“O Fool-man! And if you had killed me in your strong arms what would you have done?”
“You want to live . . . and to run away from me again,” he said gently. “Tell me — do you?”
She moved towards him with very short steps, her head a little on one side, hands on hips7, with a slight balancing of her body: an approach more tantalizing8 than an escape. He looked on, eager — charmed. She spoke9 jestingly.
“What am I to say to a man who has been away three days from me? Three!” she repeated, holding up playfully three fingers before Willems’ eyes. He snatched at the hand, but she was on her guard and whisked it behind her back.
“No!” she said. “I cannot be caught. But I will come. I am coming myself because I like. Do not move. Do not touch me with your mighty10 hands, O child!”
As she spoke she made a step nearer, then another. Willems did not stir. Pressing against him she stood on tiptoe to look into his eyes, and her own seemed to grow bigger, glistening11 and tender, appealing and promising12. With that look she drew the man’s soul away from him through his immobile pupils, and from Willems’ features the spark of reason vanished under her gaze and was replaced by an appearance of physical well-being13, an ecstasy14 of the senses which had taken possession of his rigid15 body; an ecstasy that drove out regrets, hesitation16 and doubt, and proclaimed its terrible work by an appalling17 aspect of idiotic18 beatitude. He never stirred a limb, hardly breathed, but stood in stiff immobility, absorbing the delight of her close contact by every pore.
“Closer! Closer!” he murmured.
Slowly she raised her arms, put them over his shoulders, and clasping her hands at the back of his neck, swung off the full length of her arms. Her head fell back, the eyelids20 dropped slightly, and her thick hair hung straight down: a mass of ebony touched by the red gleams of the fire. He stood unyielding under the strain, as solid and motionless as one of the big trees of the surrounding forests; and his eyes looked at the modelling of her chin, at the outline of her neck, at the swelling21 lines of her bosom22, with the famished23 and concentrated expression of a starving man looking at food. She drew herself up to him and rubbed her head against his cheek slowly and gently. He sighed. She, with her hands still on his shoulders, glanced up at the placid24 stars and said —
“The night is half gone. We shall finish it by this fire. By this fire you shall tell me all: your words and Syed Abdulla’s words; and listening to you I shall forget the three days — because I am good. Tell me — am I good?”
He said “Yes” dreamily, and she ran off towards the big house.
When she came back, balancing a roll of fine mats on her head, he had replenished25 the fire and was ready to help her in arranging a couch on the side of it nearest to the hut. She sank down with a quick but gracefully26 controlled movement, and he threw himself full length with impatient haste, as if he wished to forestall27 somebody. She took his head on her knees, and when he felt her hands touching28 his face, her fingers playing with his hair, he had an expression of being taken possession of; he experienced a sense of peace, of rest, of happiness, and of soothing29 delight. His hands strayed upwards30 about her neck, and he drew her down so as to have her face above his. Then he whispered —“I wish I could die like this — now!” She looked at him with her big sombre eyes, in which there was no responsive light. His thought was so remote from her understanding that she let the words pass by unnoticed, like the breath of the wind, like the flight of a cloud. Woman though she was, she could not comprehend, in her simplicity32, the tremendous compliment of that speech, that whisper of deadly happiness, so sincere, so spontaneous, coming so straight from the heart — like every corruption33. It was the voice of madness, of a delirious34 peace, of happiness that is infamous35, cowardly, and so exquisite36 that the debased mind refuses to contemplate37 its termination: for to the victims of such happiness the moment of its ceasing is the beginning afresh of that torture which is its price.
With her brows slightly knitted in the determined38 preoccupation of her own desires, she said —
“Now tell me all. All the words spoken between you and Syed Abdulla.”
