“I say to him — my brother, that is — let’s go halves. We began to divide”— he suddenly whipped the left horse and shouted angrily: “Well, well, play, your mother is a witch.”
The stout3 autumn crows strode with a businesslike air through the bare fields. The wind whistled coldly, and the birds caught its buffets4 on their backs. It blew their feathers apart, and even lifted them off their feet, and, yielding to its force, they lazily flapped their wings and flew to a new spot.
“But he cheated me; I see I have nothing ——”
The mother listened to the coachman’s words as in a dream. A dumb thought grew in her heart. Memory brought before her a long series of events through which she had lived in the last years. On an examination of each event, she found she had actively6 participated in it. Formerly7, life used to happen somewhere in the distance, remote from where she was, uncertain for whom and for what. Now, many things were accomplished8 before her eyes, with her help. The result in her was a confused feeling, compounded of distrust of herself, complacency, perplexity, and sadness.
The scenery about her seemed to be slowly moving. Gray clouds floated in the sky, chasing each other heavily; wet trees flashed along the sides of the road, swinging their bare tops; little hills appeared and swam asunder9. The whole turbid10 day seemed to be hastening to meet the sun — to be seeking it.
The drawling voice of the coachman, the sound of the bells, the humid rustle11 and whistle of the wind, blended in a trembling, tortuous12 stream, which flowed on with a monotonous13 force, and roused the wind.
“The rich man feels crowded, even in Paradise. That’s the way it is. Once he begins to oppress, the government authorities are his friends,” quoth the coachman, swaying on his seat.
While unhitching the horses at the station he said to the mother in a hopeless voice:
“If you gave me only enough for a drink ——”
She gave him a coin, and tossing it in the palm of his hand, he informed her in the same hopeless tone:
“I’ll take a drink for three coppers14, and buy myself bread for two.”
In the afternoon the mother, shaken up by the ride and chilled, reached the large village of Nikolsk. She went to a tavern15 and asked for tea. After placing her heavy valise under the bench, she sat at a window and looked out into an open square, covered with yellow, trampled16 grass, and into the town hall, a long, old building with an overhanging roof. Swine were straggling about in the square, and on the steps of the town hail sat a bald, thin-bearded peasant smoking a pipe. The clouds swam overhead in dark masses, and piled up, one absorbing the other. It was dark, gloomy, and tedious. Life seemed to be in hiding.
Suddenly the village sergeant17 galloped18 up to the square, stopped his sorrel at the steps of the town hall, and waving his whip in the air, shouted to the peasant. The shouts rattled19 against the window panes20, but the words were indistinguishable. The peasant rose and stretched his hand, pointing to something. The sergeant jumped to the ground, reeled, threw the reins21 to the peasant, and seizing the rails with his hands, lifted himself heavily up the steps, and disappeared behind the doors of the town hall.
Quiet reigned22 again. Only the horse struck the soft earth with the iron of his shoes.
A girl came into the room. A short yellow braid lay on her neck, her face was round, and her eyes kind. She bit her lips with the effort of carrying a ragged-edged tray, with dishes, in her outstretched hands. She bowed, nodding her head.
“How do you do, my good girl?” said the mother kindly23.
“How do you do?”
Putting the plates and the china dishes on the table, she announced with animation24:
“They’ve just caught a thief. They’re bringing him here.”
“Indeed? What sort of a thief?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he do?”
“I don’t know. I only heard that they caught him. The watchman of the town hall ran off for the police commissioner25, and shouted: ‘They’ve caught him. They’re bringing him here.’”
The mother looked through the window. Peasants gathered in the square; some walked slowly, some quickly, while buttoning their overcoats. They stopped at the steps of the town hall, and all looked to the left. It was strangely quiet. The girl also went to the window to see the street, and then silently ran from the room, banging the door after her. The mother trembled, pushed her valise farther under the bench, and throwing her shawl over her head, hurried to the door. She had to restrain a sudden, incomprehensible desire to run.
When she walked up the steps of the town hall a sharp cold struck her face and breast. She lost breath, and her legs stiffened26. There, in the middle of the square, walked Rybin! His hands were bound behind his back, and on each side of him a policeman, rhythmically27 striking the ground with his club. At the steps stood a crowd waiting in silence.
Unconscious of the bearing of the thing, the mother’s gaze was, riveted28 on Rybin. He said something; she heard his voice, but the words did not reach the dark emptiness of her heart.
