Here were we British, forty-one millions of people, in a state of almost indescribably aimless, economic, and moral muddle that we had neither the courage, the energy, nor the intelligence to improve, that most of us had hardly the courage to think about, and with our affairs hopelessly entangled268 with the entirely different confusions of three hundred and fifty million other persons scattered about the globe, and here were the Germans over against us, fifty-six millions, in a state of confusion no whit156 better than our own, and the noisy little creatures who directed papers and wrote books and gave lectures, and generally in that time of world-dementia pretended to be the national mind, were busy in both countries, with a sort of infernal unanimity269, exhorting270 — and not only exhorting but successfully persuading — the two peoples to divert such small common store of material, moral and intellectual energy as either possessed271, into the purely272 destructive and wasteful273 business of war. And — I have to tell you these things even if you do not believe them, because they are vital to my story — there was not a man alive who could have told you of any real permanent benefit, of anything whatever to counterbalance the obvious waste and evil, that would result from a war between England and Germany, whether England shattered Germany or was smashed and overwhelmed, or whatever the end might be.
The thing was, in fact, an enormous irrational obsession274, it was, in the microcosm of our nation, curiously275 parallel to the egotistical wrath and jealousy that swayed my individual microcosm. It measured the excess of common emotion over the common intelligence, the legacy276 of inordinate277 passion we have received from the brute278 from which we came. Just as I had become the slave of my own surprise and anger and went hither and thither279 with a loaded revolver, seeking and intending vague fluctuating crimes, so these two nations went about the earth, hot eared and muddle headed, with loaded navies and armies terribly ready at hand. Only there was not even a Nettie to justify280 their stupidity. There was nothing but quiet imaginary thwarting281 on either side.
And the press was the chief instrument that kept these two huge multitudes of people directed against one another.
The press — those newspapers that are now so strange to us — like the “Empires,” the “Nations,” the Trusts, and all the other great monstrous shapes of that extraordinary time — was in the nature of an unanticipated accident. It had happened, as weeds happen in abandoned gardens, just as all our world has happened,— because there was no clear Will in the world to bring about anything better. Towards the end this “press” was almost entirely under the direction of youngish men of that eager, rather unintelligent type, that is never able to detect itself aimless, that pursues nothing with incredible pride and zeal282, and if you would really understand this mad era the comet brought to an end, you must keep in mind that every phase in the production of these queer old things was pervaded283 by a strong aimless energy and happened in a concentrated rush.
Let me describe to you, very briefly284, a newspaper day.
Figure first, then, a hastily erected285 and still more hastily designed building in a dirty, paper-littered back street of old London, and a number of shabbily dressed men coming and going in this with projectile287 swiftness, and within this factory companies of printers, tensely active with nimble fingers — they were always speeding up the printers — ply252 their type-setting machines, and cast and arrange masses of metal in a sort of kitchen inferno288, above which, in a beehive of little brightly lit rooms, disheveled men sit and scribble289. There is a throbbing of telephones and a clicking of telegraph needles, a rushing of messengers, a running to and fro of heated men, clutching proofs and copy. Then begins a clatter290 roar of machinery catching291 the infection, going faster and faster, and whizzing and banging,— engineers, who have never had time to wash since their birth, flying about with oil-cans, while paper runs off its rolls with a shudder292 of haste. The proprietor293 you must suppose arriving explosively on a swift motor-car, leaping out before the thing is at a standstill, with letters and documents clutched in his hand, rushing in, resolute22 to “hustle,” getting wonderfully in everybody’s way. At the sight of him even the messenger boys who are waiting, get up and scamper294 to and fro. Sprinkle your vision with collisions, curses, incoherencies. You imagine all the parts of this complex lunatic machine working hysterically295 toward a crescendo296 of haste and excitement as the night wears on. At last the only things that seem to travel slowly in all those tearing vibrating premises297 are the hands of the clock.
Slowly things draw on toward publication, the consummation of all those stresses. Then in the small hours, into the now dark and deserted298 streets comes a wild whirl of carts and men, the place spurts299 paper at every door, bales, heaps, torrents300 of papers, that are snatched and flung about in what looks like a free fight, and off with a rush and clatter east, west, north, and south. The interest passes outwardly; the men from the little rooms are going homeward, the printers disperse128 yawning, the roaring presses slacken. The paper exists. Distribution follows manufacture, and we follow the bundles.
Our vision becomes a vision of dispersal. You see those bundles hurling301 into stations, catching trains by a hair’s breadth, speeding on their way, breaking up, smaller bundles of them hurled302 with a fierce accuracy out upon the platforms that rush by, and then everywhere a division of these smaller bundles into still smaller bundles, into dispersing303 parcels, into separate papers, and the dawn happens unnoticed amidst a great running and shouting of boys, a shoving through letter slots, openings of windows, spreading out upon book-stalls. For the space of a few hours you must figure the whole country dotted white with rustling304 papers — placards everywhere vociferating the hurried lie for the day; men and women in trains, men and women eating and reading, men by study-fenders, people sitting up in bed, mothers and sons and daughters waiting for father to finish — a million scattered people reading — reading headlong — or feverishly305 ready to read. It is just as if some vehement306 jet had sprayed that white foam307 of papers over the surface of the land. . .
And then you know, wonderfully gone — gone utterly308, vanished as foam might vanish upon the sand.
Nonsense! The whole affair a noisy paroxysm of nonsense, unreasonable309 excitement, witless mischief310, and waste of strength — signifying nothing . . . .
And one of those white parcels was the paper I held in my hands, as I sat with a bandaged foot on the steel fender in that dark underground kitchen of my mother’s, clean roused from my personal troubles by the yelp311 of the headlines. She sat, sleeves tucked up from her ropy arms, peeling potatoes as I read.
