Professor Radcliffe–Brown, on his introductory visit, informed me that he had finances for no longer than six months. Knowing that time to be inadequate4 for any research of value, I arranged an interview with the late Mr. S. P. Mackay, a well-known and wealthy pastoralist of Munda-bullangana Station, and asked him point-blank for ￡1,000, to make possible at least two years of field work for the Expedition. He immediately forwarded a cheque for the amount.
It was then suggested that I accompany the Expedition, and the Under–Secretary (Mr. North) obtained the Colonial Secretary’s consent. I was appointed a travelling protector, with a Special Commission to conduct inquiries5 into all native conditions and problems, such as employment on stations, guardianship6 and care of the indigent7, distribution of rations8, the half-caste question, the morality of native and half-caste women in towns and mining camps, and many other matters affecting their welfare from an administrative9 point of view. Sir Gerald Strickland, then Governor of West Australia, showed a deep personal interest in the expedition, and his wife, Lady Edeline, supplemented my equipment with a medicine chest.
Before we left Perth, news came that the civilized10 and semi-civilized circumcised groups of Lake Darlot had descended11 in a raid upon a native camp at Lancefield, near Laverton, killing12 eleven men, women and children. The groups had scattered13, and the police had found none of the murderers, much to the consternation14 of the peaceable natives and white settlers in the district.
We booked our passages on the little coastal15 steamer Hobart, packed our equipment and supplies on board, and were so eager to be off that we embarked16 a few days early on a southern trip, and after an unpremeditated voyage to Bunbury, had to return on the vessel17, and sail north with her to Geraldton, from which we went by rail to Sandstone. The party consisted of Professor Radcliffe–Brown, anthropologist18, Mr. Grant Watson, biologist and photographer, myself as government attache, and Louis Ohlsen, a Swedish cook. A few miles from Sandstone, we pitched our tents among the natives gathered there, our travelling equipment consisting of a large fly for our dining and community room furnished with folding chairs and other luxuries, the men’s tent, Louis’s portable kitchen, and my quarters. We were surrounded by nearly, 100 natives from near-by districts, and there was obvious ill-feeling and friction19 among the groups. I spent the afternoon making new friends, greeting old ones, and, with their assistance, digging out some honey-ants, which I proffered20 to the Professor for supper. Grant Watson would have none of them.
It took some time to convince the natives that my companions were not policemen, of whom, for their own reasons, they lived in an unholy fear at the time. After some vain endeavours at explanation, I found it easier to introduce them as my two sons! Professor Radcliffe–Brown immediately interested himself in their string games, similar to cat’s cradle, and cross-sticks, and other small primitive21 handicrafts with which they occasionally pass the time.
After distributing generous rations and discussing family gossip, we were just beginning to make a little headway in questioning them regarding genealogies22 and customs when, to our surprise, a police raid was made upon the camps at dawn, and six of the natives arrested as the Laverton murderers. Several shots were fired by the police, and some of the fugitives23 tried to hide in our tents, but no one was hurt.
On the principle that “one nigger is as black as another”, the constables25 had arrested one Meenya, whom I knew did not belong to Darlot, and who had only just arrived from his own country. I saw Meenya in prison, quite naked, as he had been arrested while sleeping. After establishing his identity, I took him back to the camp, where his relatives cried with joy. The other five men, Gooll-gooil, Jooloor, Dhoolanjarri, Yoolbari, and Dandain, remained in custody26.
After the raid, our natives scattered, but returned to tell me that there was another policeman coming with a “big mob.” This proved to be Constable24 Grey, appointed to inspect natives for symptoms of disease and to gather in half-castes from the camps. The natives were afraid to approach him until I explained that he was a doctor coming to look at us all. When I went myself into the tent, they followed with confidence.
