Babalatchi, coming out of the red and smoky light of his little bamboo house, glanced upwards10, drew in a long breath of the warm and stagnant11 air, and stood for a moment with his good eye closed tightly, as if intimidated12 by the unwonted and deep silence of Lakamba’s courtyard. When he opened his eye he had recovered his sight so far, that he could distinguish the various degrees of formless blackness which marked the places of trees, of abandoned houses, of riverside bushes, on the dark background of the night.
The careworn13 sage4 walked cautiously down the deserted14 courtyard to the waterside, and stood on the bank listening to the voice of the invisible river that flowed at his feet; listening to the soft whispers, to the deep murmurs15, to the sudden gurgles and the short hisses16 of the swift current racing17 along the bank through the hot darkness.
He stood with his face turned to the river, and it seemed to him that he could breathe easier with the knowledge of the clear vast space before him; then, after a while he leaned heavily forward on his staff, his chin fell on his breast, and a deep sigh was his answer to the selfish discourse18 of the river that hurried on unceasing and fast, regardless of joy or sorrow, of suffering and of strife19, of failures and triumphs that lived on its banks. The brown water was there, ready to carry friends or enemies, to nurse love or hate on its submissive and heartless bosom20, to help or to hinder, to save life or give death; the great and rapid river: a deliverance, a prison, a refuge or a grave.
Perchance such thoughts as these caused Babalatchi to send another mournful sigh into the trailing mists of the unconcerned Pantai. The barbarous politician had forgotten the recent success of his plottings in the melancholy21 contemplation of a sorrow that made the night blacker, the clammy heat more oppressive, the still air more heavy, the dumb solitude22 more significant of torment23 than of peace. He had spent the night before by the side of the dying Omar, and now, after twenty-four hours, his memory persisted in returning to that low and sombre reed hut from which the fierce spirit of the incomparably accomplished24 pirate took its flight, to learn too late, in a worse world, the error of its earthly ways. The mind of the savage25 statesman, chastened by bereavement26, felt for a moment the weight of his loneliness with keen perception worthy27 even of a sensibility exasperated28 by all the refinements29 of tender sentiment that a glorious civilization brings in its train, among other blessings30 and virtues31, into this excellent world. For the space of about thirty seconds, a half-naked, betel-chewing pessimist32 stood upon the bank of the tropical river, on the edge of the still and immense forests; a man angry, powerless, empty-handed, with a cry of bitter discontent ready on his lips; a cry that, had it come out, would have rung through the virgin33 solitudes34 of the woods, as true, as great, as profound, as any philosophical35 shriek36 that ever came from the depths of an easy-chair to disturb the impure37 wilderness38 of chimneys and roofs.
For half a minute and no more did Babalatchi face the gods in the sublime39 privilege of his revolt, and then the one-eyed puller of wires became himself again, full of care and wisdom and far-reaching plans, and a victim to the tormenting40 superstitions41 of his race. The night, no matter how quiet, is never perfectly42 silent to attentive43 ears, and now Babalatchi fancied he could detect in it other noises than those caused by the ripples44 and eddies45 of the river. He turned his head sharply to the right and to the left in succession, and then spun46 round quickly in a startled and watchful47 manner, as if he had expected to see the blind ghost of his departed leader wandering in the obscurity of the empty courtyard behind his back. Nothing there. Yet he had heard a noise; a strange noise! No doubt a ghostly voice of a complaining and angry spirit. He listened. Not a sound. Reassured48, Babalatchi made a few paces towards his house, when a very human noise, that of hoarse49 coughing, reached him from the river. He stopped, listened attentively50, but now without any sign of emotion, and moving briskly back to the waterside stood expectant with parted lips, trying to pierce with his eye the wavering curtain of mist that hung low over the water. He could see nothing, yet some people in a canoe must have been very near, for he heard words spoken in an ordinary tone.
“Do you think this is the place, Ali? I can see nothing.”
“It must be near here, Tuan,” answered another voice. “Shall we try the bank?”
“No! . . . Let drift a little. If you go poking51 into the bank in the dark you might stove the canoe on some log. We must be careful. . . . Let drift! Let drift! . . . This does seem to be a clearing of some sort. We may see a light by and by from some house or other. In Lakamba’s campong there are many houses? Hey?”
“A great number, Tuan . . . I do not see any light.”
