It was the habit of our three friends—Bob Mabberly, John Barret, and Giles Jackman—during their residence at Kinlossie, to take a stroll together every morning before breakfast by the margin1 of the sea, for they were fond of each other’s company, and Mabberly, as a yachtsman, had acquired the habit of early rising. He had also learned to appreciate the early morning hours as being those which present Nature in her sweetest, as well as her freshest, aspect—when everything seems, more than at other periods of the day, to be under the direct influence of a benignant Creator.
It was also the habit of Captain McPherson and his man, James McGregor, to indulge daily in similar exercise at about the same hour, but, owing probably to their lives having been spent chiefly on the sea, they were wont2 to ramble3 up a neighbouring glen in preference to sauntering on the shore.
One bright calm morning, however, when the sky was all blue and the loch was like a mirror, the two seamen4 took it into their heads to desert the glen and ramble along the shore. Thus it came to pass that, on returning homeward, they encountered our three friends.
“It iss fery strange that we should foregather this mornin’, Mr Mabberly,” said the skipper, after greeting the young men; “for Shames an’ me was jist speakin’ aboot ye. We will be thinkin’ that it iss foolishness for hum an’ me to be stoppin’ here wastin’ our time when we ought to be at oor work.”
“Nonsense, Captain,” said Mabberly; “surely you don’t think that taking a holiday in a pleasant place like this is wasting time. Besides, I don’t consider you free from your engagement to me. You were hired for the trip, and that includes land as well as water, so I won’t give you your discharge till you have had a long rest, and recruited yourselves after the shock to your nervous systems occasioned by the wreck5 and the swim to shore!”
A grim smile played on the skipper’s iron features when reference was made to his nerves, and a flicker6 of some sort illumined the wooden visage of McGregor.
“You are fery kind, sir,” returned the skipper; “but we don’t like to be receivin’ pay for doin’ nothin’. You see, neither Shames nor me cares much for fushin’ in the burns, or goin’ after the deer, an’ there’s no chance o’ raisin’ the yat from the pottom o’ the sea, so, if you hev no objection, sir, we will be goin’ by the steamer that arrives to-morrow. I thought I would speak to you to-day, for we will hev to start early in the mornin’, before you’re up, for it iss a long way we’ll hev to go. Iss it not so, Shames?”
“Oo, ay,” replied the seaman7, with more than ever of the nasal twang; “it iss a coot many miles to where the poat comes in—so the poy Tonal’ wass tellin’ me, what-?-ver.”
Mabberly tried to persuade the men to remain a little longer, but they were obdurate8, so he let them go, knowing well that his father, who was a wealthy merchant and shipowner, would see to the interests of the men who had suffered in his son’s service.
As they retraced9 their steps to the house the skipper gave Giles Jackman some significant glances, which induced him to fall behind the others.
“Yes, sir, I do,” replied the seaman, with some embarrassment11. “But it iss not fery easy nor pleesant to do so. A man does not like to speak of another man’s failin’s, you see, but as I am goin’ away I’m obleeged to do it. You will hev noticed, sir, that Ivor Tonalson iss raither fond of his tram?”
“I’m afraid that I have observed that—poor fellow.”
“He is a goot man, sir, is Tonalson—a fery goot man—when he iss sober, but he hes got no power to resist the tram. An’ whiles he goes on the spree, an’ then he gits wild wi’ D.T. you know, sir. Noo, ever since we cam’ here, Ivor an’ me hes been great friends, an’ it hes been heavy on my mind to see him like that, for he’s a fine man, a superior person, is Ivor, if he would only let alone the whusky. So I hev spoken to him wance or twice—serious like, you know. At first he was not pleased, but the last time I spoke12, he took it kindly13, an’ said he would think aboot what I had been sayin’. Noo, it’s heavy on me the thoucht o’ goin’ away an’ leavin’ him in that state, so I thoucht that maybe ye would tak the metter up, sir, an’ see what ye can do wi’ him. Git him, if ye can, to become a total abstainer14, nothin’ less than that wull do wi’ a man in that condeetion.”
