The weeks crawled by in apathy1. He would have sailed for India now. She was scarcely interested. She was inert2, without strength or interest.
Suddenly a shock ran through her, so violent that she thought she was struck down. Was she with child? She had been so stricken under the pain of herself and of him, this had never occurred to her. Now like a flame it took hold of her limbs and body. Was she with child?
In the first flaming hours of wonder, she did not know what she felt. She was as if tied to the stake. The flames were licking her and devouring3 her. But the flames were also good. They seemed to wear her away to rest. What she felt in her heart and her womb she did not know. It was a kind of swoon.
Then gradually the heaviness of her heart pressed and pressed into consciousness. What was she doing? Was she bearing a child? Bearing a child? To what?
Her flesh thrilled, but her soul was sick. It seemed, this child, like the seal set on her own nullity. Yet she was glad in her flesh that she was with child. She began to think, that she would write to Skrebensky, that she would go out to him, and marry him, and live simply as a good wife to him. What did the self, the form of life matter? Only the living from day to day mattered, the beloved existence in the body, rich, peaceful, complete, with no beyond, no further trouble, no further complication. She had been wrong, she had been arrogant4 and wicked, wanting that other thing, that fantastic freedom, that illusory, conceited6 fulfilment which she had imagined she could not have with Skrebensky. Who was she to be wanting some fantastic fulfilment in her life? Was it not enough that she had her man, her children, her place of shelter under the sun? Was it not enough for her, as it had been enough for her mother? She would marry and love her husband and fill her place simply. That was the ideal.
Suddenly she saw her mother in a just and true light. Her mother was simple and radically7 true. She had taken the life that was given. She had not, in her arrogant conceit5, insisted on creating life to fit herself. Her mother was right, profoundly right, and she herself had been false, trashy, conceited.
A great mood of humility8 came over her, and in this humility a bondaged sort of peace. She gave her limbs to the bondage9, she loved the bondage, she called it peace. In this state she sat down to write to Skrebensky.
Since you left me I have suffered a great deal, and so have come to myself. I cannot tell you the remorse10 I feel for my wicked, perverse11 behaviour. It was given to me to love you, and to know your love for me. But instead of thankfully, on my knees, taking what God had given me, I must have the moon in my keeping, I must insist on having the moon for my own. Because I could not have it, everything else must go.
I do not know if you can ever forgive me. I could die with shame to think of my behaviour with you during our last times, and I don’t know if I could ever bear to look you in the face again. Truly the best thing would be for me to die, and cover my fantasies for ever. But I find I am with child, so that cannot be.
It is your child, and for that reason I must revere12 it and submit my body entirely13 to its welfare, entertaining no thought of death, which once more is largely conceit. Therefore, because you once loved me, and because this child is your child, I ask you to have me back. If you will cable me one word, I will come to you as soon as I can. I swear to you to be a dutiful wife, and to serve you in all things. For now I only hate myself and my own conceited foolishness. I love you — I love the thought of you — you were natural and decent all through, whilst I was so false. Once I am with you again, I shall ask no more than to rest in your shelter all my life ——
This letter she wrote, sentence by sentence, as if from her deepest, sincerest heart. She felt that now, now, she was at the depths of herself. This was her true self, forever. With this document she would appear before God at the Judgment14 Day.
For what had a woman but to submit? What was her flesh but for childbearing, her strength for her children and her husband, the giver of life? At last she was a woman.
She posted her letter to his club, to be forwarded to him in Calcutta. He would receive it soon after his arrival in India — within three weeks of his arrival there. In a month’s time she would receive word from him. Then she would go.
She was quite sure of him. She thought only of preparing her garments and of living quietly, peacefully, till the time when she should join him again and her history would be concluded for ever. The peace held like an unnatural15 calm for a long time. She was aware, however, of a gathering16 restiveness17, a tumult18 impending19 within her. She tried to run away from it. She wished she could hear from Skrebensky, in answer to her letter, so that her course should be resolved, she should be engaged in fulfilling her fate. It was this inactivity which made her liable to the revulsion she dreaded20.