With Professor Radcliffe–Brown’s assistance, Grey made his examinations, collected a few old men and women, and drove them away in his cart to join the unfortunates waiting in Sandstone. I shall never forget the anguish27 and despair on those aged28 faces. The poor decrepit29 creatures were leaving their own country for a destination unknown, a fate they could not understand, and their woe30 was pitiful. The diseased and the young half-castes were housed in different sections of the gaol31 in Sandstone, and the grief of the aboriginal32 mothers at this enforced parting with their children was pitiful to see.
So turbulent and so distressed33 was now the condition of all camps in the vicinity that it was useless for us to remain longer. Professor Radcliffe–Brown, Grant Watson and Louis the cook sailed for Carnarvon. I returned to Perth with my reports and notes. The Laverton murderers were travelling in custody on the same train, and my special commission entitled me to question them in private For some hours I sat alone with the chained prisoners in the railway carriage, and learned the reason of the raid.
They explained that the Lancefield and Laverton camps had transgressed34 the bounds of every native law, that they were living in incestuous depravity with sisters and immature35 children to such an extent that the usual marriage exchanges were not possible. So the Lake Darlot tribes, unable to procure36 wives, took the law into their own hands, and planned to kill the men and seize the women. They had descended on the camp at dawn, and in the battle of flying spears some women and children were accidentally killed. I reported the circumstances to headquarters, and there was no trial. The natives were detained only until the departure of the next train. I later sailed north to rejoin the expedition at Dorre and Bernier Islands.
Dorre and Bernier Islands: there is not, in all my sad sojourn37 among the last sad people of the primitive Australian race, a memory one-half so tragic38 or so harrowing, or a name that conjures39 up such a deplorable picture of misery40 and horror unalleviated, as these two grim and barren islands of the West Australian coast that for a period, mercifully brief, were the tombs of the living dead.
In accordance with its policy of safeguarding the aborigines, the West Australian Government, in 1904, had authorized41 Dr. Roth, a Queensland anthropologist, to inquire into native conditions. After intensive study of the problem, Dr. Roth made the suggestion, among others, that all diseased natives from the whole of the north-west should he isolated42 for treatment. The Government immediately adopted the suggestion, the unhappiest decision ever arrived at by a humane43 administration, a ghastly failure in the attempt to arrest the ravages44 of disease, and an infliction45 of physical and mental torture that it could not perhaps have been expected to foresee.
At the cost of many thousands of pounds, the authorities established an isolation46 hospital on two islands bordering Shark Bay, some thirty miles from Carnarvon. These islands-Dorre and Bernier-have never been inhabited before or since. A medical officer and staff were installed in permanent residence, and two or three little cutters plied47 backwards48 and forwards carrying medical and food supplies. Diseased natives were gathered in, by policemen and other appointed officers, over an area of hundreds of thousands of square miles. Regardless of tribe and custom and country and relationship, they were herded49 together-the women on Dorre and the men on Bernier. Many had never seen the sea before, and lived and died in terror of it.
When I arrived at Carnarvon, I found the town inundated50 by the Gascoyne River in flood, and lost no time in arranging my passage to the islands. There was no regular communication, but two cutters, the Shark and the Venus, were at my disposal, and one of them would sail whenever the skipper, an old sea-dog named Henrietta, felt inclined. In due course, with my baggage and provender51, I boarded the Shark and crossed to Bernier, where the expedition had already established itself in a cove52 of the lee shore. I selected a neighbouring cove, and there Louis set up my camp.
Dorre and Bernier, with a smaller island, Koks, shelter Shark Bay from the Indian Ocean. Barren and forbidding, a horror of flies in summer-time, their western shores are undermined by the sea into steep overhanging cliffs, which sweep down in terraces of sand to the calmer waters of the bay, covered by sparse53 scrub with never a tree worthy54 of the name. A narrow race of water runs between them with sweeping55 tides and tremendous tide-rips tumultuous in wild weather.