Tell what? What words? Her voice recalled back the consciousness that had departed under her touch, and he became aware of the passing minutes every one of which was like a reproach; of those minutes that falling, slow, reluctant, irresistible39 into the past, marked his footsteps on the way to perdition. Not that he had any conviction about it, any notion of the possible ending on that painful road. It was an indistinct feeling, a threat of suffering like the confused warning of coming disease, an inarticulate monition of evil made up of fear and pleasure, of resignation and of revolt. He was ashamed of his state of mind. After all, what was he afraid of? Were those scruples40? Why that hesitation to think, to speak of what he intended doing? Scruples were for imbeciles. His clear duty was to make himself happy. Did he ever take an oath of fidelity41 to Lingard? No. Well then — he would not let any interest of that old fool stand between Willems and Willems’ happiness. Happiness? Was he not, perchance, on a false track? Happiness meant money. Much money. At least he had always thought so till he had experienced those new sensations which. .
Aissa’s question, repeated impatiently, interrupted his musings, and looking up at her face shining above him in the dim light of the fire he stretched his limbs luxuriously42 and obedient to her desire, he spoke slowly and hardly above his breath. She, with her head close to his lips, listened absorbed, interested, in attentive43 immobility. The many noises of the great courtyard were hushed up gradually by the sleep that stilled all voices and closed all eyes. Then somebody droned out a song with a nasal drawl at the end of every verse. He stirred. She put her hand suddenly on his lips and sat upright. There was a feeble coughing, a rustle44 of leaves, and then a complete silence took possession of the land; a silence cold, mournful, profound; more like death than peace; more hard to bear than the fiercest tumult45. As soon as she removed her hand he hastened to speak, so insupportable to him was that stillness perfect and absolute in which his thoughts seemed to ring with the loudness of shouts.
“Who was there making that noise?” he asked.
“I do not know. He is gone now,” she answered, hastily. “Tell me, you will not return to your people; not without me. Not with me. Do you promise?”
“I have promised already. I have no people of my own. Have I not told you, that you are everybody to me?”
“Ah, yes,” she said, slowly, “but I like to hear you say that again — every day, and every night, whenever I ask; and never to be angry because I ask. I am afraid of white women who are shameless and have fierce eyes.” She scanned his features close for a moment and added:
“Are they very beautiful? They must be.”
“I do not know,” he whispered, thoughtfully. “And if I ever did know, looking at you I have forgotten.”
“Forgotten! And for three days and two nights you have forgotten me also! Why? Why were you angry with me when I spoke at first of Tuan Abdulla, in the days when we lived beside the brook46? You remembered somebody then. Somebody in the land whence you come. Your tongue is false. You are white indeed, and your heart is full of deception47. I know it. And yet I cannot help believing you when you talk of your love for me. But I am afraid!”
He felt flattered and annoyed by her vehemence48, and said —
“Well, I am with you now. I did come back. And it was you that went away.”
“When you have helped Abdulla against the Rajah Laut, who is the first of white men, I shall not be afraid any more,” she whispered.
“You must believe what I say when I tell you that there never was another woman; that there is nothing for me to regret, and nothing but my enemies to remember.”
“Where do you come from?” she said, impulsive49 and inconsequent, in a passionate50 whisper. “What is that land beyond the great sea from which you come? A land of lies and of evil from which nothing but misfortune ever comes to us — who are not white. Did you not at first ask me to go there with you? That is why I went away.”
“I shall never ask you again.”
“And there is no woman waiting for you there?”
“No!” said Willems, firmly.
She bent51 over him. Her lips hovered52 above his face and her long hair brushed his cheeks.
“You taught me the love of your people which is of the Devil,” she murmured, and bending still lower, she said faintly, “Like this?”
“Yes, like this!” he answered very low, in a voice that trembled slightly with eagerness; and she pressed suddenly her lips to his while he closed his eyes in an ecstasy of delight.