It was like one of a flood of disease germs that have invaded a body, that paper. There I was, one corpuscle in the big amorphous312 body of the English community, one of forty-one million such corpuscles and, for all my preoccupations, these potent313 headlines, this paper ferment314, caught me and swung me about. And all over the country that day, millions read as I read, and came round into line with me, under the same magnetic spell, came round — how did we say it?— Ah!—“to face the foe315.”
The comet had been driven into obscurity overleaf. The column headed “Distinguished Scientist says Comet will Strike our Earth. Does it Matter?” went unread. “Germany”— I usually figured this mythical316 malignant317 creature as a corseted stiff-mustached Emperor enhanced by heraldic black wings and a large sword — had insulted our flag. That was the message of the New Paper, and the monster towered over me, threatening fresh outrages318, visibly spitting upon my faultless country’s colors. Somebody had hoisted319 a British flag on the right bank of some tropical river I had never heard of before, and a drunken German officer under ambiguous instructions had torn it down. Then one of the convenient abundant natives of the country, a British subject indisputably, had been shot in the leg. But the facts were by no means clear. Nothing was clear except that we were not going to stand any nonsense from Germany. Whatever had or had not happened we meant to have an apology for, and apparently320 they did not mean apologizing.
“HAS War COME AT LAST?”
That was the headline. One’s heart leapt to assent321 . . . .
There were hours that day when I clean forgot Nettie, in dreaming of battles and victories by land and sea, of shell fire, and entrenchments, and the heaped slaughter of many thousands of men.
But the next morning I started for Checkshill, started, I remember, in a curiously hopeful state of mind, oblivious322 of comets, strikes, and wars.
Section 3
You must understand that I had no set plan of murder when I walked over to Checkshill. I had no set plan of any sort. There was a great confusion of dramatically conceived intentions in my head, scenes of threatening and denunciation and terror, but I did not mean to kill. The revolver was to turn upon my rival my disadvantage in age and physique . . . .
But that was not it really! The revolver!— I took the revolver because I had the revolver and was a foolish young lout323. It was a dramatic sort of thing to take. I had, I say, no plan at all.
Ever and again during that second trudge324 to Checkshill I was irradiated with a novel unreasonable hope. I had awakened325 in the morning with the hope, it may have been the last unfaded trail of some obliterated326 dream, that after all Nettie might relent toward me, that her heart was kind toward me in spite of all that I imagined had happened. I even thought it possible that I might have misinterpreted what I had seen. Perhaps she would explain everything. My revolver was in my pocket for all that.
I limped at the outset, but after the second mile my ankle warmed to forgetfulness, and the rest of the way I walked well. Suppose, after all, I was wrong?
I was still debating that, as I came through the park. By the corner of the paddock near the keeper’s cottage, I was reminded by some belated blue hyacinths of a time when I and Nettie had gathered them together. It seemed impossible that we could really have parted ourselves for good and all. A wave of tenderness flowed over me, and still flooded me as I came through the little dell and drew towards the hollies327. But there the sweet Nettie of my boy’s love faded, and I thought of the new Nettie of desire and the man I had come upon in the moonlight, I thought of the narrow, hot purpose that had grown so strongly out of my springtime freshness, and my mood darkened to night.
I crossed the beech328 wood and came towards the gardens with a resolute and sorrowful heart. When I reached the green door in the garden wall I was seized for a space with so violent a trembling that I could not grip the latch329 to lift it, for I no longer had any doubt how this would end. That trembling was succeeded by a feeling of cold, and whiteness, and self-pity. I was astonished to find myself grimacing330, to feel my cheeks wet, and thereupon I gave way completely to a wild passion of weeping. I must take just a little time before the thing was done. . . . I turned away from the door and stumbled for a little distance, sobbing331 loudly, and lay down out of sight among the bracken, and so presently became calm again. I lay there some time. I had half a mind to desist, and then my emotion passed like the shadow of a cloud, and I walked very coolly into the gardens.
Through the open door of one of the glass houses I saw old Stuart. He was leaning against the staging, his hands in his pockets, and so deep in thought he gave no heed332 to me.
I hesitated and went on towards the cottage, slowly.
Something struck me as unusual about the place, but I could not tell at first what it was. One of the bedroom windows was open, and the customary short blind, with its brass333 upper rail partly unfastened, drooped334 obliquely335 across the vacant space. It looked negligent336 and odd, for usually everything about the cottage was conspicuously trim.
The door was standing wide open, and everything was still. But giving that usually orderly hall an odd look — it was about half-past two in the afternoon — was a pile of three dirty plates, with used knives and forks upon them, on one of the hall chairs.
I went into the hall, looked into either room, and hesitated.
Then I fell to upon the door-knocker and gave a loud rat-tat-too, and followed this up with an amiable337 “Hel-lo!”
For a time no one answered me, and I stood listening and expectant, with my fingers about my weapon. Some one moved about upstairs presently, and was still again. The tension of waiting seemed to brace338 my nerves.
I had my hand on the knocker for the second time, when Puss appeared in the doorway339.
For a moment we remained staring at one another without speaking. Her hair was disheveled, her face dirty, tear-stained, and irregularly red. Her expression at the sight of me was pure astonishment. I thought she was about to say something, and then she had darted340 away out of the house again.
“I say, Puss!” I said. “Puss!”
I followed her out of the door. “Puss! What’s the matter? Where’s Nettie?”
She vanished round the corner of the house.
I hesitated, perplexed whether I should pursue her. What did it all mean? Then I heard some one upstairs.
“Willie!” cried the voice of Mrs. Stuart. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Where’s every one? Where’s Nettie? I want to have a talk with her.”
She did not answer, but I heard her dress rustle341 as she moved. I Judged she was upon the landing overhead.
I paused at the foot of the stairs, expecting her to appear and come down.
Suddenly came a strange sound, a rush of sounds, words jumbled and hurrying, confused and shapeless, borne along upon a note of throaty distress342 that at last submerged the words altogether and ended in a wail343. Except that it came from a woman’s throat it was exactly the babbling344 sound of a weeping child with a grievance345. “I can’t,” she said, “I can’t,” and that was all I could distinguish. It was to my young ears the strangest sound conceivable from a kindly346 motherly little woman, whom I had always thought of chiefly as an unparalleled maker347 of cakes. It frightened me. I went upstairs at once in a state of infinite alarm, and there she was upon the landing, leaning forward over the top of the chest of drawers beside her open bedroom door, and weeping. I never saw such weeping. One thick strand348 of black hair had escaped, and hung with a spiral twist down her back; never before had I noticed that she had gray hairs.
As I came up upon the landing her voice rose again. “Oh that I should have to tell you, Willie! Oh that I should have to tell you!” She dropped her head again, and a fresh gust of tears swept all further words away.
I said nothing, I was too astonished; but I drew nearer to her, and waited . . . .
I never saw such weeping; the extraordinary wetness of her dripping handkerchief abides349 with me to this day.
“That I should have lived to see this day!” she wailed350. “I had rather a thousand times she was struck dead at my feet.”
I began to understand.
“Mrs. Stuart,” I said, clearing my throat; “what has become of Nettie?”
“That I should have lived to see this day!” she said by way of reply.
I waited till her passion abated351.
There came a lull352. I forgot the weapon in my pocket. I said nothing, and suddenly she stood erect286 before me, wiping her swollen eyes. “Willie,” she gulped353, “she’s gone!”
“Nettie?”
“Gone! . . . Run away. . . . Run away from her home. Oh, Willie, Willie! The shame of it! The sin and shame of it!”
She flung herself upon my shoulder, and clung to me, and began again to wish her daughter lying dead at our feet.
“There, there,” said I, and all my being was a-tremble. “Where has she gone?” I said as softly as I could.
But for the time she was preoccupied with her own sorrow, and I had to hold her there, and comfort her with the blackness of finality spreading over my soul.
“Where has she gone?” I asked for the fourth time.
“I don’t know — we don’t know. And oh, Willie, she went out yesterday morning! I said to her, ‘Nettie,’ I said to her, ‘you’re mighty354 fine for a morning call.’ ‘Fine clo’s for a fine day,’ she said, and that was her last words to me!— Willie!— the child I suckled at my breast!”
“Yes, yes. But where has she gone?” I said.
She went on with sobs355, and now telling her story with a sort of fragmentary hurry: “She went out bright and shining, out of this house for ever. She was smiling, Willie — as if she was glad to be going. (“Glad to be going,” I echoed with soundless lips.) ‘You’re mighty fine for the morning,’ I says; ‘mighty fine.’ ‘Let the girl be pretty,’ says her father, ‘while she’s young!’ And somewhere she’d got a parcel of her things hidden to pick up, and she was going off — out of this house for ever!”
She became quiet.
“Let the girl be pretty,” she repeated; “let the girl be pretty while she’s young. . . . Oh! how can we go on LIVING, Willie? He doesn’t show it, but he’s like a stricken beast. He’s wounded to the heart. She was always his favorite. He never seemed to care for Puss like he did for her. And she’s wounded him —”
“Where has she gone?” I reverted356 at last to that.
“We don’t know. She leaves her own blood, she trusts herself — Oh, Willie, it’ll kill me! I wish she and me together were lying in our graves.”
“But”— I moistened my lips and spoke slowly —“she may have gone to marry.”
“If that was so! I’ve prayed to God it might be so, Willie. I’ve prayed that he’d take pity on her — him, I mean, she’s with.”
I jerked out: “Who’s that?”
“In her letter, she said he was a gentleman. She did say he was a gentleman.”
“In her letter. Has she written? Can I see her letter?”
“Her father took it.”
“But if she writes — When did she write?”
“It came this morning.”
“But where did it come from? You can tell —”
“She didn’t say. She said she was happy. She said love took one like a storm —”
“Curse that! Where is her letter? Let me see it. And as for this gentleman —”
She stared at me.
“You know who it is.”
“Willie!” she protested.
“You know who it is, whether she said or not?” Her eyes made a mute unconfident denial.
“Young Verrall?”
She made no answer. “All I could do for you, Willie,” she began presently.
“Was it young Verrall?” I insisted.
For a second, perhaps, we faced one another in stark357 understanding. . . . Then she plumped back to the chest of drawers, and her wet pocket-handkerchief, and I knew she sought refuge from my relentless358 eyes.
My pity for her vanished. She knew it was her mistress’s son as well as I! And for some time she had known, she had felt.
I hovered over her for a moment, sick with amazed disgust. I suddenly bethought me of old Stuart, out in the greenhouse, and turned and went downstairs. As I did so, I looked up to see Mrs. Stuart moving droopingly and lamely359 back into her own room.
Section 6
Old Stuart was pitiful.
I found him still inert360 in the greenhouse where I had first seen him. He did not move as I drew near him; he glanced at me, and then stared hard again at the flowerpots before him.
“Eh, Willie,” he said, “this is a black day for all of us.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“The missus takes on so,” he said. “I came out here.”
“What do you mean to do?”
“What IS a man to do in such a case?”
“Do!” I cried, “why — Do!”
“He ought to marry her,” he said.
“By God, yes!” I cried. “He must do that anyhow.”
“He ought to. It’s — it’s cruel. But what am I to do? Suppose he won’t? Likely he won’t. What then?”
He drooped with an intensified361 despair.
“Here’s this cottage,” he said, pursuing some contracted argument. “We’ve lived here all our lives, you might say . . . . Clear out. At my age. . . . One can’t die in a slum.”
I stood before him for a space, speculating what thoughts might fill the gaps between these broken words. I found his lethargy, and the dimly shaped mental attitudes his words indicated, abominable362. I said abruptly, “You have her letter?”
