Very soon his ability, his will — strong to obstinacy13 — his wisdom beyond his years, caused him to be recognized as the head of a family whose members and connections were found in every part of those seas. An uncle here — a brother there; a father-in-law in Batavia, another in Palembang; husbands of numerous sisters; cousins innumerable scattered14 north, south, east, and west — in every place where there was trade: the great family lay like a network over the islands. They lent money to princes, influenced the council-rooms, faced — if need be — with peaceful intrepidity15 the white rulers who held the land and the sea under the edge of sharp swords; and they all paid great deference16 to Abdulla, listened to his advice, entered into his plans — because he was wise, pious, and fortunate.
He bore himself with the humility17 becoming a Believer, who never forgets, even for one moment of his waking life, that he is the servant of the Most High. He was largely charitable because the charitable man is the friend of Allah, and when he walked out of his house — built of stone, just outside the town of Penang — on his way to his godowns in the port, he had often to snatch his hand away sharply from under the lips of men of his race and creed12; and often he had to murmur18 deprecating words, or even to rebuke19 with severity those who attempted to touch his knees with their finger-tips in gratitude20 or supplication21. He was very handsome, and carried his small head high with meek22 gravity. His lofty brow, straight nose, narrow, dark face with its chiselled23 delicacy24 of feature, gave him an aristocratic appearance which proclaimed his pure descent. His beard was trimmed close and to a rounded point. His large brown eyes looked out steadily25 with a sweetness that was belied26 by the expression of his thin-lipped mouth. His aspect was serene27. He had a belief in his own prosperity which nothing could shake.
Restless, like all his people, he very seldom dwelt for many days together in his splendid house in Penang. Owner of ships, he was often on board one or another of them, traversing in all directions the field of his operations. In every port he had a household — his own or that of a relation — to hail his advent28 with demonstrative joy. In every port there were rich and influential29 men eager to see him, there was business to talk over, there were important letters to read: an immense correspondence, enclosed in silk envelopes — a correspondence which had nothing to do with the infidels of colonial post-offices, but came into his hands by devious30, yet safe, ways. It was left for him by taciturn nakhodas of native trading craft, or was delivered with profound salaams31 by travel-stained and weary men who would withdraw from his presence calling upon Allah to bless the generous giver of splendid rewards. And the news was always good, and all his attempts always succeeded, and in his ears there rang always a chorus of admiration32, of gratitude, of humble33 entreaties34.
A fortunate man. And his felicity was so complete that the good genii, who ordered the stars at his birth, had not neglected — by a refinement35 of benevolence36 strange in such primitive37 beings — to provide him with a desire difficult to attain38, and with an enemy hard to overcome. The envy of Lingard’s political and commercial successes, and the wish to get the best of him in every way, became Abdulla’s mania39, the paramount40 interest of his life, the salt of his existence.
For the last few months he had been receiving mysterious messages from Sambir urging him to decisive action. He had found the river a couple of years ago, and had been anchored more than once off that estuary41 where the, till then, rapid Pantai, spreading slowly over the lowlands, seems to hesitate, before it flows gently through twenty outlets42; over a maze43 of mudflats, sandbanks and reefs, into the expectant sea. He had never attempted the entrance, however, because men of his race, although brave and adventurous44 travellers, lack the true seamanlike45 instincts, and he was afraid of getting wrecked46. He could not bear the idea of the Rajah Laut being able to boast that Abdulla bin Selim, like other and lesser47 men, had also come to grief when trying to wrest48 his secret from him. Meantime he returned encouraging answers to his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited for his opportunity in the calm certitude of ultimate triumph.
Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for the first time on the night of Willems’ return to Aissa. Babalatchi, who had been tormented49 for three days by the fear of having over-reached himself in his little plot, now, feeling sure of his white man, felt lighthearted and happy as he superintended the preparations in the courtyard for Abdulla’s reception. Half-way between Lakamba’s house and the river a pile of dry wood was made ready for the torch that would set fire to it at the moment of Abdulla’s landing. Between this and the house again there was, ranged in a semicircle, a set of low bamboo frames, and on those were piled all the carpets and cushions of Lakamba’s household. It had been decided50 that the reception was to take place in the open air, and that it should be made impressive by the great number of Lakamba’s retainers, who, clad in clean white, with their red sarongs gathered round their waists, chopper at side and lance in hand, were moving about the compound or, gathering51 into small knots, discussed eagerly the coming ceremony.