On Dorre, where the women were segregated56, was a well equipped hospital with doctor’s residence, laboratory, nurses’ quarters and dispensary. A skilled bacteriologist was in charge. His staff consisted of dispenser, matron and two nurses. In his own cutter the doctor periodically crossed the strait to attend the men on Bernier, but sometimes when he was needed most a storm or heavy swell57 made it impossible for him to come.
When I landed on Bernier Island in November 1910, there were only fifteen men left alive there, but I counted thirtyeight graves. The doctor’s assistant and the orderly staff occupied a wooden building on a rise, the hospital was a tent, and the sick were housed in three-sided huts of canvas, each with a half-roof of corrugated58 iron. The natives on both islands preferred the open bush to all the hospital care and comfort.
Deaths were frequent-appallingly frequent, sometimes three in a day-for most of these natives were obviously in the last stages of venereal disease and tuberculosis59. Nothing could save them, and they had been transported, some of them thousands of miles, to strange and unnatural60 surroundings and solitude61. They were afraid of the hospital, its ceaseless probings and dressings62 and injections were a daily torture. They were afraid of each other, living and dead. They were afraid of the ever-moaning sea.
The hospital was well kept and the medical work excellently performed, but the natives accepted all the care with a frightful63 fatalism. They believed that they had been brought there to die-what did it matter if the white man had decided64 to cut them to pieces first? More, they were undernourished. They were strangers to the island, and the seeds and berries and fish food it could have yielded them. There were plenty of wallabies, but most of the natives were too emaciated65 and ill to go hunting. Sometimes, when the Shark and Venus were weeks late, the position became pitiable.
When the bleak66 winds blew, the movable huts were turned against them, facing each other, regardless of tribal67 customs, which meant mistrust and fear. Now and again a dead body would be wrapped in a blanket and carried away to burial in the sands, and the unhappy living could not leave the accursed ground of its spirit. Some became demented, and rambled68 away and no one of an alien tribe would go to seek them. One day an old man started to “walk” back over thirty miles of raging waters to the mainland. These shores are infested69 with sharks, and he was never seen again. Another hid in the thick scrub and died there, rather than be operated upon. A third sat on the crest70 of a little rise all day long, pouring sand and water over his head, wailing72 and threatening, in his madness.
There were seventy-seven women on Dorre Island, many of them bed-ridden. I dared not count the graves there. A frightful sight it was to see grey-headed women, their faces and limbs repulsive73 in disease, but an even more frightful sight to see the young-and there were children among them. Through unaccustomed frequent hot baths, their withered74 sensitive skins, which are never cleansed75 in their natural state save by grease and fresh air, became like tissue-paper and parted horribly from the flesh.
Companionship in misery was impossible to them, for there were so many spiritual and totemic differences. Some of them were alone of their group, and they could not give food or a firestick to a possible enemy or a stranger for fear of evil magic. A woman would be called upon to bath and feed or bury another woman whose spirit she knew was certain to haunt her.
Restlessly they roamed the islands in all weathers, avoiding each other as strangers. Some of them cried all day and all night in a listless and terrible monotony of grief There were others who stood silently for hours on a headland, straining their hollow, hopeless eyes across the narrow strait for the glimpse of a loved wife or husband or a far lost country, and far too often the smoke signal of death went up from the islands. In death itself they could find no sanctuary76, for they believed that their souls, when they left the poor broken bodies, would be orphaned77 in a strange ground, among enemies more evil and vindictive78 than those on earth.
The benefits devised by the white people and the endeavours to lighten their pain were only so much the greater aggravation79 of their exile. Such benefits left no impression because the iron of exile and the frightful condition of rubbing shoulders with possible enemy magicians had filled their souls. All was new and strange to them, but endured often with that fatalism that lets the white people go on in their own way. These haunting terrors they could not communicate to those who were set to guard over them and who, without knowledge of these tribal beliefs, could only reply by kindly80 efficiency. They wanted nothing in the world but their old sand-beds and shelters and little fires, the smell of their own home area, every secret familiar to them, and the voices of their own kind. There is nothing you can give them but freedom and their own fires-heartli and home.