There was a long interval53 of silence. She stroked his head with gentle touches, and he lay dreamily, perfectly54 happy but for the annoyance55 of an indistinct vision of a well-known figure; a man going away from him and diminishing in a long perspective of fantastic trees, whose every leaf was an eye looking after that man, who walked away growing smaller, but never getting out of sight for all his steady progress. He felt a desire to see him vanish, a hurried impatience56 of his disappearance57, and he watched for it with a careful and irksome effort. There was something familiar about that figure. Why! Himself! He gave a sudden start and opened his eyes, quivering with the emotion of that quick return from so far, of finding himself back by the fire with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. It had been half a dream; he had slumbered58 in her arms for a few seconds. Only the beginning of a dream — nothing more. But it was some time before he recovered from the shock of seeing himself go away so deliberately59, so definitely, so unguardedly; and going away — where? Now, if he had not woke up in time he would never have come back again from there; from whatever place he was going to. He felt indignant. It was like an evasion60, like a prisoner breaking his parole — that thing slinking off stealthily while he slept. He was very indignant, and was also astonished at the absurdity61 of his own emotions.
She felt him tremble, and murmuring tender words, pressed his head to her breast. Again he felt very peaceful with a peace that was as complete as the silence round them. He muttered —
“You are tired, Aissa.”
She answered so low that it was like a sigh shaped into faint words.
“I shall watch your sleep, O child!”
He lay very quiet, and listened to the beating of her heart. That sound, light, rapid, persistent62, and steady; her very life beating against his cheek, gave him a clear perception of secure ownership, strengthened his belief in his possession of that human being, was like an assurance of the vague felicity of the future. There were no regrets, no doubts, no hesitation now. Had there ever been? All that seemed far away, ages ago — as unreal and pale as the fading memory of some delirium63. All the anguish64, suffering, strife65 of the past days; the humiliation66 and anger of his downfall; all that was an infamous nightmare, a thing born in sleep to be forgotten and leave no trace — and true life was this: this dreamy immobility with his head against her heart that beat so steadily67.
He was broad awake now, with that tingling68 wakefulness of the tired body which succeeds to the few refreshing69 seconds of irresistible sleep, and his wide-open eyes looked absently at the doorway70 of Omar’s hut. The reed walls glistened71 in the light of the fire, the smoke of which, thin and blue, drifted slanting72 in a succession of rings and spirals across the doorway, whose empty blackness seemed to him impenetrable and enigmatical like a curtain hiding vast spaces full of unexpected surprises. This was only his fancy, but it was absorbing enough to make him accept the sudden appearance of a head, coming out of the gloom, as part of his idle fantasy or as the beginning of another short dream, of another vagary73 of his overtired brain. A face with drooping74 eyelids, old, thin, and yellow, above the scattered75 white of a long beard that touched the earth. A head without a body, only a foot above the ground, turning slightly from side to side on the edge of the circle of light as if to catch the radiating heat of the fire on either cheek in succession. He watched it in passive amazement76, growing distinct, as if coming nearer to him, and the confused outlines of a body crawling on all fours came out, creeping inch by inch towards the fire, with a silent and all but imperceptible movement. He was astounded77 at the appearance of that blind head dragging that crippled body behind, without a sound, without a change in the composure of the sightless face, which was plain one second, blurred78 the next in the play of the light that drew it to itself steadily. A mute face with a kriss between its lips. This was no dream. Omar’s face. But why? What was he after?
He was too indolent in the happy languor79 of the moment to answer the question. It darted80 through his brain and passed out, leaving him free to listen again to the beating of her heart; to that precious and delicate sound which filled the quiet immensity of the night. Glancing upwards he saw the motionless head of the woman looking down at him in a tender gleam of liquid white between the long eyelashes, whose shadow rested on the soft curve of her cheek; and under the caress81 of that look, the uneasy wonder and the obscure fear of that apparition82, crouching83 and creeping in turns towards the fire that was its guide, were lost — were drowned in the quietude of all his senses, as pain is drowned in the flood of drowsy84 serenity85 that follows upon a dose of opium86.