Two little fires burned brightly on the water’s edge on each side of the landing place. A small heap of damar-gum torches lay by each, and between them Babalatchi strolled backwards52 and forwards, stopping often with his face to the river and his head on one side, listening to the sounds that came from the darkness over the water. There was no moon and the night was very clear overhead, but, after the afternoon breeze had expired in fitful puffs53, the vapours hung thickening over the glancing surface of the Pantai and clung to the shore, hiding from view the middle of the stream.
A cry in the mist — then another — and, before Babalatchi could answer, two little canoes dashed up to the landing-place, and two of the principal citizens of Sambir, Daoud Sahamin and Hamet Bahassoen, who had been confidentially54 invited to meet Abdulla, landed quickly and after greeting Babalatchi walked up the dark courtyard towards the house. The little stir caused by their arrival soon subsided55, and another silent hour dragged its slow length while Babalatchi tramped up and down between the fires, his face growing more anxious with every passing moment.
At last there was heard a loud hail from down the river. At a call from Babalatchi men ran down to the riverside and, snatching the torches, thrust them into the fires, then waved them above their heads till they burst into a flame. The smoke ascended56 in thick, wispy57 streams, and hung in a ruddy cloud above the glare that lit up the courtyard and flashed over the water, showing three long canoes manned by many paddlers lying a little off; the men in them lifting their paddles on high and dipping them down together, in an easy stroke that kept the small flotilla motionless in the strong current, exactly abreast58 of the landing-place. A man stood up in the largest craft and called out —
“Syed Abdulla bin Selim is here!”
Babalatchi answered aloud in a formal tone —
“Allah gladdens our hearts! Come to the land!”
Abdulla landed first, steadying himself by the help of Babalatchi’s extended hand. In the short moment of his passing from the boat to the shore they exchanged sharp glances and a few rapid words.
“Who are you?”
“Babalatchi. The friend of Omar. The protected of Lakamba.”
“You wrote?”
“My words were written, O Giver of alms!”
And then Abdulla walked with composed face between the two lines of men holding torches, and met Lakamba in front of the big fire that was crackling itself up into a great blaze. For a moment they stood with clasped hands invoking59 peace upon each other’s head, then Lakamba, still holding his honoured guest by the hand, led him round the fire to the prepared seats. Babalatchi followed close behind his protector. Abdulla was accompanied by two Arabs. He, like his companions, was dressed in a white robe of starched60 muslin, which fell in stiff folds straight from the neck. It was buttoned from the throat halfway61 down with a close row of very small gold buttons; round the tight sleeves there was a narrow braid of gold lace. On his shaven head he wore a small skull-cap of plaited grass. He was shod in patent leather slippers62 over his naked feet. A rosary of heavy wooden beads63 hung by a round turn from his right wrist. He sat down slowly in the place of honour, and, dropping his slippers, tucked up his legs under him decorously.
The improvised64 divan65 was arranged in a wide semi-circle, of which the point most distant from the fire — some ten yards — was also the nearest to Lakamba’s dwelling66. As soon as the principal personages were seated, the verandah of the house was filled silently by the muffled-up forms of Lakamba’s female belongings67. They crowded close to the rail and looked down, whispering faintly. Below, the formal exchange of compliments went on for some time between Lakamba and Abdulla, who sat side by side. Babalatchi squatted68 humbly69 at his protector’s feet, with nothing but a thin mat between himself and the hard ground.
Then there was a pause. Abdulla glanced round in an expectant manner, and after a while Babalatchi, who had been sitting very still in a pensive70 attitude, seemed to rouse himself with an effort, and began to speak in gentle and persuasive71 tones. He described in flowing sentences the first beginnings of Sambir, the dispute of the present ruler, Patalolo, with the Sultan of Koti, the consequent troubles ending with the rising of Bugis settlers under the leadership of Lakamba. At different points of the narrative72 he would turn for confirmation73 to Sahamin and Bahassoen, who sat listening eagerly and assented74 together with a “Betul! Betul! Right! Right!” ejaculated in a fervent75 undertone.
Warming up with his subject as the narrative proceeded, Babalatchi went on to relate the facts connected with Lingard’s action at the critical period of those internal dissensions. He spoke76 in a restrained voice still, but with a growing energy of indignation. What was he, that man of fierce aspect, to keep all the world away from them? Was he a government? Who made him ruler? He took possession of Patalolo’s mind and made his heart hard; he put severe words into his mouth and caused his hand to strike right and left. That unbeliever kept the Faithful panting under the weight of his senseless oppression. They had to trade with him — accept such goods as he would give — such credit as he would accord. And he exacted payment every year . . .
“Very true!” exclaimed Sahamin and Bahassoen together.
Babalatchi glanced at them approvingly and turned to Abdulla.
“Listen to those men, O Protector of the oppressed!” he exclaimed. “What could we do? A man must trade. There was nobody else.”