It was curious how little she cared about his not having written to her before. It was enough that she had sent her letter. She would get the required answer, that was all.
One afternoon in early October, feeling the seething21 rising to madness within her, she slipped out in the rain, to walk abroad, lest the house should suffocate22 her. Everywhere was drenched23 wet and deserted24, the grimed houses glowed dull red, the butt25 houses burned scarlet26 in a gleam of light, under the glistening27, blackish purple slates28. Ursula went on towards Willey Green. She lifted her face and walked swiftly, seeing the passage of light across the shallow valley, seeing the colliery and its clouds of steam for a moment visionary in dim brilliance30, away in the chaos31 of rain. Then the veils closed again. She was glad of the rain’s privacy and intimacy32.
Making on towards the wood, she saw the pale gleam of Willey Water through the cloud below, she walked the open space where hawthorn33 trees streamed like hair on the wind and round bushes were presences slowing through the atmosphere. It was very splendid, free and chaotic34.
Yet she hurried to the wood for shelter. There, the vast booming overhead vibrated down and encircled her, tree-trunks spanned the circle of tremendous sound, myriads35 of tree-trunks, enormous and streaked36 black with water, thrust like stanchions upright between the roaring overhead and the sweeping37 of the circle underfoot. She glided38 between the tree-trunks, afraid of them. They might turn and shut her in as she went through their martialled silence.
So she flitted along, keeping an illusion that she was unnoticed. She felt like a bird that has flown in through the window of a hall where vast warriors39 sit at the board. Between their grave, booming ranks she was hastening, assuming she was unnoticed, till she emerged, with beating heart, through the far window and out into the open, upon the vivid green, marshy40 meadow.
She turned under the shelter of the common, seeing the great veils of rain swinging with slow, floating waves across the landscape. She was very wet and a long way from home, far enveloped41 in the rain and the waving landscape. She must beat her way back through all this fluctuation42, back to stability and security.
A solitary43 thing, she took the track straight across the wilderness44, going back. The path was a narrow groove45 in the turf between high, sere46, tussocky grass; it was scarcely more than a rabbit run. So she moved swiftly along, watching her footing, going like a bird on the wind, with no thought, contained in motion. But her heart had a small, living seed of fear, as she went through the wash of hollow space.
Suddenly she knew there was something else. Some horses were looming47 in the rain, not near yet. But they were going to be near. She continued her path, inevitably48. They were horses in the lee of a clump49 of trees beyond, above her. She pursued her way with bent50 head. She did not want to lift her face to them. She did not want to know they were there. She went on in the wild track.
She knew the heaviness on her heart. It was the weight of the horses. But she would circumvent51 them. She would bear the weight steadily52, and so escape. She would go straight on, and on, and be gone by.
Suddenly the weight deepened and her heart grew tense to bear it. Her breathing was laboured. But this weight also she could bear. She knew without looking that the horses were moving nearer. What were they? She felt the thud of their heavy hoofs53 on the ground. What was it that was drawing near her, what weight oppressing her heart? She did not know, she did not look.
Yet now her way was cut off. They were blocking her back. She knew they had gathered on a log bridge over the sedgy dike54, a dark, heavy, powerfully heavy knot. Yet her feet went on and on. They would burst before her. They would burst before her. Her feet went on and on. And tense, and more tense became her nerves and her veins55, they ran hot, they ran white hot, they must fuse and she must die.
But the horses had burst before her. In a sort of lightning of knowledge their movement travelled through her, the quiver and strain and thrust of their powerful flanks, as they burst before her and drew on, beyond.
She knew they had not gone, she knew they awaited her still. But she went on over the log bridge that their hoofs had churned and drummed, she went on, knowing things about them. She was aware of their breasts gripped, clenched56 narrow in a hold that never relaxed, she was aware of their red nostrils57 flaming with long endurance, and of their haunches, so rounded, so massive, pressing, pressing, pressing to burst the grip upon their breasts, pressing for ever till they went mad, running against the walls of time, and never bursting free. Their great haunches were smoothed and darkened with rain. But the darkness and wetness of rain could not put out the hard, urgent, massive fire that was locked within these flanks, never, never.