She recovered her senses, and took a deep breath. A peasant with a broad light beard was standing29 at the steps looking fixedly30 into her face with his, blue eyes. Coughing and rubbing her throat with her hands, weak with fear, she asked him with an effort:
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, look.” The peasant turned away. Another peasant came up to her side.
“Oh, thief! How horrible you look!” shouted a woman’s voice.
The policemen stepped in front of the crowd, which increased in size. Rybin’s voice sounded thick:
“Peasants, I’m not a thief; I don’t steal; I don’t set things on fire. I only fight against falsehood. That’s why they seized me. Have you heard of the true books in which the truth is written about our peasant life? Well, it’s because of these writings that I suffer. It’s I who distributed them among the people.”
The crowd surrounded Rybin more closely. His voice steadied the mother.
“Did you hear?” said a peasant in a low voice, nudging a blue-eyed neighbor, who did not answer but raised his head and again looked into the mother’s face. The other peasant also looked at her. He was younger than he of the blue eyes, with a dark, sparse32 beard, and a lean freckled33 face. Then both of them turned away to the side of the steps.
“They’re afraid,” the mother involuntarily noted34. Her attention grew keener. From the elevation35 of the stoop she clearly saw the dark face of Rybin, distinguished36 the hot gleam of his eyes. She wanted that he, too, should see her, and raised herself on tiptoe and craned her neck.
The people looked at him sullenly37, distrustfully, and were silent. Only in the rear of the crowd subdued39 conversation was heard.
“Peasants!” said Rybin aloud, in a peculiar40 full voice. “Believe these papers! I shall now, perhaps, get death on account of them. The authorities beat me, they tortured me, they wanted to find out from where I got them, and they’re going to beat me more. For in these writings the truth is laid down. An honest world and the truth ought to be dearer to us than bread. That’s what I say.”
“Why is he doing this?” softly exclaimed one of the peasants near the steps. He of the blue eyes answered:
“Now it’s all the same. He won’t escape death, anyhow. And a man can’t die twice.”
The sergeant suddenly appeared on the steps of the town hall, roaring in a drunken voice:
“What is this crowd? Who’s the fellow speaking?”
Suddenly precipitating41 himself down the steps, he seized Rybin by the hair, and pulled his head backward and forward. “Is it you speaking, you damned scoundrel? Is it you?”
The crowd, giving way, still maintained silence. The mother, in impotent grief, bowed her head; one of the peasants sighed. Rybin spoke42 again:
“There! Look, good people!”
“Silence!” and the sergeant struck his face.
Rybin reeled.
“They bind44 a man’s hands and then torment45 him, and do with him whatever they please.”
“Policemen, take him! Disperse46, people!” The sergeant, jumping and swinging in front of Rybin, struck him in his face, breast, and stomach.
“Don’t beat him!” some one shouted dully.
“Why do you beat him?” another voice upheld the first.
“Lazy, good-for-nothing beast!”
“Come!” said the blue-eyed peasant, motioning with his head; and without hastening, the two walked toward the town hall, accompanied by a kind look from the mother. She sighed with relief. The sergeant again ran heavily up the steps, and shaking his fists in menace, bawled47 from his height vehemently48:
“Bring him here, officers, I say! I say ——”
“Don’t!” a strong voice resounded49 in the crowd, and the mother knew it came from the blue-eyed peasant. “Boys! don’t permit it! They’ll take him in there and beat him to death, and then they’ll say we killed him. Don’t permit it!”
“Peasants!” the powerful voice of Rybin roared, drowning the shouts of the sergeant. “Don’t you understand your life? Don’t you understand how they rob you — how they cheat you — how they drink your blood? You keep everything up; everything rests on you; you are all the power that is at the bottom of everything on earth — its whole power. And what rights have you? You have the right to starve — it’s your only right!”
“He’s speaking the truth, I tell YOU!”
Some men shouted:
“Call the commissioner of police! Where is the commissioner of police?”
“The sergeant has ridden away for him!”
“It’s not our business to call the authorities!”
The noise increased as the crowd grew louder and louder.
“Speak! We won’t let them beat you!”
“Officers, untie50 his hands!”
“No, brothers; that’s not necessary!”
“Untie him!”
“Look out you don’t do something you’ll, be sorry for!”
“I am sorry for my hands!” Rybin said evenly and resonantly51, making himself heard above all the other voices. “I’ll not escape, peasants. I cannot hide from my truth; it lives inside of me!”
Several men walked away from the crowd, formed different circles, and with earnest faces and shaking their heads carried on conversations. Some smiled. More and more people came running up — excited, bearing marks of having dressed quickly. They seethed53 like black foam54 about Rybin, and he rocked to and fro in their midst. Raising his hands over his head and shaking them, he called into the crowd, which responded now by loud shouts, now by silent, greedy attention, to the unfamiliar55, daring words:
“Thank you, good people! Thank you! I stood up for you, for your lives!” He wiped his beard and again raised his blood-covered hand. “There’s my blood! It flows for the sake of truth!”
The mother, without considering, walked down the steps, but immediately returned, since on the ground she couldn’t see Mikhail, hidden by the close-packed crowd. Something indistinctly joyous56 trembled in her bosom57 and warmed it.
“Peasants! Keep your eyes open for those writings; read them. Don’t believe the authorities and the priests when they tell you those people who carry truth to us are godless rioters. The truth travels over the earth secretly; it seeks a nest among the people. To the authorities it’s like a knife in the fire. They cannot accept it. It will cut them and burn them. Truth is your good friend and a sworn enemy of the authorities — that’s why it hides itself.”
“That’s so; he’s speaking the gospel!” shouted the blue-eyed peasant.
“Ah, brother! You will perish — and soon, too!”
“Who betrayed you?”
“The priest!” said one of the police.
Two peasants gave vent5 to hard oaths.
“Look out, boys!” a somewhat subdued cry was heard in warning.
The commissioner of police walked into the crowd — a tall, compact man, with a round, red face. His cap was cocked to one side; his mustache with one end turned up the other drooping58 made his face seem crooked59, and it was disfigured by a dull, dead grin. His left hand held a saber, his right waved broadly in the air. His heavy, firm tramp was audible. The crowd gave way before him. Something sullen38 and crushed appeared in their faces, and the noise died away as if it had sunk into the ground.
“What’s the trouble?” asked the police commissioner, stopping in front of Rybin and measuring him with his eyes. “Why are his hands not bound? Officers, why? Bind them!” His voice was high and resonant52, but colorless.
“They were tied, but the people unbound them,” answered one of the policemen.
“The people! What people?” The police commissioner looked at the crowd standing in a half-circle before him. In the same monotonous, blank voice, neither elevating nor lowering it, he continued: “Who are the people?”
With a back stroke he thrust the handle of his saber against the breast of the blue-eyed peasant.
“Are you the people, Chumakov? Well, who else? You, Mishin?” and he pulled somebody’s beard with his right hand.
“Disperse, you curs!”
Neither his voice nor face displayed the least agitation60 or threat. He spoke mechanically, with a dead calm, and with even movements of his strong, long hands, pushed the people back. The semicircle before him widened. Heads drooped61, faces were turned aside.
“Well,” he addressed the policeman, “what’s the matter with you? Bind him!” He uttered a cynical62 oath and again looked at Rybin, and said nonchalantly: “Your hands behind your back, you!”
“I don’t want my hands to be bound,” said Rybin. “I’m not going to run away, and I’m not fighting. Why should my hands be bound?”
“What?” exclaimed the police commissioner, striding up to him.
“It’s enough that you torture the people, you beasts!” continued Rybin in an elevated voice. “The red day will soon come for you, too. You’ll be paid back for everything.”
The police commissioner stood before him, his mustached upper lip twitching63. Then he drew back a step, and with a whistling voice sang out in surprise:
“Um! you damned scoundrel! Wha-at? What do you mean by your words? People, you say? A-a ——”
Suddenly he dealt Rybin a quick, sharp blow in the face.
“You won’t kill the truth with your fist!” shouted Rybin, drawing on him. “And you have no right to beat me, you dog!”
“I won’t dare, I suppose?” the police commissioner drawled.
Again he waved his hand, aiming at Rybin’s head; Rybin ducked; the blow missed, and the police commissioner almost toppled over. Some one in the crowd gave a jeering64 snort, and the angry shout of Mikhail was heard:
“Don’t you dare to beat me, I say, you infernal devil! I’m no weaker than you! Look out!”
The police commissioner looked around. The people shut down on him in a narrower circle, advancing sullenly.
“Nikita!” the police commissioner called out, looking around. “Nikita, hey!” A squat65 peasant in a short fur overcoat emerged from the crowd. He looked on the ground, with his large disheveled head drooping.
“Nikita,” the police commissioner said deliberately66, twirling his mustache, “give him a box on the ear — a good one!”