He dived into his breast-pocket, became motionless for ten seconds, then woke up again and produced her letter. He drew it clumsily from its envelope, and handed it to me silently.
“Why!” he cried, looking at me for the first time, “What’s come to your chin, Willie?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “It’s a bruise;” and I opened the letter.
It was written on greenish tinted363 fancy note-paper, and with all and more than Nettie’s usual triteness364 and inadequacy365 of expression. Her handwriting bore no traces of emotion; it was round and upright and clear as though it had been done in a writing lesson. Always her letters were like masks upon her image; they fell like curtains before the changing charm of her face; one altogether forgot the sound of her light clear voice, confronted by a perplexing stereotyped366 thing that had mysteriously got a hold upon one’s heart and pride. How did that letter run?—
“MY DEAR MOTHER,
“Do not be distressed367 at my going away. I have gone somewhere safe, and with some one who cares for me very much. I am sorry for your sakes, but it seems that it had to be. Love is a very difficult thing, and takes hold of one in ways one does not expect. Do not think I am ashamed about this, I glory in my love, and you must not trouble too much about me. I am very, very happy (deeply underlined).
“Fondest love to Father and Puss. “Your loving “Nettie.”
That queer little document! I can see it now for the childish simple thing it was, but at the time I read it in a suppressed anguish368 of rage. It plunged369 me into a pit of hopeless shame; there seemed to remain no pride for me in life until I had revenge. I stood staring at those rounded upstanding letters, not trusting myself to speak or move. At last I stole a glance at Stuart.
He held the envelope in his hand, and stared down at the postmark between his horny thumbnails.
“You can’t even tell where she is,” he said, turning the thing round in a hopeless manner, and then desisting. “It’s hard on us, Willie. Here she is; she hadn’t anything to complain of; a sort of pet for all of us. Not even made to do her share of the ‘ousework. And she goes off and leaves us like a bird that’s learnt to fly. Can’t TRUST us, that’s what takes me. Puts ‘erself — But there! What’s to happen to her?”
“What’s to happen to him?”
He shook his head to show that problem was beyond him.
“You’ll go after her,” I said in an even voice; “you’ll make him marry her?”
“Where am I to go?” he asked helplessly, and held out the envelope with a gesture; “and what could I do? Even if I knew — How could I leave the gardens?”
“Great God!” I cried, “not leave these gardens! It’s your Honor, man! If she was my daughter — if she was my daughter — I’d tear the world to pieces!” . . I choked. “You mean to stand it?”
“What can I do?”
“Make him marry her! Horsewhip him! Horsewhip him, I say!— I’d strangle him!”
He scratched slowly at his hairy cheek, opened his mouth, and shook his head. Then, with an intolerable note of sluggish370 gentle wisdom, he said, “People of our sort, Willie, can’t do things like that.”
I came near to raving137. I had a wild impulse to strike him in the face. Once in my boyhood I happened upon a bird terribly mangled371 by some cat, and killed it in a frenzy372 of horror and pity. I had a gust of that same emotion now, as this shameful mutilated soul fluttered in the dust, before me. Then, you know, I dismissed him from the case.
“May I look?” I asked.
He held out the envelope reluctantly.
“There it is,” he said, and pointing with his garden-rough forefinger373. “I.A.P.A.M.P. What can you make of that?”
I took the thing in my hands. The adhesive374 stamp customary in those days was defaced by a circular postmark, which bore the name of the office of departure and the date. The impact in this particular case had been light or made without sufficient ink, and half the letters of the name had left no impression. I could distinguish —
I A P A M P
and very faintly below D.S.O.
I guessed the name in an instant flash of intuition. It was Shaphambury. The very gaps shaped that to my mind. Perhaps in a sort of semi-visibility other letters were there, at least hinting themselves. It was a place somewhere on the east coast, I knew, either in Norfolk or Suffolk.
“Why!” cried I— and stopped.
What was the good of telling him?
Old Stuart had glanced up sharply, I am inclined to think almost fearfully, into my face. “You — you haven’t got it?” he said.
Shaphambury — I should remember that.
“You don’t think you got it?” he said.
I handed the envelope back to him.
“For a moment I thought it might be Hampton,” I said.
“Hampton,” he repeated. “Hampton. How could you make Hampton?” He turned the envelope about. “H.A.M.— why, Willie, you’re a worse hand at the job than me!”
He replaced the letter in the envelope and stood erect to put this back in his breast pocket.
I did not mean to take any risks in this affair. I drew a stump375 of pencil from my waistcoat pocket, turned a little away from him and wrote “Shaphambury” very quickly on my frayed376 and rather grimy shirt cuff197.
“Well,” said I, with an air of having done nothing remarkable377.
I turned to him with some unimportant observation — I have forgotten what.
I never finished whatever vague remark I commenced.
I looked up to see a third person waiting at the greenhouse door.
Section 7
It was old Mrs. Verrall.
I wonder if I can convey the effect of her to you. She was a little old lady with extraordinarily378 flaxen hair, her weak aquiline379 features were pursed up into an assumption of dignity, and she was richly dressed. I would like to underline that “richly dressed,” or have the words printed in florid old English or Gothic lettering. No one on earth is now quite so richly dressed as she was, no one old or young indulges in so quiet and yet so profound a sumptuosity380. But you must not imagine any extravagance of outline or any beauty or richness of color. The predominant colors were black and fur browns, and the effect of richness was due entirely to the extreme costliness381 of the materials employed. She affected382 silk brocades with rich and elaborate patterns, priceless black lace over creamy or purple satin, intricate trimmings through which threads and bands of velvet383 wriggled384, and in the winter rare furs. Her gloves fitted exquisitely385, and ostentatiously simple chains of fine gold and pearls, and a great number of bracelets386, laced about her little person. One was forced to feel that the slightest article she wore cost more than all the wardrobe of a dozen girls like Nettie; her bonnet387 affected the simplicity388 that is beyond rubies389. Richness, that is the first quality about this old lady that I would like to convey to you, and the second was cleanliness. You felt that old Mrs. Verrall was exquisitely clean. If you had boiled my poor dear old mother in soda390 for a month you couldn’t have got her so clean as Mrs. Verrall constantly and manifestly was. And pervading all her presence shone her third great quality, her manifest confidence in the respectful subordination of the world.