“Nor I,” grumbled52 the first voice again, this time nearly abreast53 of the silent Babalatchi who looked uneasily towards his own house, the doorway54 of which glowed with the dim light of a torch burning within. The house stood end on to the river, and its doorway faced down-stream, so Babalatchi reasoned rapidly that the strangers on the river could not see the light from the position their boat was in at the moment. He could not make up his mind to call out to them, and while he hesitated he heard the voices again, but now some way below the landing-place where he stood.
“Nothing. This cannot be it. Let them give way, Ali! Dayong there!”
That order was followed by the splash of paddles, then a sudden cry —
“I see a light. I see it! Now I know where to land, Tuan.”
There was more splashing as the canoe was paddled sharply round and came back up-stream close to the bank.
“Call out,” said very near a deep voice, which Babalatchi felt sure must belong to a white man. “Call out — and somebody may come with a torch. I can’t see anything.”
The loud hail that succeeded these words was emitted nearly under the silent listener’s nose. Babalatchi, to preserve appearances, ran with long but noiseless strides halfway55 up the courtyard, and only then shouted in answer and kept on shouting as he walked slowly back again towards the river bank. He saw there an indistinct shape of a boat, not quite alongside the landing-place.
“Who speaks on the river?” asked Babalatchi, throwing a tone of surprise into his question.
“A white man,” answered Lingard from the canoe. “Is there not one torch in rich Lakamba’s campong to light a guest on his landing?”
“There are no torches and no men. I am alone here,” said Babalatchi, with some hesitation56.
“Alone!” exclaimed Lingard. “Who are you?”
“Only a servant of Lakamba. But land, Tuan Putih, and see my face. Here is my hand. No! Here! . . . By your mercy . . . . Ada! . . . Now you are safe.”
“And you are alone here?” said Lingard, moving with precaution a few steps into the courtyard. “How dark it is,” he muttered to himself —“one would think the world had been painted black.”
“Yes. Alone. What more did you say, Tuan? I did not understand your talk.”
“It is nothing. I expected to find here . . . But where are they all?”
“What matters where they are?” said Babalatchi, gloomily. “Have you come to see my people? The last departed on a long journey — and I am alone. Tomorrow I go too.”
“I came to see a white man,” said Lingard, walking on slowly. “He is not gone, is he?”
“No!” answered Babalatchi, at his elbow. “A man with a red skin and hard eyes,” he went on, musingly57, “whose hand is strong, and whose heart is foolish and weak. A white man indeed . . . But still a man.”
They were now at the foot of the short ladder which led to the split-bamboo platform surrounding Babalatchi’s habitation. The faint light from the doorway fell down upon the two men’s faces as they stood looking at each other curiously58.
“Is he there?” asked Lingard, in a low voice, with a wave of his hand upwards.
Babalatchi, staring hard at his long-expected visitor, did not answer at once. “No, not there,” he said at last, placing his foot on the lowest rung and looking back. “Not there, Tuan — yet not very far. Will you sit down in my dwelling59? There may be rice and fish and clear water — not from the river, but from a spring . . . ”
“I am not hungry,” interrupted Lingard, curtly60, “and I did not come here to sit in your dwelling. Lead me to the white man who expects me. I have no time to lose.”
“The night is long, Tuan,” went on Babalatchi, softly, “and there are other nights and other days. Long. Very long . . . How much time it takes for a man to die! O Rajah Laut!”
Lingard started.
“You know me!” he exclaimed.
“Ay — wa! I have seen your face and felt your hand before — many years ago,” said Babalatchi, holding on halfway up the ladder, and bending down from above to peer into Lingard’s upturned face. “You do not remember — but I have not forgotten. There are many men like me: there is only one Rajah Laut.”
He climbed with sudden agility61 the last few steps, and stood on the platform waving his hand invitingly62 to Lingard, who followed after a short moment of indecision.