Jackman was greatly surprised, not only at the tenor15 of the skipper’s remarks, but at the evidently deep feeling with which he spoke, for up to that time the reticence16 and quiet coolness of the man had inclined him to think that his mind and feelings were in harmony with his rugged17 and sluggish18 exterior19. It was, therefore, with something of warmth that he replied,—“I shall be only too happy to do as you wish, Captain; all the more that I have had some serious thoughts and feelings in that direction. Indeed, I have made up my mind, as it happens, to speak to Ivor on that very subject, not knowing that you were already in the field. I am particularly sorry for his poor old mother, who has suffered a great deal, both mentally and physically20, on his account.”
“Ay, that’s the warst o’ it,” said the skipper. “It wass the sicht o’ the poor wumin ailin’ in body an’ broken heartit that first set me at Ivor.”
“But how comes it, Captain, that you plead so earnestly for total abstinence?” asked Jackman with a smile. “Have I not heard you defend the idea of moderate drinking, although you consented to sail in a teetotal yacht?”
“Mr Jackman,” said the skipper, with almost stern solemnity, “it iss all fery weel for men to speak aboot moderate drinkin’, when their feelin’s iss easy an’ their intellec’s iss confused wi’ theories an’ fancies, but men will change their tune21 when it iss brought home to themselves. Let a man only see his brither or his mither, or his faither, on the high road to destruction wi’ drink, an’ he’ll change his opeenion aboot moderate drinkin’—at least for hard drinkers—ay, an’ he’ll change his practice too, unless he iss ower auld22, or his stamick, like Timothy’s, canna git on withoot it. An’ that minds me that I would tak it kind if ye would write an’ tell me how he gets on, for I hev promised to become a total abstainer if he wull.”
That very afternoon, while out shooting on the hills, Jackman opened the campaign by making some delicate approaches to the keeper on the subject, in a general and indirect way, but with what success he could not tell, for Ivor was respectfully reserved.
About the same time John Barret went off alone for a saunter in one of the nearest and most picturesque24 of the neighbouring glens. He had declined to accompany his comrades that day, for reasons best known to himself. After writing a few letters, to keep up appearances, and to prevent his being regarded as a mere25 idler, he went off, as we have said, to saunter in the glen.
He had not sauntered far when he came upon a sight which is calculated, whenever seen, to arouse sentiments of interest in the most callous26 beholder—a young lady painting! It would be wrong to say he was surprised, but he was decidedly pleased, to judge from the expression of his handsome face. He knew who the lady was, for by that time he had studied the face and figure of Milly Moss27 until they had been indelibly photographed on his—well, on the sensitive-plate of his soul, wherever that lay.
Milly had quite recovered from her accident by that time and had resumed her favourite pursuits.
“I’m very glad to have caught you at work at last, Miss Moss,” he said, on coming up to the picturesque spot on which her easel was erected28. “I wish much to receive that lesson which you so kindly promised to give me.”
“I thought it was just the other way. Did you not say that you would teach me some of those perplexing rules of perspective which my book lays down so elaborately—and, to me, so incomprehensibly?”
“I did, but did not you promise to show me how to manipulate oils—in regard to which I know absolutely nothing? And as practice is of greater importance than theory, you must be the teacher and I the pupil.”
Upon this point they carried on a discussion until Milly, declaring she was wasting her time and losing the effects of light and shade, went seriously to work on the canvas before her. Barret, whose natural colour was somewhat heightened, stood at a respectful distance, looking on.
“You are quite sure, I hope,” said the youth, “that it does not disturb you to be overlooked? You know I would not presume to do so if you had not promised to permit me. My great desire, for many a day, has been to observe the process of painting in oils by one who understands it.”
How he reconciled this statement with the fact that he was not looking at the picture at all, but at the little white hand that was deftly29 applying the brush, and the beautiful little head that was moving itself so gracefully31 about while contemplating32 the work, is more than we can explain.