He altered the position of his head by ever so little, and now could see easily that apparition which he had seen a minute before and had nearly forgotten already. It had moved closer, gliding87 and noiseless like the shadow of some nightmare, and now it was there, very near, motionless and still as if listening; one hand and one knee advanced; the neck stretched out and the head turned full towards the fire. He could see the emaciated88 face, the skin shiny over the prominent bones, the black shadows of the hollow temples and sunken cheeks, and the two patches of blackness over the eyes, over those eyes that were dead and could not see. What was the impulse which drove out this blind cripple into the night to creep and crawl towards that fire? He looked at him, fascinated, but the face, with its shifting lights and shadows, let out nothing, closed and impenetrable like a walled door.
Omar raised himself to a kneeling posture89 and sank on his heels, with his hands hanging down before him. Willems, looking out of his dreamy numbness90, could see plainly the kriss between the thin lips, a bar across the face; the handle on one side where the polished wood caught a red gleam from the fire and the thin line of the blade running to a dull black point on the other. He felt an inward shock, which left his body passive in Aissa’s embrace, but filled his breast with a tumult of powerless fear; and he perceived suddenly that it was his own death that was groping towards him; that it was the hate of himself and the hate of her love for him which drove this helpless wreck91 of a once brilliant and resolute92 pirate, to attempt a desperate deed that would be the glorious and supreme93 consolation94 of an unhappy old age. And while he looked, paralyzed with dread95, at the father who had resumed his cautious advance — blind like fate, persistent like destiny — he listened with greedy eagerness to the heart of the daughter beating light, rapid, and steady against his head.
He was in the grip of horrible fear; of a fear whose cold hand robs its victim of all will and of all power; of all wish to escape, to resist, or to move; which destroys hope and despair alike, and holds the empty and useless carcass as if in a vise under the coming stroke. It was not the fear of death — he had faced danger before — it was not even the fear of that particular form of death. It was not the fear of the end, for he knew that the end would not come then. A movement, a leap, a shout would save him from the feeble hand of the blind old man, from that hand that even now was, with cautious sweeps along the ground, feeling for his body in the darkness. It was the unreasoning fear of this glimpse into the unknown things, into those motives96, impulses, desires he had ignored, but that had lived in the breasts of despised men, close by his side, and were revealed to him for a second, to be hidden again behind the black mists of doubt and deception. It was not death that frightened him: it was the horror of bewildered life where he could understand nothing and nobody round him; where he could guide, control, comprehend nothing and no one — not even himself.
He felt a touch on his side. That contact, lighter97 than the caress of a mother’s hand on the cheek of a sleeping child, had for him the force of a crushing blow. Omar had crept close, and now, kneeling above him, held the kriss in one hand while the other skimmed over his jacket up towards his breast in gentle touches; but the blind face, still turned to the heat of the fire, was set and immovable in its aspect of stony98 indifference99 to things it could not hope to see. With an effort Willems took his eyes off the deathlike mask and turned them up to Aissa’s head. She sat motionless as if she had been part of the sleeping earth, then suddenly he saw her big sombre eyes open out wide in a piercing stare and felt the convulsive pressure of her hands pinning his arms along his body. A second dragged itself out, slow and bitter, like a day of mourning; a second full of regret and grief for that faith in her which took its flight from the shattered ruins of his trust. She was holding him! She too! He felt her heart give a great leap, his head slipped down on her knees, he closed his eyes and there was nothing. Nothing! It was as if she had died; as though her heart had leaped out into the night, abandoning him, defenceless and alone, in an empty world.
His head struck the ground heavily as she flung him aside in her sudden rush. He lay as if stunned100, face up and, daring not move, did not see the struggle, but heard the piercing shriek101 of mad fear, her low angry words; another shriek dying out in a moan. When he got up at last he looked at Aissa kneeling over her father, he saw her bent back in the effort of holding him down, Omar’s contorted limbs, a hand thrown up above her head and her quick movement grasping the wrist. He made an impulsive step forward, but she turned a wild face to him and called out over her shoulder —
“Keep back! Do not come near! Do not . . . .”