The horrors of Dorre and Bernier unnerve me yet. There was no ray of brightness, no gleam of hope. In an attempt to escape them I too would roam the islands, finding them grim and dreary81. The wail71 of a curlew crying along the sands would startle me and set me shivering with remembrance of the dying, and the soundless wings of the giant wedge-tailed eagles, as they flew over, cast a sinister82 shadow on the sunny day.
To question the poor shuddering83 souls of these doomed84 exiles was slow work and saddening, but as I sat with them in the darkness of their mias at night, the torture of hospital routine was forgotten, and harking back to thoughts of home, they were, for an hour or so, happy. Of all the tribes there so dismally85 represented, from Hall’s Creek86 to Broome and Nullagine, from the Fitzroy River to Winning Pool and Marble Bar and Lake Way, I learned much of infinite value in vocabularies and customs and pedigrees and legends. The scientists, I think, made intermittent87 headway.
“Your two sons-why are they afraid of us?” I was asked more than once. The answer was obvious. Grant Watson was physically88 ill one day after taking a photograph. However, they helped him to collect shells and insects occasionally, and obligingly sang the songs of woggura and wallardoo-crow and eaglehawk-into Professor Ratcliffe–Brown’s phonograph. He in return regaled them with Peer Gynt and Tannhauser and Egmont, to which they listened politely.
It was a woeful Christmastide at Dorre Island. There were six operations that morning, but a Christmas dinner, with pudding and gifts and sweets were provided for the other sixty women, with some semblance89 of goodwill90 and pleasant contact on their part. A few days later the schooner91 Anthons arrived, bringing eighteen natives from Broome. A nurse travelled with them, but some had died on the way down. The Anthons was followed almost immediately by the Venus from Carnarvon.
Corporal Grey was due to arrive with new consignments92 of unfortunates collected throughout the vast State, and I went over to Carnarvon to meet him. He was camped four miles away on the outskirts93, with about 133 natives, all stricken with disease. Carnarvon citizens justly objected to their entering the town.
Shall I ever forget the surge of emotion that overcame me as they saw me, and lifted their manacled hands in a faint shout of welcome, for many of them recognized me? There was a half-caste assistant with Grey, and the natives were chained to prevent them from escaping on the way, as it was quite probable that they would have been murdered had they attempted to reach their homes through strange country. In one donkey-wagon were forty-five men, women, and children, unable to walk.
During the week that followed, 122 natives were shipped to the islands in cutters. On one occasion 90 were slung94 from the high jetty at Carnarvon in baskets, and, the boat being overloaded95, many were taken off again and walked back to the camp. I returned to Dorre on an 18-feet cutter with 27 natives in the hold, all suffering from sea-sickness and weakness and fright. Although I had been but a short time absent, I found 14 new graves there. When natives were discharged as cured, they were generally sent in charge of a nurse by steamer to their nearest port or landed upon the mainland and left to find their own way to their homes, sometimes hundreds of miles eastward96, and through the country of stranger tribes. Now and again I arranged a passage for them with a camel team, or under the protection of a travelling station owner.
It was my adopted kinship that made it possible for me to be accepted by all aborigines. At Dorre and Bernier, among the central and north-west groups gathered there, I was again allotted97 my proper class division, Boorong, which corresponded to the Pooroongooroo of Broome, and the Tondarup of the Bibbulmun. This relationship opened the way to their confidence. For me these travesties98 of humanity tried to dance their old-time dances, but being among hostile groups, these were invariably war-dances, the jallooroo, dhoolgarra, djoolgoo, corroborees of defiance99. Those unable to stand upright swayed their bodies to the tune100 of remembered songs, beating the ground with little bushes. Some groups were represented by one aged man, or one or two old women, and the voices were so low and feeble that I had to stoop to catch the weak words. Often, in the midst of their posturing101, they would crawl whimpering with pain into the darkness of their shelters.