She went on, drawing near. She was aware of the great flash of hoofs, a bluish, iridescent58 flash surrounding a hollow of darkness. Large, large seemed the bluish, incandescent59 flash of the hoof-iron, large as a halo of lightning round the knotted darkness of the flanks. Like circles of lightning came the flash of hoofs from out of the powerful flanks.
They were awaiting her again. They had gathered under an oak tree, knotting their awful, blind, triumphing flanks together, and waiting, waiting. They were waiting for her approach. As if from a far distance she was drawing near, towards the line of twiggy60 oak trees where they made their intense darkness, gathered on a single bank.
She must draw near. But they broke away, they cantered round, making a wide circle to avoid noticing her, and cantered back into the open hillside behind her.
They were behind her. The way was open before her, to the gate in the high hedge in the near distance, so she could pass into the smaller, cultivated field, and so out to the high-road and the ordered world of man. Her way was clear. She lulled61 her heart. Yet her heart was couched with fear, couched with fear all along.
Suddenly she hesitated as if seized by lightning. She seemed to fall, yet found herself faltering62 forward with small steps. The thunder of horses galloping63 down the path behind her shook her, the weight came down upon her, down, to the moment of extinction64. She could not look round, so the horses thundered upon her.
Cruelly, they swerved65 and crashed by on her left hand. She saw the fierce flanks crinkled and as yet inadequate66, the great hoofs flashing bright as yet only brandished67 about her, and one by one the horses crashed by, intent, working themselves up.
They had gone by, brandishing68 themselves thunderously about her, enclosing her. They slackened their burst transport, they slowed down, and cantered together into a knot once more, in the corner by the gate and the trees ahead of her. They stirred, they moved uneasily, they settled their uneasy flanks into one group, one purpose. They were up against her.
Her heart was gone, she had no more heart. She knew she dare not draw near. That concentrated, knitted flank of the horse-group had conquered. It stirred uneasily, awaiting her, knowing its triumph. It stirred uneasily, with the uneasiness of awaited triumph. Her heart was gone, her limbs were dissolved, she was dissolved like water. All the hardness and looming power was in the massive body of the horse-group.
Her feet faltered69, she came to a standstill. It was the crisis. The horses stirred their flanks uneasily. She looked away, failing. On her left, two hundred yards down the slope, the thick hedge ran parallel. At one point there was an oak tree. She might climb into the boughs70 of that oak tree, and so round and drop on the other side of the hedge.
Shuddering72, with limbs like water, dreading73 every moment to fall, she began to work her way as if making a wide detour74 round the horse-mass. The horses stirred their flanks in a knot against her. She trembled forward as if in a trance.
Then suddenly, in a flame of agony, she darted75, seized the rugged76 knots of the oak tree and began to climb. Her body was weak but her hands were as hard as steel. She knew she was strong. She struggled in a great effort till she hung on the bough71. She knew the horses were aware. She gained her foot-hold on the bough. The horses were loosening their knot, stirring, trying to realise. She was working her way round to the other side of the tree. As they started to canter towards her, she fell in a heap on the other side of the hedge.
For some moments she could not move. Then she saw through the rabbit-cleared bottom of the hedge the great, working hoofs of the horses as they cantered near. She could not bear it. She rose and walked swiftly, diagonally across the field. The horses galloped77 along the other side of the hedge to the corner, where they were held up. She could feel them there in their huddled78 group all the while she hastened across the bare field. They were almost pathetic, now. Her will alone carried her, till, trembling, she climbed the fence under a leaning thorn tree that overhung the grass by the high-road. The use went from her, she sat on the fence leaning back against the trunk of the thorn tree, motionless.
As she sat there, spent, time and the flux79 of change passed away from her, she lay as if unconscious upon the bed of the stream, like a stone, unconscious, unchanging, unchangeable, whilst everything rolled by in transience, leaving her there, a stone at rest on the bed of the stream, inalterable and passive, sunk to the bottom of all change.