The peasant stepped forward, stopped in front of Rybin and raised his hand. Staring him straight in the face, Rybin stammered67 out heavily:
“Now look, people, how the beasts choke you with your own hands! Look! Look! Think! Why does he want to beat me — why? I ask.”
The peasant raised his hand and lazily struck Mikhail’s face.
“Ah, Nikita! don’t forget God!” subdued shouts came from the crowd.
“Strike, I say!” shouted the police commissioner, pushing the peasant on the back of his neck.
The peasant stepped aside, and inclining his head, said sullenly:
“I won’t do it again.”
“What?” The face of the police commissioner quivered. He stamped his feet, and, cursing, suddenly flung himself upon Rybin. The blow whizzed through the air; Rybin staggered and waved his arms; with the second blow the police commissioner felled him to the ground, and, jumping around with a growl68, he began to kick him on his breast, his side, and his head.
The crowd set up a hostile hum, rocked, and advanced upon the police commissioner. He noticed it and jumped away, snatching his saber from its scabbard.
“So that’s what you’re up to! You’re rioting, are you?”
His voice trembled and broke; it had grown husky. And he lost his composure along with his voice. He drew his shoulders up about his head, bent69 over, and turning his blank, bright eyes on all sides, he fell back, carefully feeling the ground behind him with his feet. As he withdrew he shouted hoarsely70 in great excitement:
“All right; take him! I’m leaving! But now, do you know, you cursed dogs, that he is a political criminal; that he is going against our Czar; that he stirs up riots — do you know it? — against the Emperor, the Czar? And you protect him; you, too, are rebels. Aha — a ——”
Without budging71, without moving her eyes, the strength of reason gone from her, the mother stood as if in a heavy sleep, overwhelmed by fear and pity. The outraged72, sullen, wrathful shouts of the people buzzed like bees in her head.
“If he has done something wrong, lead him to court.”
“And don’t beat him!”
“Forgive him, your Honor!”
“Now, really, what does it mean? Without any law whatever!”
“Why, is it possible? If they begin to beat everybody that way, what’ll happen then?”
“The devils! Our torturers!”
The people fell into two groups — the one surrounding the police commissioner shouted and exhorted73 him; the other, less numerous, remained about the beaten man, humming and sullen. Several men lifted him from the ground. The policemen again wanted to bind his bands.
“Wait a little while, you devils!” the people shouted.
Rybin wiped the blood from his face and beard and looked about in silence. His gaze glided74 by the face of the mother. She started, stretched herself out to him, and instinctively75 waved her hand. He turned away; but in a few minutes his eyes again rested on her face. It seemed to her that he straightened himself and raised his head, that his blood-covered cheeks quivered.
“Did he recognize me? I wonder if he did?”
She nodded her head to him and started with a sorrowful, painful joy. But the next moment she saw that the blue-eyed peasant was standing near him and also looking at her. His gaze awakened76 her to the consciousness of the risk she was running.
“What am I doing? They’ll take me, too.”
The peasant said something to Rybin, who shook his head.
“Never mind!” he exclaimed, his voice tremulous, but clear and bold. “I’m not alone in the world. They’ll not capture all the truth. In the place where I was the memory of me will remain. That’s it! Even though they destroy the nest, aren’t there more friends and comrades there?”
“He’s saying this for me,” the mother decided77 quickly.
“The people will build other nests for the truth; and a day will come when the eagles will fly from them into freedom. The people will emancipate78 themselves.”
A woman brought a pail of water and, wailing79 and groaning80, began to wash Rybin’s face. Her thin, piteous voice mixed with Mikhail’s words and hindered the mother from understanding them. A throng81 of peasants came up with the police commissioner in front of them. Some one shouted aloud:
“Come; I’m going to make an arrest! Who’s next?”
Then the voice of the police commissioner was heard. It had changed — mortification82 now evident in its altered tone.
“I may strike you, but you mayn’t strike me. Don’t you dare, you dunce!”
“Is that so? And who are you, pray? A god?”
A confused but subdued clamor drowned Rybin’s voice.
“Don’t argue, uncle. You’re up against the authorities.”
“Don’t be angry, your Honor. The man’s out of his wits.”
“Keep still, you funny fellow!”
“Here, they’ll soon take you to the city!”
“There’s more law there!”
The shouts of the crowd sounded pacificatory83, entreating84; they blended into a thick, indistinct babel, in which there was something hopeless and pitiful. The policemen led Rybin up the steps of the town hall and disappeared with him behind the doors. People began to depart in a hurry. The mother saw the blue-eyed peasant go across the square and look at her sidewise. Her legs trembled under her knees. A dismal85 feeling of impotence and loneliness gnawed86 at her heart sickeningly.