She was pale and a little out of breath that day, but without any loss of her ultimate confidence, and it was clear to me that she had come to interview Stuart upon the outbreak of passion that had bridged the gulf391 between their families.
And here again I find myself writing in an unknown language, so far as my younger readers are concerned. You who know only the world that followed the Great Change will find much that I am telling inconceivable. Upon these points I cannot appeal, as I have appealed for other confirmations392, to the old newspapers; these were the things that no one wrote about because every one understood and every one had taken up an attitude. There were in England and America, and indeed throughout the world, two great informal divisions of human beings — the Secure and the Insecure. There was not and never had been in either country a nobility — it was and remains a common error that the British peers were noble — neither in law nor custom were there noble families, and we altogether lacked the edification one found in Russia, for example, of a poor nobility. A peerage was an hereditary393 possession that, like the family land, concerned only the eldest394 sons of the house; it radiated no luster126 of noblesse oblige. The rest of the world were in law and practice common — and all America was common. But through the private ownership of land that had resulted from the neglect of feudal obligations in Britain and the utter want of political foresight395 in the Americas, large masses of property had become artificially stable in the hands of a small minority, to whom it was necessary to mortgage all new public and private enterprises, and who were held together not by any tradition of service and nobility but by the natural sympathy of common interests and a common large scale of living. It was a class without any very definite boundaries; vigorous individualities, by methods for the most part violent and questionable396, were constantly thrusting themselves from insecurity to security, and the sons and daughters of secure people, by marrying insecurity or by wild extravagance or flagrant vice64, would sink into the life of anxiety and insufficiency which was the ordinary life of man. The rest of the population was landless and, except by working directly or indirectly397 for the Secure, had no legal right to exist. And such was the shallowness and insufficiency of our thought, such the stifled398 egotism of all our feelings before the Last Days, that very few indeed of the Secure could be found to doubt that this was the natural and only conceivable order of the world.
It is the life of the Insecure under the old order that I am displaying, and I hope that I am conveying something of its hopeless bitterness to you, but you must not imagine that the Secure lived lives of paradisiacal happiness. The pit of insecurity below them made itself felt, even though it was not comprehended. Life about them was ugly; the sight of ugly and mean houses, of ill-dressed people, the vulgar appeals of the dealers399 in popular commodities, were not to be escaped. There was below the threshold of their minds an uneasiness; they not only did not think clearly about social economy but they displayed an instinctive211 disinclination to think. Their security was not so perfect that they had not a dread400 of falling towards the pit, they were always lashing262 themselves by new ropes, their cultivation401 of “connexions,” of interests, their desire to confirm and improve their positions, was a constant ignoble preoccupation. You must read Thackeray to get the full flavor of their lives. Then the bacterium402 was apt to disregard class distinctions, and they were never really happy in their servants. Read their surviving books. Each generation bewails the decay of that “fidelity” of servants, no generation ever saw. A world that is squalid in one corner is squalid altogether, but that they never understood. They believed there was not enough of anything to go round, they believed that this was the intention of God and an incurable403 condition of life, and they held passionately404 and with a sense of right to their disproportionate share. They maintained a common intercourse405 as “Society” of all who were practically secure, and their choice of that word is exhaustively eloquent406 of the quality of their philosophy. But, if you can master these alien ideas upon which the old system rested, just in the same measure will you understand the horror these people had for marriages with the Insecure. In the case of their girls and women it was extraordinarily rare, and in the case of either sex it was regarded as a disastrous407 social crime. Anything was better than that.
You are probably aware of the hideous fate that was only too probably the lot, during those last dark days, of every girl of the insecure classes who loved and gave way to the impulse of self-abandonment without marriage, and so you will understand the peculiar408 situation of Nettie with young Verrall. One or other had to suffer. And as they were both in a state of great emotional exaltation and capable of strange generosities409 toward each other, it was an open question and naturally a source of great anxiety to a mother in Mrs. Verrall’s position, whether the sufferer might not be her son — whether as the outcome of that glowing irresponsible commerce Nettie might not return prospective410 mistress of Checkshill Towers. The chances were greatly against that conclusion, but such things did occur.
These laws and customs sound, I know, like a record of some nasty-minded lunatic’s inventions. They were invincible411 facts in that vanished world into which, by some accident, I had been born, and it was the dream of any better state of things that was scouted412 as lunacy. Just think of it! This girl I loved with all my soul, for whom I was ready to sacrifice my life, was not good enough to marry young Verrall. And I had only to look at his even, handsome, characterless face to perceive a creature weaker and no better than myself. She was to be his pleasure until he chose to cast her aside, and the poison of our social system had so saturated413 her nature — his evening dress, his freedom and his money had seemed so fine to her and I so clothed in squalor — that to that prospect she had consented. And to resent the social conventions that created their situation, was called “class envy,” and gently born preachers reproached us for the mildest resentment against an injustice no living man would now either endure or consent to profit by.
What was the sense of saying “peace” when there was no peace? If there was one hope in the disorders414 of that old world it lay in revolt and conflict to the death.
But if you can really grasp the shameful grotesqueness415 of the old life, you will begin to appreciate the interpretation416 of old Mrs. Verrall’s appearance that leapt up at once in my mind.
She had come to compromise the disaster!
And the Stuarts WOULD compromise! I saw that only too well.