She lay still a long time, with her back against the thorn tree trunk, in her final isolation80. Some colliers passed, tramping heavily up the wet road, their voices sounding out, their shoulders up to their ears, their figures blotched and spectral81 in the rain. Some did not see her. She opened her eyes languidly as they passed by. Then one man going alone saw her. The whites of his eyes showed in his black face as he looked in wonderment at her. He hesitated in his walk, as if to speak to her, out of frightened concern for her. How she dreaded his speaking to her, dreaded his questioning her.
She slipped from her seat and went vaguely82 along the path — vaguely. It was a long way home. She had an idea that she must walk for the rest of her life, wearily, wearily. Step after step, step after step, and always along the wet, rainy road between the hedges. Step after step, step after step, the monotony produced a deep, cold sense of nausea83 in her. How profound was her cold nausea, how profound! That too plumbed84 the bottom. She seemed destined85 to find the bottom of all things to-day: the bottom of all things. Well, at any rate she was walking along the bottom-most bed — she was quite safe: quite safe, if she had to go on and on for ever, seeing this was the very bottom, and there was nothing deeper. There was nothing deeper, you see, so one could not but feel certain, passive.
She arrived home at last. The climb up the hill to Beldover had been very trying. Why must one climb the hill? Why must one climb? Why not stay below? Why force one’s way up the slope? Why force one’s way up and up, when one is at the bottom? Oh, it was very trying, very wearying, very burdensome. Always burdens, always, always burdens. Still, she must get to the top and go home to bed. She must go to bed.
She got in and went upstairs in the dusk without its being noticed she was in such a sodden86 condition. She was too tired to go downstairs again. She got into bed and lay shuddering with cold, yet too apathetic87 to get up or call for relief. Then gradually she became more ill.
She was very ill for a fortnight, delirious88, shaken and racked. But always, amid the ache of delirium89, she had a dull firmness of being, a sense of permanency. She was in some way like the stone at the bottom of the river, inviolable and unalterable, no matter what storm raged in her body. Her soul lay still and permanent, full of pain, but itself for ever. Under all her illness, persisted a deep, inalterable knowledge.
She knew, and she cared no more. Throughout her illness, distorted into vague forms, persisted the question of herself and Skrebensky, like a gnawing91 ache that was still superficial, and did not touch her isolated92, impregnable core of reality. But the corrosion93 of him burned in her till it burned itself out.
Must she belong to him, must she adhere to him? Something compelled her, and yet it was not real. Always the ache, the ache of unreality, of her belonging to Skrebensky. What bound her to him when she was not bound to him? Why did the falsity persist? Why did the falsity gnaw90, gnaw, gnaw at her, why could she not wake up to clarity, to reality. If she could but wake up, if she could but wake up, the falsity of the dream, of her connection with Skrebensky, would be gone. But the sleep, the delirium pinned her down. Even when she was calm and sober she was in its spell.
Yet she was never in its spell. What extraneous94 thing bound her to him? There was some bond put upon her. Why could she not break it through? What was it? What was it?
In her delirium she beat and beat at the question. And at last her weariness gave her the answer — it was the child. The child bound her to him. The child was like a bond round her brain, tightened95 on her brain. It bound her to Skrebensky.
But why, why did it bind96 her to Skrebensky? Could she not have a child of herself? Was not the child her own affair? all her own affair? What had it to do with him? Why must she be bound, aching and cramped97 with the bondage, to Skrebensky and Skrebensky’s world? Anton’s world: it became in her feverish98 brain a compression which enclosed her. If she could not get out of the compression she would go mad. The compression was Anton and Anton’s world, not the Anton she possessed99, but the Anton she did not possess, that which was owned by some other influence, by the world.