The elastic63 bamboo floor of the hut bent64 under the heavy weight of the old seaman65, who, standing66 within the threshold, tried to look into the smoky gloom of the low dwelling. Under the torch, thrust into the cleft67 of a stick, fastened at a right angle to the middle stay of the ridge68 pole, lay a red patch of light, showing a few shabby mats and a corner of a big wooden chest the rest of which was lost in shadow. In the obscurity of the more remote parts of the house a lance-head, a brass69 tray hung on the wall, the long barrel of a gun leaning against the chest, caught the stray rays of the smoky illumination in trembling gleams that wavered, disappeared, reappeared, went out, came back — as if engaged in a doubtful struggle with the darkness that, lying in wait in distant corners, seemed to dart70 out viciously towards its feeble enemy. The vast space under the high pitch of the roof was filled with a thick cloud of smoke, whose under-side — level like a ceiling — reflected the light of the swaying dull flame, while at the top it oozed71 out through the imperfect thatch72 of dried palm leaves. An indescribable and complicated smell, made up of the exhalation of damp earth below, of the taint73 of dried fish and of the effluvia of rotting vegetable matter, pervaded74 the place and caused Lingard to sniff75 strongly as he strode over, sat on the chest, and, leaning his elbows on his knees, took his head between his hands and stared at the doorway thoughtfully.
Babalatchi moved about in the shadows, whispering to an indistinct form or two that flitted about at the far end of the hut. Without stirring Lingard glanced sideways, and caught sight of muffled-up human shapes that hovered76 for a moment near the edge of light and retreated suddenly back into the darkness. Babalatchi approached, and sat at Lingard’s feet on a rolled-up bundle of mats.
“Will you eat rice and drink sagueir?” he said. “I have waked up my household.”
“My friend,” said Lingard, without looking at him, “when I come to see Lakamba, or any of Lakamba’s servants, I am never hungry and never thirsty. Tau! Savee! Never! Do you think I am devoid77 of reason? That there is nothing there?”
He sat up, and, fixing abruptly78 his eyes on Babalatchi, tapped his own forehead significantly.
“Tse! Tse! Tse! How can you talk like that, Tuan!” exclaimed Babalatchi, in a horrified79 tone.
“I talk as I think. I have lived many years,” said Lingard, stretching his arm negligently80 to take up the gun, which he began to examine knowingly, cocking it, and easing down the hammer several times. “This is good. Mataram make. Old, too,” he went on. “Hai!” broke in Babalatchi, eagerly. “I got it when I was young. He was an Aru trader, a man with a big stomach and a loud voice, and brave — very brave. When we came up with his prau in the grey morning, he stood aft shouting to his men and fired this gun at us once. Only once!” . . . He paused, laughed softly, and went on in a low, dreamy voice. “In the grey morning we came up: forty silent men in a swift Sulu prau; and when the sun was so high”— here he held up his hands about three feet apart —“when the sun was only so high, Tuan, our work was done — and there was a feast ready for the fishes of the sea.”
“Aye! aye!” muttered Lingard, nodding his head slowly. “I see. You should not let it get rusty81 like this,” he added.
He let the gun fall between his knees, and moving back on his seat, leaned his head against the wall of the hut, crossing his arms on his breast.
“A good gun,” went on Babalatchi. “Carry far and true. Better than this — there.”
With the tips of his fingers he touched gently the butt82 of a revolver peeping out of the right pocket of Lingard’s white jacket.
“Take your hand off that,” said Lingard sharply, but in a good-humoured tone and without making the slightest movement.
Babalatchi smiled and hitched83 his seat a little further off.
For some time they sat in silence. Lingard, with his head tilted84 back, looked downwards85 with lowered eyelids86 at Babalatchi, who was tracing invisible lines with his finger on the mat between his feet. Outside, they could hear Ali and the other boatmen chattering87 and laughing round the fire they had lighted in the big and deserted courtyard.
“Well, what about that white man?” said Lingard, quietly.
It seemed as if Babalatchi had not heard the question. He went on tracing elaborate patterns on the floor for a good while. Lingard waited motionless. At last the Malay lifted his head.
“Hai! The white man. I know!” he murmured absently. “This white man or another. . . . Tuan,” he said aloud with unexpected animation88, “you are a man of the sea?”
“You know me. Why ask?” said Lingard, in a low tone.
“Yes. A man of the sea — even as we are. A true Orang Laut,” went on Babalatchi, thoughtfully, “not like the rest of the white men.”
“I am like other whites, and do not wish to speak many words when the truth is short. I came here to see the white man that helped Lakamba against Patalolo, who is my friend. Show me where that white man lives; I want him to hear my talk.”
“Talk only? Tuan! Why hurry? The night is long and death is swift — as you ought to know; you who have dealt it to so many of my people. Many years ago I have faced you, arms in hand. Do you not remember? It was in Carimata — far from here.”
“I cannot remember every vagabond that came in my way,” protested Lingard, seriously.