Soon the painter became still more deeply absorbed in her work, and the pupil more deeply still in the painter. It was a magnificent sweep of landscape that lay before them—a glen glowing with purple and green, alive with flickering33 sunlight and shadow, with richest browns and reds and coolest greys in the foreground; precipices34, crags, verdant35 slopes of bracken, pine and birch woods hanging on the hillsides, in the middle distance, and blue mountains mingling36 with orange skies in the background, with MacRummle’s favourite stream appearing here and there like a silver thread, running through it all. But Barret saw nothing of it. He only saw a pretty hand, a blushing cheek and sunny hair!
The picture was not bad. There was a good deal of crude colour in the foreground, no doubt, without much indication of form; and there was also some wonderfully vivid green and purple, with impossible forms and amazing perspective—both linear and aerial—in places, and Turneresque confusion of yellow in the extreme distance. But Barret did not note that—though by means of some occult powers of comprehension he commented on it freely! He saw nothing but Milly Moss.
It was a glorious chance. He resolved to make the most of it.
“I had no idea that painting in oils was such a fascinating occupation,” he remarked, without feeling quite sure of what he said.
“I delight in it,” returned the painter, slowly, as she touched in a distant sheep, which—measured by the rules of perspective, and regard being had to surrounding objects—might have stood for an average cathedral.
Milly did not paint as freely as usual that afternoon. There was something queer, she said, about the brushes. “I can’t get it to look right,” she said at last, wiping out an object for the third time and trying again.
“No doubt,” murmured the youth, “a cottage like that must be difficult to—”
“Cottage!” exclaimed Milly, laughing outright37; “it is not a cottage at all; it’s a cow! Oh! Mr Barret, that is a very poor compliment to my work and to your own powers of discernment.”
“Nay, Miss Moss,” retorted the pupil, in some confusion, “but you have wiped it out twice, confessing, as you did so, that you could not paint it! Besides, my remark referred to the cottage which I thought you were going to paint—not to your unsuccessful representations of the cow.”
The poor youth felt that his explanation was so lame38 that he was somewhat relieved when the current of their thoughts was diverted by a loud shouting in the road farther down the glen. A shade of annoyance39, however, rested for a moment on the face of his companion, for she recognised the voices, and knew well that the quiet tête-à-tête with her willing and intelligent pupil must now be interrupted.
“My cousins,” she remarked, putting a touch on the cow that stamped that animal a lusus naturae for all time coming.
Another whoop40 told that the cousins were drawing near. In a few minutes they appeared in the path emerging from a clump41 of hazel bushes.
“They are evidently bent42 on a photographic expedition,” remarked Barret, as the boys approached, Junkie waving his hat with hilarious43 good-will when he discovered the painters.
“And Flo is with them,” said Milly, “from which I conclude that they are having what Junkie calls a day of it; for whenever they are allowed to take Flo, they go in for a high holiday, carrying provisions with them, so as to be able to stay out from morning till night.”
The appearance of the young revellers fully23 bore out Milly’s statement, for they were all more or less burdened with the means or signs of enjoyment44. Archie carried his box of dry plates in his left hand, and his camera and stand over his right shoulder; Eddie bore a colour-box and sketching-book; Junkie wielded45 a small fishing-rod, and had a fishing-basket on his back; and Flo was encircled with daisy chains and crowned with laurel and heather, besides which, each of the boys had a small bag of provisions slung46 on his shoulder.
“Hooray! hooray!
Out for the day!”
sang, or rather yelled, Junkie, as he approached.
“Ramble and roam—
Never go home!”
added Archie, setting down his camera, and beginning to arrange it.
“All of us must
“Junkie teached me zat,” said innocent Flo, with a look of grave surprise at the peals48 of laughter which her couplet drew from her brothers.
“Yes, that’s what we’re goin’ to do,” said Junkie; “we’ve had lunch at the foot of Eagle Glen, and noo we are going up to Glen Orrack to dine, and fish, an’ paint, an’ botanise. After that we’ll cross over the Swan’s Neck, an’ finish off the bustin’ business with supper on the sea-shore. Lots of grub left yet, you see.”
He swung round his little wallet as he spoke, and held it up to view.
“Would you like some, Cousin Milly?” asked Eddie, opening his bag. “All sorts here. Bread, cheese, ginger49 snaps, biscuits, jam— Oh! I say, the jam-pot’s broken! Whatever shall we do?”
Their hilarity51 was dissipated suddenly, and grave looks were bestowed52 on Eddie’s digits53, until Flo’s little voice arose like a strain of sweet music to dissipate the clouds.
“Oh! never mind,” she said; “I’s got anuzzer pot in my bag.”
This had been forgotten. The fact was verified by swift examination, and felicity was restored.
“What are you going to photograph?” asked Milly, seeing that Archie was busy making arrangements.
“You, Cousin Milly. You’ve no notion what a splendid couple you and Mr Barret look—stuck up so picturesquely54 on that little mound55, with its rich foreground of bracken, and the grey rock beside you, and the peep through the bushes, with Big Ben for a background; and the easel, too—so suggestive! There, now, I’m ready. By the way, I might take you as a pair of lovers!”
Poor Milly became scarlet56, and suddenly devoted57 herself to the lusus naturae! Barret took refuge in a loud laugh, and then said:
“Really, one would suppose that you were a professional, Archie; you order your sitters about with such self-satisfied presumption58.”
“Yes, they always do that,” said Milly, recovering herself, and looking calmly up from the cow—which now resembled a megatherium—“but you must remember, Cousin Archie, that I am a painter, and therefore understand about attitudes, and all that, much better than a mere photographer. So, if I condescend59 to sit, you must take your orders from me!”
“Fire away then with your orders,” cried the impatient amateur.
“See, sir, I will sit thus—as if painting,” said Milly, who was desperately60 anxious to have it over, lest Archie should make some awkward proposition. “Mr Barret will stand behind me, looking earnestly at the picture—”
“Admiringly,” interposed Barret.
“Not so—earnestly, as if getting a lesson,” said Milly, with a teacher’s severity; “and Flo will sit thus, at my feet, taking care (hold it, dear,) of my palette.”
“More likely to make a mess of it,” said Junkie.
“Now, are you ready? Steady! Don’t budge61 a finger,” cried Archie, removing the little leather cap.
In her uncertainty62 as to which of her fingers she was not to budge, Flo nervously63 moved them all.
“You’re movin’, Flo!” whispered Junkie.
“No, I’m not,” said Flo, looking round indignantly.
“There, I knew you couldn’t hold your tongue, Junkie,” cried the photographer, hastily replacing the cap. “However, I think I had it done before she moved.”
“And look—you’ve got the nigger in!” cried Junkie, snatching up the black doll, which had been lying unobserved on its owner’s knee all the time.
“Never mind, that’ll do no harm. Now, then, soldiers, form up, an’ quick march,” said Archie, closing up his apparatus64. “We have got plenty of work before us, and no time to waste.”
Obedient to this rather inaccurately65 given word of command, Archie’s troops fell into line, and, with a whooping66 farewell, continued their march up the glen.
During the remainder of that beautiful afternoon, the artist and pupil continued at their “fascinating” work. Shall we take advantage of our knowledge to lift the curtain, and tell in detail how Milly introduced a few more megatheriums into her painting, and violated nearly all the rules of perspective, to say nothing of colour and chiaro-oscuro? Shall we reveal the multitude of absurd remarks made by the pupil, in his wild attempts at criticism of an art, about which he knew next to nothing? No; it would be unwarrantable—base! Merely remarking that painter and pupil were exceedingly happy, and that they made no advance whatever in the art of painting, we turn to another scene in the neighbourhood of Kinlossie House.