An enormous disgust at the prospect of the imminent417 encounter between Stuart and his mistress made me behave in a violent and irrational way. I wanted to escape seeing that, seeing even Stuart’s first gesture in that, at any cost.
“I’m off,” said I, and turned my back on him without any further farewell.
My line of retreat lay by the old lady, and so I advanced toward her.
I saw her expression change, her mouth fell a little way open, her forehead wrinkled, and her eyes grew round. She found me a queer customer even at the first sight, and there was something in the manner of my advance that took away her breath.
She stood at the top of the three or four steps that descended to the level of the hothouse floor. She receded418 a pace or two, with a certain offended dignity at the determination of my rush.
I gave her no sort of salutation.
Well, as a matter of fact, I did give her a sort of salutation. There is no occasion for me to begin apologizing now for the thing I said to her — I strip these things before you — if only I can get them stark enough you will understand and forgive. I was filled with a brutal419 and overpowering desire to insult her.
And so I addressed this poor little expensive old woman in the following terms, converting her by a violent metonymy into a comprehensive plural420. “You infernal land thieves!” I said point-blank into her face. “HAVE YOU COME TO OFFER THEM MONEY?”
And without waiting to test her powers of repartee I passed rudely beyond her and vanished, striding with my fists clenched, out of her world again. . .
I have tried since to imagine how the thing must have looked to her. So far as her particular universe went I had not existed at all, or I had existed only as a dim black thing, an insignificant speck, far away across her park in irrelevant421, unimportant transit422, until this moment when she came, sedately423 troubled, into her own secure gardens and sought for Stuart among the greenhouses. Then abruptly I flashed into being down that green-walled, brick-floored vista424 as a black-avised, ill-clad young man, who first stared and then advanced scowling toward her. Once in existence I developed rapidly. I grew larger in perspective and became more and more important and sinister every moment. I came up the steps with inconceivable hostility425 and disrespect in my bearing, towered over her, becoming for an instant at least a sort of second French Revolution, and delivered myself with the intensest concentration of those wicked and incomprehensible words. Just for a second I threatened annihilation. Happily that was my climax426.
And then I had gone by, and the Universe was very much as it had always been except for the wild swirl427 in it, and the faint sense of insecurity my episode left in its wake.
The thing that never entered my head in those days was that a large proportion of the rich were rich in absolute good faith. I thought they saw things exactly as I saw them, and wickedly denied. But indeed old Mrs. Verrall was no more capable of doubting the perfection of her family’s right to dominate a wide country side, than she was of examining the Thirty-nine Articles or dealing428 with any other of the adamantine pillars upon which her universe rested in security.
No doubt I startled and frightened her tremendously. But she could not understand.
None of her sort of people ever did seem to understand such livid flashes of hate, as ever and again lit the crowded darkness below their feet. The thing leapt out of the black for a moment and vanished, like a threatening figure by a desolate429 roadside lit for a moment by one’s belated carriage-lamp and then swallowed up by the night. They counted it with nightmares, and did their best to forget what was evidently as insignificant as it was disturbing.
点击收听单词发音
1 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
2 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
3 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
4 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
5 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
6 humiliated | |
感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
7 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
8 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
9 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
10 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
11 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
12 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
13 hoarding | |
n.贮藏;积蓄;临时围墙;囤积v.积蓄并储藏(某物)( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
14 watery | |
adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
15 jumbled | |
adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
16 bawled | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
17 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
18 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
19 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
20 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
21 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
22 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
23 vigor | |
n.活力,精力,元气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
24 shred | |
v.撕成碎片,变成碎片;n.碎布条,细片,些少 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
25 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
26 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
27 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
28 caliber | |
n.能力;水准 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
29 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
30 implement | |
n.(pl.)工具,器具;vt.实行,实施,执行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
31 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
32 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
33 pawnbroker | |
n.典当商,当铺老板 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
34 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
35 bulging | |
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
36 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
37 conciliation | |
n.调解,调停 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
38 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
39 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
40 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
41 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
42 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
43 sumptuously | |
奢侈地,豪华地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
44 nurtured | |
养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 ); 培育; 滋长; 助长 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
45 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
46 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
47 antagonism | |
n.对抗,敌对,对立 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
48 picturesquely | |
参考例句: |
|
|
49 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
50 envious | |
adj.嫉妒的,羡慕的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
51 antagonists | |
对立[对抗] 者,对手,敌手( antagonist的名词复数 ); 对抗肌; 对抗药 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
52 negotiations | |
协商( negotiation的名词复数 ); 谈判; 完成(难事); 通过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
53 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
54 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
55 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
56 automobile | |
n.汽车,机动车 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
57 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
58 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
59 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
60 patchwork | |
n.混杂物;拼缝物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
61 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
62 machinery | |
n.(总称)机械,机器;机构 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
63 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
64 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
65 muddle | |
n.困惑,混浊状态;vt.使混乱,使糊涂,使惊呆;vi.胡乱应付,混乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
66 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
67 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
68 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
69 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
70 grudging | |
adj.勉强的,吝啬的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
71 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
72 rheumatism | |
n.风湿病 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
73 allege | |
vt.宣称,申述,主张,断言 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
74 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
75 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
76 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
77 shameful | |
adj.可耻的,不道德的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
78 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
79 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
80 evaded | |
逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 ); 避开; 回避; 想不出 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
81 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
82 depreciating | |
v.贬值,跌价,减价( depreciate的现在分词 );贬低,蔑视,轻视 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
83 leaseholds | |
n.租赁权,租赁期,租赁物( leasehold的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
84 taxation | |
n.征税,税收,税金 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
85 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
86 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
87 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
88 laboriously | |
adv.艰苦地;费力地;辛勤地;(文体等)佶屈聱牙地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
89 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
90 indictment | |
n.起诉;诉状 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
91 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
92 snarled | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
93 meandering | |
蜿蜒的河流,漫步,聊天 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
94 bruise | |
n.青肿,挫伤;伤痕;vt.打青;挫伤 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
95 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
96 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
97 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
98 ration | |
n.定量(pl.)给养,口粮;vt.定量供应 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
99 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
100 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
101 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
102 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
103 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
104 combative | |
adj.好战的;好斗的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
105 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
106 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
107 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
108 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
109 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
110 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
111 disturbances | |
n.骚乱( disturbance的名词复数 );打扰;困扰;障碍 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
112 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
113 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
114 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
115 creases | |
(使…)起折痕,弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 ); (皮肤)皱起,使起皱纹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
116 smeared | |
弄脏; 玷污; 涂抹; 擦上 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
117 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
118 sere | |
adj.干枯的;n.演替系列 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
119 exhortations | |
n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 );极力推荐;(正式的)演讲;(宗教仪式中的)劝诫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
120 bawling | |
v.大叫,大喊( bawl的现在分词 );放声大哭;大声叫出;叫卖(货物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
121 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
122 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
123 persistence | |
n.坚持,持续,存留 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
124 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
125 moodiness | |
n.喜怒无常;喜怒无常,闷闷不乐;情绪 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
126 luster | |
n.光辉;光泽,光亮;荣誉 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
127 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
128 disperse | |
vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
129 picketed | |
用尖桩围住(picket的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
130 nominally | |
在名义上,表面地; 应名儿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
131 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
132 socialist | |
n.社会主义者;adj.社会主义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
133 clarion | |
n.尖音小号声;尖音小号 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
134 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
135 besets | |
v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 );不断围攻;镶;嵌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
136 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
137 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
138 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
139 stagnant | |
adj.不流动的,停滞的,不景气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
140 stagnation | |
n. 停滞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
141 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
142 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
143 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
144 excavated | |
v.挖掘( excavate的过去式和过去分词 );开凿;挖出;发掘 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
145 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
146 squat | |
v.蹲坐,蹲下;n.蹲下;adj.矮胖的,粗矮的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
147 slate | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
148 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
149 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
150 meager | |
adj.缺乏的,不足的,瘦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
151 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
152 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
153 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
154 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
155 spaciousness | |
n.宽敞 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
156 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
157 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
158 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
159 sketches | |
n.草图( sketch的名词复数 );素描;速写;梗概 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
160 speck | |
n.微粒,小污点,小斑点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
161 astronomers | |
n.天文学者,天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
162 bellying | |
鼓出部;鼓鼓囊囊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
163 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
164 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
165 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
166 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
167 diffused | |
散布的,普及的,扩散的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
168 smite | |
v.重击;彻底击败;n.打;尝试;一点儿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
169 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
170 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
171 stagnating | |
v.停滞,不流动,不发展( stagnate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
172 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
173 magnetism | |
n.磁性,吸引力,磁学 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
174 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
175 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句: |
|
|
176 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
177 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
178 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
179 savagery | |
n.野性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
180 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
181 repartee | |
n.机敏的应答 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
182 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
183 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
184 alleged | |
a.被指控的,嫌疑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
185 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
186 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
187 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
188 sprawling | |
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) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
189 furry | |
adj.毛皮的;似毛皮的;毛皮制的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
190 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
191 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
192 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
193 chauffeur | |
n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机;v.为…开车 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
194 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
195 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
196 spoke | |
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 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
197 cuff | |
n.袖口;手铐;护腕;vt.用手铐铐;上袖口 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
198 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
199 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
200 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
201 grunt | |
v.嘟哝;作呼噜声;n.呼噜声,嘟哝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
202 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
203 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
204 wrangle | |
vi.争吵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
205 confrontations | |
n.对抗,对抗的事物( confrontation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
206 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
207 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
208 compartment | |
n.卧车包房,隔间;分隔的空间 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
209 haphazard | |
adj.无计划的,随意的,杂乱无章的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
210 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
211 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
212 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
213 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
214 fray | |
v.争吵;打斗;磨损,磨破;n.吵架;打斗 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
215 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
216 grotesque | |
adj.怪诞的,丑陋的;n.怪诞的图案,怪人(物) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
217 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
218 wrecking | |
破坏 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
219 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
220 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
221 gamut | |
n.全音阶,(一领域的)全部知识 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
222 gusty | |
adj.起大风的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
223 plumbing | |
n.水管装置;水暖工的工作;管道工程v.用铅锤测量(plumb的现在分词);探究 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
224 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
225 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
226 agonize | |
v.使受苦,使苦闷 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
227 swollen | |
adj.肿大的,水涨的;v.使变大,肿胀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
228 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
229 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
230 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
231 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
232 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
233 puckered | |
v.(使某物)起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
234 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
235 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
236 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
237 irrational | |
adj.无理性的,失去理性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
238 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
239 mischievous | |
adj.调皮的,恶作剧的,有害的,伤人的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
240 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
241 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
242 slaughter | |
n.屠杀,屠宰;vt.屠杀,宰杀 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
243 mangling | |
重整 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
244 perpetuated | |
vt.使永存(perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
245 preposterous | |
adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
246 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
247 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
248 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
249 insignificant | |
adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
250 impoverishment | |
n.贫穷,穷困;贫化 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
251 unlimited | |
adj.无限的,不受控制的,无条件的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
252 ply | |
v.(搬运工等)等候顾客,弯曲 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
253 cartridge | |
n.弹壳,弹药筒;(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
254 shanty | |
n.小屋,棚屋;船工号子 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
255 mirage | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
256 mania | |
n.疯狂;躁狂症,狂热,癖好 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
257 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
258 futility | |
n.无用 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
259 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
260 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
261 ignoble | |
adj.不光彩的,卑鄙的;可耻的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
262 lashing | |
n.鞭打;痛斥;大量;许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
263 definitive | |
adj.确切的,权威性的;最后的,决定性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
264 percolating | |
n.渗透v.滤( percolate的现在分词 );渗透;(思想等)渗透;渗入 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
265 pervading | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
266 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
267 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
268 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
269 unanimity | |
n.全体一致,一致同意 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