“Hai! Hai!” continued Babalatchi, unmoved and dreamy. “Many years ago. Then all this”— and looking up suddenly at Lingard’s beard, he flourished his fingers below his own beardless chin —“then all this was like gold in sunlight, now it is like the foam89 of an angry sea.”
“Maybe, maybe,” said Lingard, patiently, paying the involuntary tribute of a faint sigh to the memories of the past evoked90 by Babalatchi’s words.
He had been living with Malays so long and so close that the extreme deliberation and deviousness91 of their mental proceedings92 had ceased to irritate him much. To-night, perhaps, he was less prone93 to impatience94 than ever. He was disposed, if not to listen to Babalatchi, then to let him talk. It was evident to him that the man had something to say, and he hoped that from the talk a ray of light would shoot through the thick blackness of inexplicable95 treachery, to show him clearly — if only for a second — the man upon whom he would have to execute the verdict of justice. Justice only! Nothing was further from his thoughts than such an useless thing as revenge. Justice only. It was his duty that justice should be done — and by his own hand. He did not like to think how. To him, as to Babalatchi, it seemed that the night would be long enough for the work he had to do. But he did not define to himself the nature of the work, and he sat very still, and willingly dilatory96, under the fearsome oppression of his call. What was the good to think about it? It was inevitable97, and its time was near. Yet he could not command his memories that came crowding round him in that evil-smelling hut, while Babalatchi talked on in a flowing monotone, nothing of him moving but the lips, in the artificially inanimated face. Lingard, like an anchored ship that had broken her sheer, darted98 about here and there on the rapid tide of his recollections. The subdued99 sound of soft words rang around him, but his thoughts were lost, now in the contemplation of the past sweetness and strife of Carimata days, now in the uneasy wonder at the failure of his judgment100; at the fatal blindness of accident that had caused him, many years ago, to rescue a half-starved runaway101 from a Dutch ship in Samarang roads. How he had liked the man: his assurance, his push, his desire to get on, his conceited102 good-humour and his selfish eloquence103. He had liked his very faults — those faults that had so many, to him, sympathetic sides.
And he had always dealt fairly by him from the very beginning; and he would deal fairly by him now — to the very end. This last thought darkened Lingard’s features with a responsive and menacing frown. The doer of justice sat with compressed lips and a heavy heart, while in the calm darkness outside the silent world seemed to be waiting breathlessly for that justice he held in his hand — in his strong hand:— ready to strike — reluctant to move.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
monsoon
|
|
| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
eastward
|
|
| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
ominous
|
|
| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sage
|
|
| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
disappearance
|
|
| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
withholding
|
|
| 扣缴税款 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
upwards
|
|
| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
stagnant
|
|
| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
intimidated
|
|
| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
careworn
|
|
| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
murmurs
|
|
| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
hisses
|
|
| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
discourse
|
|
| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
bereavement
|
|
| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
exasperated
|
|
| adj.恼怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
refinements
|
|
| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
blessings
|
|
| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
virtues
|
|
| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
pessimist
|
|
| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
solitudes
|
|
| n.独居( solitude的名词复数 )；孤独；荒僻的地方；人迹罕至的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
shriek
|
|
| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
impure
|
|
| adj.不纯净的，不洁的；不道德的，下流的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
sublime
|
|
| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
tormenting
|
|
| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
superstitions
|
|
| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
attentive
|
|
| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
ripples
|
|
| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
eddies
|
|
| （水、烟等的）漩涡，涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
reassured
|
|
| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
hoarse
|
|
| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
poking
|
|
| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
grumbled
|
|
| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
abreast
|
|
| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
musingly
|
|
| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
58
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
dwelling
|
|
| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
curtly
|
|
| adv.简短地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
agility
|
|
| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
invitingly
|
|
| adv. 动人地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
elastic
|
|
| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
seaman
|
|
| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
cleft
|
|
| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
dart
|
|
| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
oozed
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
thatch
|
|
| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
taint
|
|
| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
pervaded
|
|
| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
sniff
|
|
| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
devoid
|
|
| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
negligently
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
rusty
|
|
| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
hitched
|
|
| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
tilted
|
|
| v. 倾斜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
downwards
|
|
| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
eyelids
|
|
| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
chattering
|
|
| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
animation
|
|
| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
foam
|
|
| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
evoked
|
|
| [医]诱发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
deviousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
prone
|
|
| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
dilatory
|
|
| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
darted
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
subdued
|
|
| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
runaway
|
|
| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |