“And hadn’t she any children – hadn’t she a little boy?”
This inquiry13 seemed to Miss Pynsent a portent14 of future embarrassments15, but she met it as bravely as she could, and replied that she believed the wretched victim of the law had had (once upon a time) a very small baby, but she was afraid she had completely lost sight of it. He must know they didn’t allow babies in prisons. To this Hyacinth rejoined that of course they would allow him, because he was – really – big. Miss Pynsent fortified17 herself with the memory of her other pilgrimage, to Newgate, upwards18 of ten years before; she had escaped from that ordeal19, and had even had the comfort of knowing that in its fruits the interview had been beneficent. The responsibility, however, was much greater now, and, after all, it was not on her own account she was in a nervous tremor20, but on that of the urchin21 over whom the shadow of the house of shame might cast itself.
They made the last part of their approach on foot, having got themselves deposited as near as possible to the river and keeping beside it (according to advice elicited22 by Miss Pynsent, on the way, in a dozen confidential23 interviews with policemen, conductors of omnibuses, and small shopkeepers), till they came to a big, dark building with towers, which they would know as soon as they looked at it. They knew it, in fact, soon enough, when they saw it lift its dusky mass from the bank of the Thames, lying there and sprawling24 over the whole neighbourhood, with brown, bare, windowless walls, ugly, truncated25 pinnacles26, and a character unspeakably sad and stern. It looked very sinister27 and wicked, to Miss Pynsent’s eyes, and she wondered why a prison should have such an evil face if it was erected29 in the interest of justice and order – an expression of the righteous forces of society. This particular penitentiary30 struck her as about as bad and wrong as those who were in it; it threw a blight31 over the whole place and made the river look foul32 and poisonous, and the opposite bank, with its protrusion33 of long-necked chimneys, unsightly gasometers and deposits of rubbish, wear the aspect of a region at whose expense the jail had been populated. She looked up at the dull, closed gates, tightening34 her grasp of Hyacinth’s small hand; and if it was hard to believe anything so blind and deaf and closely fastened would relax itself to let her in, there was a dreadful premonitory sinking of the heart attached to the idea of its taking the same trouble to let her out. As she hung back, murmuring vague ejaculations, at the very goal of her journey, an incident occurred which fanned all her scruples35 and reluctances into life again. The child suddenly jerked his hand out of her own, and placing it behind him, in the clutch of the other, said to her respectfully but resolutely36, while he planted himself at a considerable distance –
“I don’t like this place.”
“Neither do I like it, my darling,” cried the dressmaker, pitifully. “Oh, if you knew how little!”
“Then we will go away. I won’t go in.”
She would have embraced this proposition with alacrity37 if it had not become very vivid to her while she stood there, in the midst of her shrinking, that behind those sullen38 walls the mother who bore him was even then counting the minutes. She was alive, in that huge, dark tomb, and it seemed to Miss Pynsent that they had already entered into relation with her. They were near her, and she knew it; in a few minutes she would taste the cup of the only mercy (except the reprieve40 from hanging!) she had known since her fall. A few, a very few minutes would do it, and it seemed to Miss Pynsent that if she should fail of her charity now the watches of the night, in Lomax Place, would be haunted with remorse41 – perhaps even with something worse. There was something inside that waited and listened, something that would burst, with an awful sound, a shriek42, or a curse, if she were to lead the boy away. She looked into his pale face for a moment, perfectly43 conscious that it would be vain for her to take the tone of command; besides, that would have seemed to her shocking. She had another inspiration, and she said to him in a manner in which she had had occasion to speak before –
“The reason why we have come is only to be kind. If we are kind we shan’t mind its being disagreeable.”
“Why should we be kind, if she’s a bad woman?” Hyacinth inquired. “She must be very low; I don’t want to know her.”
“Hush, hush,” groaned44 poor Amanda, edging toward him with clasped hands. “She is not bad now; it has all been washed away – it has been expiated45.”
“What’s expiated?” asked the child, while she almost kneeled down in the dust, catching46 him to her bosom47.
“It’s when you have suffered terribly – suffered so much that it has made you good again.”
“Has she suffered very much?”
“For years and years. And now she is dying. It proves she is very good now, that she should want to see us.”
“Do you mean because we are good?” Hyacinth went on, probing the matter in a way that made his companion quiver, and gazing away from her, very seriously, across the river, at the dreary48 waste of Battersea.
“We shall be good if we are pitiful, if we make an effort,” said the dressmaker, seeming to look up at him rather than down.
“But if she is dying? I don’t want to see any one die.”
Miss Pynsent was bewildered, but she rejoined, desperately49, “If we go to her, perhaps she won’t. Maybe we shall save her.”
He transferred his remarkable50 little eyes – eyes which always appeared to her to belong to a person older than herself, to her face; and then he inquired, “Why should I save her, if I don’t like her?”
“If she likes you, that will be enough.”
At this Miss Pynsent began to see that he was moved. “Will she like me very much?”
“More, much more than any one.”
“More than you, now?”
“Oh,” said Amanda quickly, “I mean more than she likes any one.”
Hyacinth had slipped his hands into the pockets of his scanty51 knickerbockers, and, with his legs slightly apart, he looked from his companion back to the immense dreary jail. A great deal, to Miss Pynsent’s sense, depended on that moment. “Oh, well,” he said, at last, “I’ll just step in.”
“Deary, deary!” the dressmaker murmured to herself, as they crossed the bare semicircle which separated the gateway52 from the unfrequented street. She exerted herself to pull the bell, which seemed to her terribly big and stiff, and while she waited, again, for the consequences of this effort, the boy broke out, abruptly53 –
“How can she like me so much if she doesn’t know me?”
Miss Pynsent wished the gate would open before an answer to this question should become imperative54, but the people within were a long time arriving, and their delay gave Hyacinth an opportunity to repeat it. So the dressmaker rejoined, seizing the first pretext55 that came into her head, “It’s because the little baby she had, of old, was also named Hyacinth.”
“That’s a queer reason,” the boy murmured, staring across again at the Battersea shore.
A moment afterwards they found themselves in a vast interior dimness, with a grinding of keys and bolts going on behind them. Hereupon Miss Pynsent gave herself up to an overruling providence56, and she remembered, later, no circumstance of what happened to her until the great person of Mrs Bowerbank loomed57 before her in the narrowness of a strange, dark corridor. She only had a confused impression of being surrounded with high black walls, whose inner face was more dreadful than the other, the one that overlooked the river; of passing through gray, stony58 courts, in some of which dreadful figures, scarcely female, in hideous59 brown, misfitting uniforms and perfect frights of hoods60, were marching round in a circle; of squeezing up steep, unlighted staircases at the heels of a woman who had taken possession of her at the first stage, and who made incomprehensible remarks to other women, of lumpish aspect, as she saw them erect28 themselves, suddenly and spectrally61, with dowdy62 untied63 bonnets64, in uncanny corners and recesses65 of the draughty labyrinth66. If the place had seemed cruel to the poor little dressmaker outside, it may be believed that it did not strike her as an abode67 of mercy while she pursued her tortuous68 way into the circular shafts69 of cells, where she had an opportunity of looking at captives through grated peepholes and of edging past others who had temporarily been turned into the corridors – silent women, with fixed70 eyes, who flattened71 themselves against the stone walls at the brush of the visitor’s dress and whom Miss Pynsent was afraid to glance at. She never had felt so immured72, so made sure of; there were walls within walls and galleries on top of galleries; even the daylight lost its colour, and you couldn’t imagine what o’clock it was. Mrs Bowerbank appeared to have failed her, and that made her feel worse; a panic seized her, as she went, in regard to the child. On him, too, the horror of the place would have fallen, and she had a sickening prevision that he would have convulsions after they got home. It was a most improper73 place to have brought him, no matter who had sent for him and no matter who was dying. The stillness would terrify him, she was sure – the penitential dumbness of the clustered or isolated74 women. She clasped his hand more tightly, and she felt him keep close to her, without speaking a word. At last, in an open doorway75, darkened by her ample person, Mrs Bowerbank revealed herself, and Miss Pynsent thought it (afterwards) a sign of her place and power that she should not condescend76 to apologise for not having appeared till that moment, or to explain why she had not met the bewildered pilgrims near the principal entrance, according to her promise. Miss Pynsent could not embrace the state of mind of people who didn’t apologise, though she vaguely77 envied and admired it, she herself spending much of her time in making excuses for obnoxious78 acts she had not committed. Mrs Bowerbank, however, was not arrogant79, she was only massive and muscular; and after she had taken her timorous80 friends in tow the dressmaker was able to comfort herself with the reflection that even so masterful a woman couldn’t inflict81 anything gratuitously82 disagreeable on a person who had made her visit in Lomax Place pass off so pleasantly.
It was on the outskirts83 of the infirmary that she had been hovering84, and it was into certain dismal chambers85 dedicated86 to sick criminals, that she presently ushered87 her companions. These chambers were naked and grated, like all the rest of the place, and caused Miss Pynsent to say to herself that it must be a blessing88 to be ill in such a hole, because you couldn’t possibly pick up again, and then your case was simple. Such simplification, however, had for the moment been offered to very few of Florentine’s fellow-sufferers, for only three of the small, stiff beds were occupied – occupied by white-faced women in tight, sordid89 caps, on whom, in the stale, ugly room, the sallow light itself seemed to rest without pity. Mrs Bowerbank discreetly90 paid no attention whatever to Hyacinth; she only said to Miss Pynsent, with her hoarse91 distinctness, “You’ll find her very low; she wouldn’t have waited another day.” And she guided them, through a still further door, to the smallest room of all, where there were but three beds, placed in a row. Miss Pynsent’s frightened eyes rather faltered92 than inquired, but she became aware that a woman was lying on the middle bed, and that her face was turned toward the door. Mrs Bowerbank led the way straight up to her, and, giving a business-like pat to her pillow, looked invitation and encouragement to the visitors, who clung together not far within the threshold. Their conductress reminded them that very few minutes were allowed them, and that they had better not dawdle93 them away; whereupon, as the boy still hung back, the little dressmaker advanced alone, looking at the sick woman with what courage she could muster94. It seemed to her that she was approaching a perfect stranger, so completely had nine years of prison transformed Florentine. She felt, immediately, that it was a mercy she hadn’t told Hyacinth she was pretty (as she used to be), for there was no beauty left in the hollow, bloodless mask that presented itself without a movement. She had told him that the poor woman was good, but she didn’t look so, nor, evidently, was he struck with it as he stared back at her across the interval95 he declined to traverse, kept (at the same time) from retreating by her strange, fixed eyes, the only portion of all her wasted person in which there was still any appearance of life. She looked unnatural96 to Amanda Pynsent, and terribly old; a speechless, motionless creature, dazed and stupid, whereas Florentine Vivier, in the obliterated97 past, had been her idea of personal, as distinguished98 from social, brilliancy. Above all she seemed disfigured and ugly, cruelly misrepresented by her coarse cap and short, rough hair. Amanda, as she stood beside her, thought with a sort of scared elation39 that Hyacinth would never guess that a person in whom there was so little trace of smartness – or of cleverness of any kind – was his mother. At the very most it might occur to him, as Mrs Bowerbank had suggested, that she was his grandmother. Mrs Bowerbank seated herself on the further bed, with folded hands, like a monumental timekeeper, and remarked, in the manner of one speaking from a sense of duty, that the poor thing wouldn’t get much good of the child unless he showed more confidence. This observation was evidently lost upon the boy; he was too intensely absorbed in watching the prisoner. A chair had been placed at the head of her bed, and Miss Pynsent sat down without her appearing to notice it. In a moment, however, she lifted her hand a little, pushing it out from under the coverlet, and the dressmaker laid her own hand softly upon it. This gesture elicited no response, but after a little, still gazing at the boy, Florentine murmured, in words no one present was in a position to understand –
“Dieu de Dieu, qu’il est beau!”
“She won’t speak nothing but French since she has been so bad – you can’t get a natural word out of her,” Mrs Bowerbank said.
“It used to be so pretty when she spoke English – and so very amusing,” Miss Pynsent ventured to announce, with a feeble attempt to brighten up the scene. “I suppose she has forgotten it all.”
“She may well have forgotten it – she never gave her tongue much exercise. There was little enough trouble to keep her from chattering,” Mrs Bowerbank rejoined, giving a twitch99 to the prisoner’s counterpane. Miss Pynsent settled it a little on the other side and considered, in the same train, that this separation of language was indeed a mercy; for how could it ever come into her small companion’s head that he was the offspring of a person who couldn’t so much as say good morning to him? She felt, at the same time, that the scene might have been somewhat less painful if they had been able to communicate with the object of their compassion100. As it was, they had too much the air of having been brought together simply to look at each other, and there was a grewsome awkwardness in that, considering the delicacy101 of Florentine’s position. Not, indeed, that she looked much at her old comrade; it was as if she were conscious of Miss Pynsent’s being there, and would have been glad to thank her for it – glad even to examine her for her own sake, and see what change, for her, too, the horrible years had brought, but felt, more than this, that she had but the thinnest pulse of energy left and that not a moment that could still be of use to her was too much to take in her child. She took him in with all the glazed102 entreaty103 of her eyes, quite giving up his poor little protectress, who evidently would have to take her gratitude104 for granted. Hyacinth, on his side, after some moments of embarrassing silence – there was nothing audible but Mrs Bowerbank’s breathing – had satisfied himself, and he turned about to look for a place of patience while Miss Pynsent should finish her business, which as yet made so little show. He appeared to wish not to leave the room altogether, as that would be a confession105 of a vanquished106 spirit, but to take some attitude that should express his complete disapproval107 of the unpleasant situation. He was not in sympathy, and he could not have made it more clear than by the way he presently went and placed himself on a low stool, in a corner, near the door by which they had entered.