And he stopped short, his arms hanging lifelessly by his side, as if those words had changed him into stone. She was afraid of his possible violence, but in the unsettling of all his convictions he was struck with the frightful102 thought that she preferred to kill her father all by herself; and the last stage of their struggle, at which he looked as though a red fog had filled his eyes, loomed103 up with an unnatural104 ferocity, with a sinister105 meaning; like something monstrous106 and depraved, forcing its complicity upon him under the cover of that awful night. He was horrified107 and grateful; drawn108 irresistibly109 to her — and ready to run away. He could not move at first — then he did not want to stir. He wanted to see what would happen. He saw her lift, with a tremendous effort, the apparently110 lifeless body into the hut, and remained standing31, after they disappeared, with the vivid image in his eyes of that head swaying on her shoulder, the lower jaw111 hanging down, collapsed112, passive, meaningless, like the head of a corpse113.
Then after a while he heard her voice speaking inside, harshly, with an agitated114 abruptness115 of tone; and in answer there were groans116 and broken murmurs117 of exhaustion118. She spoke louder. He heard her saying violently —“No! No! Never!”
And again a plaintive119 murmur19 of entreaty120 as of some one begging for a supreme favour, with a last breath. Then she said —
“Never! I would sooner strike it into my own heart.”
She came out, stood panting for a short moment in the doorway, and then stepped into the firelight. Behind her, through the darkness came the sound of words calling the vengeance121 of heaven on her head, rising higher, shrill122, strained, repeating the curse over and over again — till the voice cracked in a passionate shriek that died out into hoarse123 muttering ending with a deep and prolonged sigh. She stood facing Willems, one hand behind her back, the other raised in a gesture compelling attention, and she listened in that attitude till all was still inside the hut. Then she made another step forward and her hand dropped slowly.
“Nothing but misfortune,” she whispered, absently, to herself. “Nothing but misfortune to us who are not white.” The anger and excitement died out of her face, and she looked straight at Willems with an intense and mournful gaze.
He recovered his senses and his power of speech with a sudden start.
“Aissa,” he exclaimed, and the words broke out through his lips with hurried nervousness. “Aissa! How can I live here? Trust me. Believe in me. Let us go away from here. Go very far away!
Very far; you and I!”
He did not stop to ask himself whether he could escape, and how, and where. He was carried away by the flood of hate, disgust, and contempt of a white man for that blood which is not his blood, for that race which is not his race; for the brown skins; for the hearts false like the sea, blacker than night. This feeling of repulsion overmastered his reason in a clear conviction of the impossibility for him to live with her people. He urged her passionately124 to fly with him because out of all that abhorred125 crowd he wanted this one woman, but wanted her away from them, away from that race of slaves and cut-throats from which she sprang. He wanted her for himself — far from everybody, in some safe and dumb solitude126. And as he spoke his anger and contempt rose, his hate became almost fear; and his desire of her grew immense, burning, illogical and merciless; crying to him through all his senses; louder than his hate, stronger than his fear, deeper than his contempt — irresistible and certain like death itself.
Standing at a little distance, just within the light — but on the threshold of that darkness from which she had come — she listened, one hand still behind her back, the other arm stretched out with the hand half open as if to catch the fleeting127 words that rang around her, passionate, menacing, imploring128, but all tinged129 with the anguish of his suffering, all hurried by the impatience that gnawed130 his breast. And while she listened she felt a slowing down of her heart-beats as the meaning of his appeal grew clearer before her indignant eyes, as she saw with rage and pain the edifice131 of her love, her own work, crumble132 slowly to pieces, destroyed by that man’s fears, by that man’s falseness. Her memory recalled the days by the brook when she had listened to other words — to other thoughts — to promises and to pleadings for other things, which came from that man’s lips at the bidding of her look or her smile, at the nod of her head, at the whisper of her lips. Was there then in his heart something else than her image, other desires than the desires of her love, other fears than the fear of losing her? How could that be? Had she grown ugly or old in a moment? She was appalled133, surprised and angry with the anger of unexpected humiliation; and her eyes looked fixedly134, sombre and steady, at that man born in the land of violence and of evil wherefrom nothing but misfortune comes to those who are not white. Instead of thinking of her caresses135, instead of forgetting all the world in her embrace, he was thinking yet of his people; of that people that steals every land, masters every sea, that knows no mercy and no truth — knows nothing but its own strength. O man of strong arm and of false heart! Go with him to a far country, be lost in the throng136 of cold eyes and false hearts — lose him there! Never! He was mad — mad with fear; but he should not escape her! She would keep him here a slave and a master; here where he was alone with her; where he must live for her — or die. She had a right to his love which was of her making, to the love that was in him now, while he spoke those words without sense. She must put between him and other white men a barrier of hate. He must not only stay, but he must also keep his promise to Abdulla, the fulfilment of which would make her safe.