It was a wide grass-field from which the haycocks had recently been removed, leaving it bare and uninteresting. Nevertheless, there were two points of interest in that field which merit special attention. One was a small black bull, with magnificent horns, the shaggiest of coats, and the wickedest of eyes. The other was our friend MacRummle, taking a short cut through the field, with a basket on his back, a rod in one hand, and an umbrella in the other.
We may at once account for the strange presence of the latter article, by explaining that, on the day before—which was rainy—the laird, had with an umbrella, accompanied his friend to his first pool in the river, at which point their roads diverged67; that he had stayed to see MacRummle make his first two or three casts, during which time the sky cleared, inducing the laird to close his umbrella, and lean it against the bank, after which he went away and forgot it. Returning home the next day our angler found and took charge of it.
That he had been successful that day was made plain, not only by the extra stoop forward, which was rendered necessary by the weight of his basket, and the beaming satisfaction on his face, but by the protruding68 tail of a grilse which was too large to find room for the whole of itself, inside.
“You’re a lucky man to-day, Dick,” murmured the enthusiastic angler to himself, as he jogged across the field.
Had he known what was in store for him, however, he would have arrived at a very different estimate of his fortunes!
The field, as we have said, was a large one. MacRummle had reached the centre of it when the black bull, standing69 beside the wall at its most distant corner, seemed to feel resentment70 at this trespass71 on its domain72.
It suddenly bellowed73 in that low thunderous tone which is so awfully74 suggestive of conscious power. MacRummle stopped short. He was naturally a brave man, nevertheless his heart gave his ribs75 an unwonted thump76 when he observed the bull in the distance glaring at him. He looked round in alarm. Nothing but an unbroken flat for a hundred yards lay around him in all directions, unrelieved by bush, rock, or tree, and bounded by a five-foot wall, with only one gate, near to where the bull stood pawing the earth and apparently77 working itself into a rage.
“Now, Dick,” murmured the old gentleman, seriously, “it’s do or die with you if that brute78 charges, for your legs are not much better than pipe-stems, and your wind is— Eh! he comes!”
Turning sharply, he caused the pipe-stems to wag with amazing velocity—too fast, indeed, for his toe, catching79 on something, sent him violently to the ground, and the basket flew over his head with such force that the strap80 gave way. He sprang up instantly, still unconsciously holding on to rod and umbrella.
Meanwhile, the bull, having made up its mind, came charging down the field with its eyes flashing and its tail on high.
MacRummle looked back. He saw that the case was hopeless. He was already exhausted81 and gasping82. A young man could scarcely have reached the wall in time. Suddenly he came to a ditch, one of those narrow open drains with which inhabitants of wet countries are familiar. The sight of it shot a blaze of hope through his despair! He stopped at once, dropped his rod, and, putting up his umbrella, laid it on the ground. It was a large cotton one of the Gamp description. Under the shelter of it he stepped quietly into the ditch, which was not much more than knee-deep, with very little water in it.
Placing the umbrella in such a position that it came between himself and the bull, he laid himself flat down in the drain. The opening was far too narrow to admit his broad shoulders, except when turned sidewise. The same treatment was not applicable to other parts of his person, but, by dint83 of squeezing and collapsing84, he got down, nestled under the bank, and lay still.
On came the bull till it reached the basket, which, with a deft30 toss, it hurled85 into the air and sent the silvery treasure flying. A moment more and it went head foremost into the umbrella. Whether it was surprised at finding its enemy so light and unsubstantial, or at the slipping of one of its feet into the drain, we cannot tell, but the result was that it came down and turned a complete somersault over the drain, carrying the umbrella along with it in its mad career!
When the bull scrambled86 to its feet again, and looked round in some surprise, it found that one of its legs and both its horns were through and entangled87 with the wrecked88 article.