“Est-il possible, mon Dieu, qu’il soit gentil comme ?a?” his mother moaned, just above her breath.
“We are very glad you should have cared – that they look after you so well,” said Miss Pynsent, confusedly, at random108; feeling, first, that Hyacinth’s coldness was perhaps excessive and his scepticism too marked, and then that allusions109 to the way the poor woman was looked after were not exactly happy. They didn’t matter, however, for she evidently heard nothing, giving no sign of interest even when Mrs Bowerbank, in a tone between a desire to make the interview more lively and an idea of showing that she knew how to treat the young, referred herself to the little boy.
“Is there nothing the little gentleman would like to say, now, to the unfortunate? Hasn’t he any pleasant remark to make to her about his coming so far to see her when she’s so sunk? It isn’t often that children are shown over the place (as the little man has been), and there’s many that would think they were lucky if they could see what he has seen.”
“Mon pauvre joujou, mon pauvre chéri,” the prisoner went on, in her tender, tragic110 whisper.
“He only wants to be very good; he always sits that way at home,” said Miss Pynsent, alarmed at Mrs Bowerbank’s address and hoping there wouldn’t be a scene.
“He might have stayed at home then – with this wretched person moaning after him,” Mrs Bowerbank remarked, with some sternness. She plainly felt that the occasion threatened to be wanting in brilliancy, and wished to intimate that though she was to be trusted for discipline, she thought they were all getting off too easily.
“I came because Pinnie brought me,” Hyacinth declared, from his low perch111. “I thought at first it would be pleasant. But it ain’t pleasant – I don’t like prisons.” And he placed his little feet on the cross-piece of the stool, as if to touch the institution at as few points as possible.
The woman in bed continued her strange, almost whining112 plaint. “Il ne veut pas s’approcher, il a honte de moi.”
“There’s a many that begin like that!” laughed Mrs Bowerbank, who was irritated by the boy’s contempt for one of her Majesty’s finest establishments.
Hyacinth’s little white face exhibited no confusion; he only turned it to the prisoner again, and Miss Pynsent felt that some extraordinary dumb exchange of meanings was taking place between them. “She used to be so elegant; she was a fine woman,” she observed, gently and helplessly.
“Il a honte de moi – il a honte, Dieu le pardonne!” Florentine Vivier went on, never moving her eyes.
“She’s asking for something, in her language. I used to know a few words,” said Miss Pynsent, stroking down the bed, very nervously113.
“Who is that woman? what does she want?” Hyacinth asked, his small, clear voice ringing over the dreary room.
“She wants you to come near her, she wants to kiss you, sir,” said Mrs Bowerbank, as if it were more than he deserved.
“I won’t kiss her; Pinnie says she stole a watch!” the child answered with resolution.
“Oh, you dreadful – how could you ever?” cried Pinnie, blushing all over and starting out of her chair.
It was partly Amanda’s agitation114, perhaps, which, by the jolt115 it administered, gave an impulse to the sick woman, and partly the penetrating116 and expressive117 tone in which Hyacinth announced his repugnance118: at any rate, Florentine, in the most unexpected and violent manner, jerked herself up from her pillow, and, with dilated119 eyes and waving hands, shrieked120 out, “Ah, quelle infamie! I never stole a watch, I never stole anything – anything! Ah, par2 exemple!” Then she fell back, sobbing121 with the passion that had given her a moment’s strength.
“I’m sure you needn’t put more on her than she has by rights,” said Mrs Bowerbank, with dignity, to the dressmaker, laying a large red hand upon the patient, to keep her in her place.
“Mercy, more? I thought it so much less!” cried Miss Pynsent, convulsed with confusion and jerking herself, in a wild tremor, from the mother to the child, as if she wished to fling herself upon one for contrition122 and upon the other for revenge.
“Il a honte de moi – il a honte de moi!” Florentine repeated, in the misery123 of her sobs124, “Dieu de bonté, quelle horreur!”
Miss Pynsent dropped on her knees beside the bed and, trying to possess herself of Florentine’s hand again, protested with a passion almost equal to that of the prisoner (she felt that her nerves had been screwed up to the snapping-point, and now they were all in shreds) that she hadn’t meant what she had told the child, that he hadn’t understood, that Florentine herself hadn’t understood, that she had only said she had been accused and meant that no one had ever believed it. The Frenchwoman paid no attention to her whatever, and Amanda buried her face and her embarrassment16 in the side of the hard little prison-bed, while, above the sound of their common lamentation125, she heard the judicial126 tones of Mrs Bowerbank.