“I mustn’t go away,” she thought. “I mustn’t!” and holding on to the rails firmly, she waited.
The police commissioner walked up the steps of the town hall and said in a rebuking87 voice, which had assumed its former blankness and soullessness:
“You’re fools, you damned scoundrels! You don’t understand a thing, and poke43 your noses into an affair like this — a government affair. Cattle! You ought to thank me, fall on your knees before me for my goodness! If I were to say so, you would all be put to hard labor88.”
About a score of peasants stood with bared heads and listened in silence. It began to grow dusk; the clouds lowered. The blue-eyed peasant walked up to the steps, and said with a sigh:
“That’s the kind of business we have here!”
“Ye-es,” the mother rejoined quietly.
He looked at her with an open gaze.
“What’s your occupation?” he asked after a pause.
“I buy lace from the women, and linen89, too.”
The peasant slowly stroked his beard. Then looking up at the town hall he said gloomily and softly:
“You won’t, find anything of that kind here.”
The mother looked down on him, and waited for a more suitable moment to depart for the tavern. The peasant’s face was thoughtful and handsome and his eyes were sad. Broad-shouldered and tall, he was dressed in a patched-up coat, in a clean chintz shirt, and reddish homespun trousers. His feet were stockingless.
The mother for some reason drew a sigh of relief, and suddenly obeying an impulse from within, yielding to an instinct that got the better of her reason, she surprised herself by asking him:
“Can I stay in your house overnight?”
At the question everything in her muscles, her bones, tightened90 stiffly. She straightened herself, holding her breath, and fixed31 her eyes on the peasant. Pricking91 thoughts quickly flashed through her mind: “I’ll ruin everybody — Nikolay Ivanovich, Sonyushka — I’ll not see Pasha for a long time — they’ll kill him ——”
Looking on the ground, the peasant answered deliberately, folding his coat over his breast:
“Stay overnight? Yes, you can. Why not? Only my home is very poor!”
“Never mind; I’m not used to luxury,” the mother answered uncalculatingly.
“You can stay with me overnight,” the peasant repeated, measuring her with a searching glance.
It had already grown dark, and in the twilight92 his eyes shone cold, his face seemed very pale. The mother looked around, and as if dropping under distress93, she said in an undertone:
“Then I’ll go at once, and you’ll take my valise.”
“All right!” He shrugged94 his shoulders, again folded his coat and said softly:
“There goes the wagon95!”
In a few moments, after the crowd had begun to disperse, Rybin appeared again on the steps of the town hall. His hands were bound; his head and face were wrapped up in a gray cloth, and he was pushed into a waiting wagon.
“Farewell, good people!” his voice rang out in the cold evening twilight. “Search for the truth. Guard it! Believe the man who will bring you the clean word; cherish him. Don’t spare yourselves in the cause of truth!”
“Silence, you dog!” shouted the voice of the police commissioner. “Policeman, start the horses up, you fool!”
“What have you to be sorry for? What sort of life have you?”
The wagon started. Sitting in it with a policeman on either side, Rybin shouted dully:
“For the sake of what are you perishing — in hunger? Strive for freedom — it’ll give you bread and — truth. Farewell, good people!”
The hasty rumble96 of the wheels, the tramp of the horses, the shout of the police officer, enveloped97 his speech and muffled98 it.
“It’s done!” said the peasant, shaking his head. “You wait at the station a little while, and I’ll come soon.”
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1
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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buffets
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| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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7
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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11
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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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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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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stiffened
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rhythmically
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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33
freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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35
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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36
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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37
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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40
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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41
precipitating
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| adj.急落的，猛冲的v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的现在分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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42
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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43
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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44
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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45
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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46
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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47
bawled
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| 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） | |
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vehemently
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| adv. 热烈地 | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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50
untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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51
resonantly
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| adv.共鸣地，反响地 | |
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52
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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53
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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54
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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55
unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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61
drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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65
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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budging
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的现在分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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76
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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77
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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78
emancipate
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| v.解放，解除 | |
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79
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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80
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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81
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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82
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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83
pacificatory
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| 和解的 | |
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84
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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85
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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86
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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87
rebuking
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的现在分词 ) | |
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88
labor
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| 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 | |
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89
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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91
pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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92
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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93
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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94
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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95
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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96
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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97
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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