Sahamin got up, staff in hand, and spoke to Abdulla with ponderous77 courtesy, emphasizing his words by the solemn flourishes of his right arm.
“It is so. We are weary of paying our debts to that white man here, who is the son of the Rajah Laut. That white man — may the grave of his mother be defiled78! — is not content to hold us all in his hand with a cruel grasp. He seeks to cause our very death. He trades with the Dyaks of the forest, who are no better than monkeys. He buys from them guttah and rattans — while we starve. Only two days ago I went to him and said, ‘Tuan Almayer’— even so; we must speak politely to that friend of Satan —‘Tuan Almayer, I have such and such goods to sell. Will you buy?’ And he spoke thus — because those white men have no understanding of any courtesy — he spoke to me as if I was a slave: ‘Daoud, you are a lucky man’— remark, O First amongst the Believers! that by those words he could have brought misfortune on my head —‘you are a lucky man to have anything in these hard times. Bring your goods quickly, and I shall receive them in payment of what you owe me from last year.’ And he laughed, and struck me on the shoulder with his open hand. May Jehannum be his lot!”
“We will fight him,” said young Bahassoen, crisply. “We shall fight if there is help and a leader. Tuan Abdulla, will you come among us?”
Abdulla did not answer at once. His lips moved in an inaudible whisper and the beads passed through his fingers with a dry click. All waited in respectful silence. “I shall come if my ship can enter this river,” said Abdulla at last, in a solemn tone.
“It can, Tuan,” exclaimed Babalatchi. “There is a white man here who . . . ”
“I want to see Omar el Badavi and that white man you wrote about,” interrupted Abdulla.
Babalatchi got on his feet quickly, and there was a general move.
The women on the verandah hurried indoors, and from the crowd that had kept discreetly80 in distant parts of the courtyard a couple of men ran with armfuls of dry fuel, which they cast upon the fire. One of them, at a sign from Babalatchi, approached and, after getting his orders, went towards the little gate and entered Omar’s enclosure. While waiting for his return, Lakamba, Abdulla, and Babalatchi talked together in low tones. Sahamin sat by himself chewing betel-nut sleepily with a slight and indolent motion of his heavy jaw81. Bahassoen, his hand on the hilt of his short sword, strutted82 backwards and forwards in the full light of the fire, looking very warlike and reckless; the envy and admiration of Lakamba’s retainers, who stood in groups or flitted about noiselessly in the shadows of the courtyard.
The messenger who had been sent to Omar came back and stood at a distance, waiting till somebody noticed him. Babalatchi beckoned83 him close.
“What are his words?” asked Babalatchi.
“He says that Syed Abdulla is welcome now,” answered the man.
Lakamba was speaking low to Abdulla, who listened to him with deep interest.
“ . . . We could have eighty men if there was need,” he was saying —“eighty men in fourteen canoes. The only thing we want is gunpowder84 . . . ”
“Hai! there will be no fighting,” broke in Babalatchi. “The fear of your name will be enough and the terror of your coming.”
“There may be powder too,” muttered Abdulla with great nonchalance85, “if only the ship enters the river safely.”
“If the heart is stout86 the ship will be safe,” said Babalatchi. “We will go now and see Omar el Badavi and the white man I have here.”
Lakamba’s dull eyes became animated87 suddenly.
“Take care, Tuan Abdulla,” he said, “take care. The behaviour of that unclean white madman is furious in the extreme. He offered to strike . . . ”
“On my head, you are safe, O Giver of alms!” interrupted Babalatchi.
Abdulla looked from one to the other, and the faintest flicker88 of a passing smile disturbed for a moment his grave composure. He turned to Babalatchi, and said with decision —
“Let us go.”
“This way, O Uplifter of our hearts!” rattled89 on Babalatchi, with fussy90 deference. “Only a very few paces and you shall behold91 Omar the brave, and a white man of great strength and cunning. This way.”
He made a sign for Lakamba to remain behind, and with respectful touches on the elbow steered92 Abdulla towards the gate at the upper end of the court-yard. As they walked on slowly, followed by the two Arabs, he kept on talking in a rapid undertone to the great man, who never looked at him once, although appearing to listen with flattering attention. When near the gate Babalatchi moved forward and stopped, facing Abdulla, with his hand on the fastenings.
“You shall see them both,” he said. “All my words about them are true. When I saw him enslaved by the one of whom I spoke, I knew he would be soft in my hand like the mud of the river. At first he answered my talk with bad words of his own language, after the manner of white men. Afterwards, when listening to the voice he loved, he hesitated. He hesitated for many days — too many. I, knowing him well, made Omar withdraw here with his . . . household. Then this red-faced man raged for three days like a black panther that is hungry. And this evening, this very evening, he came. I have him here. He is in the grasp of one with a merciless heart. I have him here,” ended Babalatchi, exultingly93 tapping the upright of the gate with his hand.