“The child is delicate, you might well say! I’m disappointed in the effect – I was in hopes you’d hearten her up. The doctor’ll be down on me, of course; so we’ll just pass out again.”
“I’m very sorry I made you cry. And you must excuse Pinnie – I asked her so many questions.”
These words came from close beside the prostrate127 dressmaker, who, lifting herself quickly, found the little boy had advanced to her elbow and was taking a nearer view of the mysterious captive. They produced upon the latter an effect even more powerful than his unfortunate speech of a moment before; for she found strength to raise herself, partly, in her bed again, and to hold out her arms to him, with the same thrilling sobs. She was talking still, but she had become quite inarticulate, and Miss Pynsent had but a glimpse of her white, ravaged128 face, with the hollows of its eyes and the rude crop of her hair. Amanda caught the child with an eagerness almost as great as Florentine’s, and drawing him to the head of the bed, pushed him into his mother’s arms. “Kiss her – kiss her, and we’ll go home!” she whispered desperately, while they closed about him, and the poor dishonoured129 head pressed itself against his young cheek. It was a terrible, irresistible embrace, to which Hyacinth submitted with instant patience. Mrs Bowerbank had tried at first to keep her protégée from rising, evidently wishing to abbreviate130 the scene; then, as the child was enfolded, she accepted the situation and gave judicious131 support from behind, with an eye to clearing the room as soon as this effort should have spent itself. She propped132 up her patient with a vigorous arm; Miss Pynsent rose from her knees and turned away, and there was a minute’s stillness, during which the boy accommodated himself as he might to his strange ordeal. What thoughts were begotten133 at that moment in his wondering little mind Miss Pynsent was destined134 to learn at another time. Before she had faced round to the bed again she was swept out of the room by Mrs Bowerbank, who had lowered the prisoner, exhausted135, with closed eyes, to her pillow, and given Hyacinth a business-like little push, which sent him on in advance. Miss Pynsent went home in a cab – she was so shaken; though she reflected, very nervously, on getting into it, on the opportunities it would give Hyacinth for the exercise of inquisitorial rights. To her surprise, however, he completely neglected them; he sat in silence, looking out of the window, till they re-entered Lomax Place.
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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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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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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incarcerated
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| 钳闭的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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portent
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| n.预兆；恶兆；怪事 | |
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embarrassments
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| n.尴尬( embarrassment的名词复数 )；难堪；局促不安；令人难堪或耻辱的事 | |
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embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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truncated
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| adj.切去顶端的，缩短了的，被删节的v.截面的( truncate的过去式和过去分词 )；截头的；缩短了的；截去顶端或末端 | |
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pinnacles
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| 顶峰( pinnacle的名词复数 )； 顶点； 尖顶； 小尖塔 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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protrusion
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| n.伸出，突出 | |
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tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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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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36
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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37
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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38
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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39
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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40
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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41
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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42
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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43
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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44
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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45
expiated
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| v.为（所犯罪过）接受惩罚，赎（罪）( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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47
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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48
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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49
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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50
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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51
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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52
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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53
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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54
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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55
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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56
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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57
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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58
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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59
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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60
hoods
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| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
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61
spectrally
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| adv.幽灵似地，可怕地 | |
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62
dowdy
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| adj.不整洁的；过旧的 | |
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63
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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64
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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65
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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66
labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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67
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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68
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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69
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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70
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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71
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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72
immured
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| v.禁闭，监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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74
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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75
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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76
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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77
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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78
obnoxious
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| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
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79
arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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80
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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81
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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82
gratuitously
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| 平白 | |
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83
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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84
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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85
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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86
dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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87
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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89
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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90
discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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91
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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92
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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93
dawdle
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| vi.浪费时间；闲荡 | |
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94
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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95
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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96
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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97
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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98
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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99
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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100
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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101
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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102
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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103
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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104
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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105
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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106
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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107
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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108
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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109
allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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110
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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111
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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112
whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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113
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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114
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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115
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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116
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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117
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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118
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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119
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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122
contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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123
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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124
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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125
lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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126
judicial
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| adj.司法的，法庭的，审判的，明断的，公正的 | |
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127
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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128
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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129
dishonoured
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| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
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130
abbreviate
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| v.缩写，使...简略，缩短 | |
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131
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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132
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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134
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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135
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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