“Aissa, let us go! With you by my side I would attack them with my naked hands. Or no! Tomorrow we shall be outside, on board Abdulla’s ship. You shall come with me and then I could . . . If the ship went ashore137 by some chance, then we could steal a canoe and escape in the confusion. . . . You are not afraid of the sea . . . of the sea that would give me freedom . . . ”
He was approaching her gradually with extended arms, while he pleaded ardently138 in incoherent words that ran over and tripped each other in the extreme eagerness of his speech. She stepped back, keeping her distance, her eyes on his face, watching on it the play of his doubts and of his hopes with a piercing gaze, that seemed to search out the innermost recesses139 of his thought; and it was as if she had drawn slowly the darkness round her, wrapping herself in its undulating folds that made her indistinct and vague. He followed her step by step till at last they both stopped, facing each other under the big tree of the enclosure. The solitary140 exile of the forests, great, motionless and solemn in his abandonment, left alone by the life of ages that had been pushed away from him by those pigmies that crept at his foot, towered high and straight above their heads. He seemed to look on, dispassionate and imposing141, in his lonely greatness, spreading his branches wide in a gesture of lofty protection, as if to hide them in the sombre shelter of innumerable leaves; as if moved by the disdainful compassion142 of the strong, by the scornful pity of an aged143 giant, to screen this struggle of two human hearts from the cold scrutiny144 of glittering stars.
The last cry of his appeal to her mercy rose loud, vibrated under the sombre canopy145, darted among the boughs146 startling the white birds that slept wing to wing — and died without an echo, strangled in the dense147 mass of unstirring leaves. He could not see her face, but he heard her sighs and the distracted murmur of indistinct words. Then, as he listened holding his breath, she exclaimed suddenly —
“Have you heard him? He has cursed me because I love you. You brought me suffering and strife — and his curse. And now you want to take me far away where I would lose you, lose my life; because your love is my life now. What else is there? Do not move,” she cried violently, as he stirred a little —“do not speak! Take this! Sleep in peace!”
He saw a shadowy movement of her arm. Something whizzed past and struck the ground behind him, close to the fire. Instinctively148 he turned round to look at it. A kriss without its sheath lay by the embers; a sinuous149 dark object, looking like something that had been alive and was now crushed, dead and very inoffensive; a black wavy150 outline very distinct and still in the dull red glow. Without thinking he moved to pick it up, stooping with the sad and humble151 movement of a beggar gathering152 the alms flung into the dust of the roadside. Was this the answer to his pleading, to the hot and living words that came from his heart? Was this the answer thrown at him like an insult, that thing made of wood and iron, insignificant153 and venomous, fragile and deadly? He held it by the blade and looked at the handle stupidly for a moment before he let it fall again at his feet; and when he turned round he faced only the night:— the night immense, profound and quiet; a sea of darkness in which she had disappeared without leaving a trace.
He moved forward with uncertain steps, putting out both his hands before him with the anguish of a man blinded suddenly.
“Aissa!” he cried —“come to me at once.”