270 exhorting | |
v.劝告,劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
271 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
272 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
273 wasteful | |
adj.(造成)浪费的,挥霍的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
274 obsession | |
n.困扰,无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
275 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
276 legacy | |
n.遗产,遗赠;先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
277 inordinate | |
adj.无节制的;过度的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
278 brute | |
n.野兽,兽性 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
279 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
280 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
281 thwarting | |
阻挠( thwart的现在分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
282 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
283 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
284 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
285 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
286 erect | |
n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
287 projectile | |
n.投射物,发射体;adj.向前开进的;推进的;抛掷的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
288 inferno | |
n.火海;地狱般的场所 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
289 scribble | |
v.潦草地书写,乱写,滥写;n.潦草的写法,潦草写成的东西,杂文 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
290 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
291 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
292 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
293 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
294 scamper | |
v.奔跑,快跑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
295 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
296 crescendo | |
n.(音乐)渐强,高潮 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
297 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
298 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
299 spurts | |
短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 ); 突然奋起 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
300 torrents | |
n.倾注;奔流( torrent的名词复数 );急流;爆发;连续不断 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
301 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
302 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
303 dispersing | |
adj. 分散的 动词disperse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
304 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
305 feverishly | |
adv. 兴奋地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
306 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
307 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
308 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
309 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
310 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
311 yelp | |
vi.狗吠 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
312 amorphous | |
adj.无定形的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
313 potent | |
adj.强有力的,有权势的;有效力的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
314 ferment | |
vt.使发酵;n./vt.(使)激动,(使)动乱 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
315 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
316 mythical | |
adj.神话的;虚构的;想像的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
317 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
318 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
319 hoisted | |
把…吊起,升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
320 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
321 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
322 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
323 lout | |
n.粗鄙的人;举止粗鲁的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
324 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
325 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
326 obliterated | |
v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
327 hollies | |
n.冬青(常绿灌木,叶尖而硬,有光泽,冬季结红色浆果)( holly的名词复数 );(用作圣诞节饰物的)冬青树枝 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
328 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
329 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
330 grimacing | |
v.扮鬼相,做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
331 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
332 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
333 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
334 drooped | |
弯曲或下垂,发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
335 obliquely | |
adv.斜; 倾斜; 间接; 不光明正大 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
336 negligent | |
adj.疏忽的;玩忽的;粗心大意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
337 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
338 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
339 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
340 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
341 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
342 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
343 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
344 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
345 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
346 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
347 maker | |
n.制造者,制造商 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
348 strand | |
vt.使(船)搁浅,使(某人)困于(某地) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
349 abides | |
容忍( abide的第三人称单数 ); 等候; 逗留; 停留 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
350 wailed | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
351 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
352 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
353 gulped | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
354 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
355 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
356 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
357 stark | |
adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
358 relentless | |
adj.残酷的,不留情的,无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
359 lamely | |
一瘸一拐地,不完全地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
360 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
361 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
362 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
363 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
364 triteness | |
n.平凡,陈腐 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
365 inadequacy | |
n.无法胜任,信心不足 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
366 stereotyped | |
adj.(指形象、思想、人物等)模式化的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
367 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
368 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
369 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
370 sluggish | |
adj.懒惰的,迟钝的,无精打采的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
371 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
372 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
373 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
374 adhesive | |
n.粘合剂;adj.可粘着的,粘性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
375 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
376 frayed | |
adj.磨损的v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
377 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
378 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
379 aquiline | |
adj.钩状的,鹰的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
380 sumptuosity | |
奢侈; 奢华; 昂贵; 奢侈品 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
381 costliness | |
昂贵的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
382 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
383 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
384 wriggled | |
v.扭动,蠕动,蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 );(使身体某一部位)扭动;耍滑不做,逃避(应做的事等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
385 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
386 bracelets | |
n.手镯,臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
387 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
388 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
389 rubies | |
红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
390 soda | |
n.苏打水;汽水 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
391 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
392 confirmations | |
证实( confirmation的名词复数 ); 证据; 确认; (基督教中的)坚信礼 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
393 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
394 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
395 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
396 questionable | |
adj.可疑的,有问题的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
397 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
398 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
399 dealers | |
n.商人( dealer的名词复数 );贩毒者;毒品贩子;发牌者 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
400 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
401 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
402 bacterium | |
n.(pl.)bacteria 细菌 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
403 incurable | |
adj.不能医治的,不能矫正的,无救的;n.不治的病人,无救的人 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
404 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
405 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
406 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
407 disastrous | |
adj.灾难性的,造成灾害的;极坏的,很糟的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
408 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
409 generosities | |
n.慷慨( generosity的名词复数 );大方;宽容;慷慨或宽容的行为 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
410 prospective | |
adj.预期的,未来的,前瞻性的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
411 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
412 scouted | |
寻找,侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 ); 物色(优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等) | |
参考例句: |
|
|
413 saturated | |
a.饱和的,充满的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
414 disorders | |
n.混乱( disorder的名词复数 );凌乱;骚乱;(身心、机能)失调 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
415 grotesqueness | |
参考例句: |
|
|
416 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
417 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
418 receded | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
419 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
420 plural | |
n.复数;复数形式;adj.复数的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
421 irrelevant | |
adj.不恰当的,无关系的,不相干的 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
422 transit | |
n.经过,运输;vt.穿越,旋转;vi.越过 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
423 sedately | |
adv.镇静地,安详地 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
424 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
425 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
426 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
427 swirl | |
v.(使)打漩,(使)涡卷;n.漩涡,螺旋形 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
428 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
429 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
参考例句: |
|
|
欢迎访问英文小说网 |