In the course of my official duties I was a constant traveller between the two islands and the mainland, sometimes journeying far inland. On every journey I became postman of a score or so of letter-sticks (bamburu), the crudely marked piece of wood that is the aborigines’ only attempt at a written language, saying little, and that only by signs, but carrying loving wishes and assurances to wives and husbands and friends. To watch the poor fellows in their fatal lassitude trying to mark the bamburu they wanted to send along to their women was a pitiful sight, but to see the joy on their faces when I returned with bamburu from the absent loved ones was heartrending.
Between Dorre and Bernier and all over the central north-west, I delivered these letter-sticks, bringing back the gossip of camps, news of the births, deaths and marriages, of initiations and corroborees and quarrels, to the interest and delight of the dying exiles.
I did what I could among them with little errands of mercy; distributing rations and blankets from my own government stores when boats were delayed; bringing sweets and dainties for young and old, extra blankets in the rain, and where I could a word of love and understanding. To the grey headed, and the grey-bearded, men and women and children alike, I became kabbarli, the Grandmother. I had begun in Broome as kallauer, a grandmother, but a spurious and a very young one, purely102 legendary103. Since then I had been jookan, sister, among the Bibbulmun; ngangga, mother, among the scattered groups of Northampton and the Murchison, but it was at Dorre Island that I became kabbarli, Grandmother, to the sick and the dying there, and kabbarli I was to remain in all my wanderings, for the name is a generic104 one, and extends far among the western-central and central tribes.
Our Expedition parted company in March 1911. Professor Radcliffe–Brown continued his researches, taking a northward105 route through the sheep and cattle stations of the mainland. Grant Watson sailed for Perth. I turned my footsteps to the head of the Ashburton, Gascoyne, Murchison and Fortescue Rivers, once a great highway of aboriginal trafficking.
Upon the ghastly experiment of Dorre and Bernier Islands it is not good for me to dwell. Not very long after our visit, the costly106 hospital project and the islands of exile were abandoned. On his return to England, Grant Watson made them the fantastic setting of a novel Where Bonds are Loosed-a story of illicit107 love with a background of horror and heartbreak and unutterable woe.
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1
anthropology
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| n.人类学 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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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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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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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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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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anthropologist
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| n.人类学家，人类学者 | |
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friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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genealogies
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| n.系谱，家系，宗谱( genealogy的名词复数 ) | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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transgressed
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| v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 )；越过；违反；违背 | |
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immature
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| adj.未成熟的，发育未全的，未充分发展的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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conjures
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的第三人称单数 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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authorized
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| a.委任的，许可的 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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infliction
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| n.（强加于人身的）痛苦，刑罚 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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inundated
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| v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 )；（洪水般地）涌来；充满；给予或交予（太多事物）使难以应付 | |
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provender
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| n.刍草；秣料 | |
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cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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segregated
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| 分开的； 被隔离的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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tuberculosis
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| n.结核病，肺结核 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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dressings
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| n.敷料剂；穿衣( dressing的名词复数 )；穿戴；（拌制色拉的）调料；（保护伤口的）敷料 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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rambled
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| （无目的地）漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 )； （喻）漫谈； 扯淡； 长篇大论 | |
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infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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orphaned
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| [计][修]孤立 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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consignments
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| n.托付货物( consignment的名词复数 )；托卖货物；寄售；托运 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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overloaded
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| a.超载的，超负荷的 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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travesties
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| n.拙劣的模仿作品，荒谬的模仿，歪曲( travesty的名词复数 ) | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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100
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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posturing
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| 做出某种姿势( posture的现在分词 ) | |
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102
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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103
legendary
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| adj.传奇（中）的，闻名遐迩的；n.传奇（文学） | |
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generic
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| adj.一般的，普通的，共有的 | |
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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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106
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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illicit
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| adj.非法的，禁止的，不正当的 | |
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