It was a fine sight to witness the furious battle that immediately ensued between the black bull and that cotton umbrella! Rage at the man was evidently transmuted89 into horror at the article. The bull pranced90 and shook its head and pawed about in vain efforts to get rid of its tormenter. Shreds92 of the wreck flapped wildly in its eyes. Spider-like ribs clung to its massive limbs and poked93 its reeking94 sides, while the swaying handle kept tapping its cheeks and ears and nose, as if taunting95 the creature with being held and badgered by a thing so flimsy and insignificant96!
Happily this stirring incident was not altogether unwitnessed. Far up the valley it was observed by four living creatures, three of whom immediately came tearing down the road at racing97 speed. Gradually their different powers separated them from each other. Archie came first, Eddie next, and Junkie brought up the rear. On nearing the field the first wrenched98 a stake out of a fence; the second caught up a rake, that had been left by the haymakers; and the last, unscrewing the butt99 of his rod, broke the line, and flourished the weapon as a cudgel. They all three leaped into the field one after another, and bore courageously100 down on the bull, being well accustomed to deal with animals of the sort.
Separating as they drew near, they attacked him on three sides at once. Short work would he have made with any of them singly; together they were more than his match. When he charged Junkie, Archie ran in and brought the stake down on his skull101. When he turned on his assailant, Eddie combed his sides with the rake. Dashing at the new foe102 he was caught by the tail by Junkie, who applied103 the butt of his rod vigorously, the reel adding considerable weight to his blows. At last the bull was cowed—if we may venture to say so—and driven ignominiously104 into a corner of the field, where he vented105 his rage on the remnants of the umbrella, while the victors returned to the field of battle.
“But what’s come of MacRummle?” said the panting Junkie as they gathered up the fish and replaced them in the basket. “I never saw him get over the wall. Did you?”
“No,” replied Archie, looking round in surprise.
“I dare say he ran off while we were thumpin’ the bull,” suggested Eddie.
“I’m here, boys! I’m here, Junkie,” cried a strange sepulchral106 voice, as if from the bowels107 of the earth.
“He’s i’ the drain!” cried Junkie with an expanding mouth.
“Ay—that’s it! I’m in the drain! Lend a hand, boys; I can hardly move.”
They ran to him instantly, but it required the united powers of all three to get him out, and when they succeeded he was found to be coated all over one side with thick mud.
But MacRummle refused to be scraped until they had placed the five-foot wall between himself and the black bull. Then he submitted with a profound sigh.
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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abstainer
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| 节制者，戒酒者，弃权者 | |
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tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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callous
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| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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30
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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31
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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32
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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33
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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34
precipices
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| n.悬崖，峭壁( precipice的名词复数 ) | |
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35
verdant
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| adj.翠绿的，青翠的，生疏的，不老练的 | |
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36
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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37
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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38
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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39
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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40
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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41
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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42
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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43
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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44
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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45
wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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46
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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47
bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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48
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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49
ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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50
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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51
hilarity
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| n.欢乐；热闹 | |
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52
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
digits
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| n.数字( digit的名词复数 )；手指，足趾 | |
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54
picturesquely
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55
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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59
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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61
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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62
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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65
inaccurately
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| 不精密地，不准确地 | |
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66
whooping
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| 发嗬嗬声的，发咳声的 | |
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67
diverged
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| 分开( diverge的过去式和过去分词 )； 偏离； 分歧； 分道扬镳 | |
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68
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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69
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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71
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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72
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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74
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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75
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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76
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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77
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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78
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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79
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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80
strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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81
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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82
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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83
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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84
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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85
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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86
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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87
entangled
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| 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 ) | |
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88
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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89
transmuted
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| v.使变形，使变质，把…变成…( transmute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
pranced
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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92
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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93
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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94
reeking
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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95
taunting
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| 嘲讽( taunt的现在分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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96
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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97
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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98
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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99
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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100
courageously
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| ad.勇敢地，无畏地 | |
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101
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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102
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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103
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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104
ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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105
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
sepulchral
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| adj.坟墓的，阴深的 | |
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107
bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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108
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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