“That is good,” murmured Abdulla.
“And he shall guide your ship and lead in the fight — if fight there be,” went on Babalatchi. “If there is any killing94 — let him be the slayer95. You should give him arms — a short gun that fires many times.”
“Yes, by Allah!” assented Abdulla, with slow thoughtfulness.
“And you will have to open your hand, O First amongst the generous!” continued Babalatchi. “You will have to satisfy the rapacity96 of a white man, and also of one who is not a man, and therefore greedy of ornaments97.”
“They shall be satisfied,” said Abdulla; “but . . . ” He hesitated, looking down on the ground and stroking his beard, while Babalatchi waited, anxious, with parted lips. After a short time he spoke again jerkily in an indistinct whisper, so that Babalatchi had to turn his head to catch the words. “Yes. But Omar is the son of my father’s uncle . . . and all belonging to him are of the Faith . . . while that man is an unbeliever. It is most unseemly . . . very unseemly. He cannot live under my shadow. Not that dog. Penitence98! I take refuge with my God,” he mumbled99 rapidly. “How can he live under my eyes with that woman, who is of the Faith? Scandal! O abomination!”
He finished with a rush and drew a long breath, then added dubiously100 —
“And when that man has done all we want, what is to be done with him?”
They stood close together, meditative101 and silent, their eyes roaming idly over the courtyard. The big bonfire burned brightly, and a wavering splash of light lay on the dark earth at their feet, while the lazy smoke wreathed itself slowly in gleaming coils amongst the black boughs102 of the trees. They could see Lakamba, who had returned to his place, sitting hunched103 up spiritlessly on the cushions, and Sahamin, who had got on his feet again and appeared to be talking to him with dignified104 animation105. Men in twos or threes came out of the shadows into the light, strolling slowly, and passed again into the shadows, their faces turned to each other, their arms moving in restrained gestures. Bahassoen, his head proudly thrown back, his ornaments, embroideries106, and sword-hilt flashing in the light, circled steadily round the fire like a planet round the sun. A cool whiff of damp air came from the darkness of the riverside; it made Abdulla and Babalatchi shiver, and woke them up from their abstraction.
“Open the gate and go first,” said Abdulla; “there is no danger?”
“On my life, no!” answered Babalatchi, lifting the rattan79 ring. “He is all peace and content, like a thirsty man who has drunk water after many days.”
He swung the gate wide, made a few paces into the gloom of the enclosure, and retraced107 his steps suddenly.
“He may be made useful in many ways,” he whispered to Abdulla, who had stopped short, seeing him come back.
“O Sin! O Temptation!” sighed out Abdulla, faintly. “Our refuge is with the Most High. Can I feed this infidel for ever and for ever?” he added, impatiently.
“No,” breathed out Babalatchi. “No! Not for ever. Only while he serves your designs, O Dispenser of Allah’s gifts! When the time comes — and your order . . . ”
He sidled close to Abdulla, and brushed with a delicate touch the hand that hung down listlessly, holding the prayer-beads.
“I am your slave and your offering,” he murmured, in a distinct and polite tone, into Abdulla’s ear. “When your wisdom speaks, there may be found a little poison that will not lie. Who knows?”
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1
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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bin
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| n.箱柜；vt.放入箱内；[计算机] DOS文件名:二进制目标文件 | |
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3
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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10
beheld
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| 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 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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14
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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chiselled
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| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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belied
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| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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salaams
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| （穆斯林的）额手礼，问安，敬礼( salaam的名词复数 ) | |
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32
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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paramount
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| a.最重要的，最高权力的 | |
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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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outlets
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| n.出口( outlet的名词复数 )；经销店；插座；廉价经销店 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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45
seamanlike
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| 海员般的，熟练水手似的 | |
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46
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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47
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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48
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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49
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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50
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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51
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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52
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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53
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wispy
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| adj.模糊的；纤细的 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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invoking
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| v.援引( invoke的现在分词 )；行使（权利等）；祈求救助；恳求 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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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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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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defiled
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| v.玷污( defile的过去式和过去分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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rattan
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| n.藤条，藤杖 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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strutted
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| 趾高气扬地走，高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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exultingly
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| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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rapacity
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| n.贪婪，贪心，劫掠的欲望 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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99
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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101
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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102
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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103
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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105
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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embroideries
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| 刺绣( embroidery的名词复数 )； 刺绣品； 刺绣法 | |
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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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