He peered and listened, but saw nothing, heard nothing. After a while the solid blackness seemed to wave before his eyes like a curtain disclosing movements but hiding forms, and he heard light and hurried footsteps, then the short clatter154 of the gate leading to Lakamba’s private enclosure. He sprang forward and brought up against the rough timber in time to hear the words, “Quick! Quick!” and the sound of the wooden bar dropped on the other side, securing the gate. With his arms thrown up, the palms against the paling, he slid down in a heap on the ground.
“Aissa,” he said, pleadingly, pressing his lips to a chink between the stakes. “Aissa, do you hear me? Come back! I will do what you want, give you all you desire — if I have to set the whole Sambir on fire and put that fire out with blood. Only come back. Now! At once! Are you there? Do you hear me? Aissa!”
On the other side there were startled whispers of feminine voices; a frightened little laugh suddenly interrupted; some woman’s admiring murmur —“This is brave talk!” Then after a short silence Aissa cried —
“Sleep in peace — for the time of your going is near. Now I am afraid of you. Afraid of your fear. When you return with Tuan Abdulla you shall be great. You will find me here. And there will be nothing but love. Nothing else! — Always! — Till we die!”
He listened to the shuffle155 of footsteps going away, and staggered to his feet, mute with the excess of his passionate anger against that being so savage156 and so charming; loathing157 her, himself, everybody he had ever known; the earth, the sky, the very air he drew into his oppressed chest; loathing it because it made him live, loathing her because she made him suffer. But he could not leave that gate through which she had passed. He wandered a little way off, then swerved158 round, came back and fell down again by the stockade159 only to rise suddenly in another attempt to break away from the spell that held him, that brought him back there, dumb, obedient and furious. And under the immobilized gesture of lofty protection in the branches outspread wide above his head, under the high branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the shelter of countless160 leaves, he tossed like a grain of dust in a whirlwind — sinking and rising — round and round — always near that gate. All through the languid stillness of that night he fought with the impalpable; he fought with the shadows, with the darkness, with the silence. He fought without a sound, striking futile161 blows, dashing from side to side; obstinate162, hopeless, and always beaten back; like a man bewitched within the invisible sweep of a magic circle.
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1
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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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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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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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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12
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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13
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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14
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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15
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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16
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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17
appalling
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| adj.骇人听闻的，令人震惊的，可怕的 | |
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18
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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19
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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20
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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21
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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22
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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23
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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24
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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25
replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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26
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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27
forestall
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| vt.抢在…之前采取行动；预先阻止 | |
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28
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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29
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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30
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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31
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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32
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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33
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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34
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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35
infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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36
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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37
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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38
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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39
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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40
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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41
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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42
luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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43
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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44
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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45
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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46
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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47
deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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48
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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49
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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50
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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53
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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54
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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55
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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56
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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57
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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58
slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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59
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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60
evasion
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| n.逃避，偷漏(税) | |
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61
absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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62
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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63
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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64
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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65
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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66
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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67
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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68
tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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69
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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70
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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71
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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73
vagary
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| n.妄想，不可测之事，异想天开 | |
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74
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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75
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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76
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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77
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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78
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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79
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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80
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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81
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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82
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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83
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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84
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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85
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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86
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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87
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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88
emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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89
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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90
numbness
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| n.无感觉，麻木，惊呆 | |
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91
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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92
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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93
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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94
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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95
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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96
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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97
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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98
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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99
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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100
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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101
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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102
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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103
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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104
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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105
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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106
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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107
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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108
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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109
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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110
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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111
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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112
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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113
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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114
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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115
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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116
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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117
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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118
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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119
plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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120
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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121
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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122
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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123
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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124
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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125
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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126
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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127
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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128
imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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129
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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130
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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131
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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132
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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133
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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134
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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135
caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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136
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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137
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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138
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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139
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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140
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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141
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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142
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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143
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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144
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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145
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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146
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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147
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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148
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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149
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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150
wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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151
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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152
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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153
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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154
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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155
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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156
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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157
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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158
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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159
stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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160
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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161
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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162
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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