She fought and fought and fought all through her illness to be free of him and his world, to put it aside, to put it aside, into its place. Yet ever anew it gained ascendency over her, it laid new hold on her. Oh, the unutterable weariness of her flesh, which she could not cast off, nor yet extricate100. If she could but extricate herself, if she could but disengage herself from feeling, from her body, from all the vast encumbrances101 of the world that was in contact with her, from her father, and her mother, and her lover, and all her acquaintance.
Repeatedly, in an ache of utter weariness she repeated: “I have no father nor mother nor lover, I have no allocated102 place in the world of things, I do not belong to Beldover nor to Nottingham nor to England nor to this world, they none of them exist, I am trammelled and entangled103 in them, but they are all unreal. I must break out of it, like a nut from its shell which is an unreality.”
And again, to her feverish brain, came the vivid reality of acorns104 in February lying on the floor of a wood with their shells burst and discarded and the kernel105 issued naked to put itself forth106. She was the naked, clear kernel thrusting forth the clear, powerful shoot, and the world was a bygone winter, discarded, her mother and father and Anton, and college and all her friends, all cast off like a year that has gone by, whilst the kernel was free and naked and striving to take new root, to create a new knowledge of Eternity107 in the flux of Time. And the kernel was the only reality; the rest was cast off into oblivion.
This grew and grew upon her. When she opened her eyes in the afternoon and saw the window of her room and the faint, smoky landscape beyond, this was all husk and shell lying by, all husk and shell, she could see nothing else, she was enclosed still, but loosely enclosed. There was a space between her and the shell. It was burst, there was a rift108 in it. Soon she would have her root fixed109 in a new Day, her nakedness would take itself the bed of a new sky and a new air, this old, decaying, fibrous husk would be gone.
Gradually she began really to sleep. She slept in the confidence of her new reality. She slept breathing with her soul the new air of a new world. The peace was very deep and enrichening. She had her root in new ground, she was gradually absorbed into growth.
When she woke at last it seemed as if a new day had come on the earth. How long, how long had she fought through the dust and obscurity, for this new dawn? How frail110 and fine and clear she felt, like the most fragile flower that opens in the end of winter. But the pole of night was turned and the dawn was coming in.
Very far off was her old experience — Skrebensky, her parting with him — very far off. Some things were real; those first glamorous111 weeks. Before, these had seemed like hallucination. Now they seemed like common reality. The rest was unreal. She knew that Skrebensky had never become finally real. In the weeks of passionate112 ecstasy113 he had been with her in her desire, she had created him for the time being. But in the end he had failed and broken down.
Strange, what a void separated him and her. She liked him now, as she liked a memory, some bygone self. He was something of the past, finite. He was that which is known. She felt a poignant114 affection for him, as for that which is past. But, when she looked with her face forward, he was not. Nay115, when she looked ahead, into the undiscovered land before her, what was there she could recognise but a fresh glow of light and inscrutable trees going up from the earth like smoke. It was the unknown, the unexplored, the undiscovered upon whose shore she had landed, alone, after crossing the void, the darkness which washed the New World and the Old.
There would be no child: she was glad. If there had been a child, it would have made little difference, however. She would have kept the child and herself, she would not have gone to Skrebensky. Anton belonged to the past.
There came the cablegram from Skrebensky: “I am married.” An old pain and anger and contempt stirred in her. Did he belong so utterly116 to the cast-off past? She repudiated117 him. He was as he was. It was good that he was as he was. Who was she to have a man according to her own desire? It was not for her to create, but to recognise a man created by God. The man should come from the Infinite and she should hail him. She was glad she could not create her man. She was glad she had nothing to do with his creation. She was glad that this lay within the scope of that vaster power in which she rested at last. The man would come out of Eternity to which she herself belonged.
As she grew better, she sat to watch a new creation. As she sat at her window, she saw the people go by in the street below, colliers, women, children, walking each in the husk of an old fruition, but visible through the husk, the swelling118 and the heaving contour of the new germination119. In the still, silenced forms of the colliers she saw a sort of suspense120, a waiting in pain for the new liberation; she saw the same in the false hard confidence of the women. The confidence of the women was brittle121. It would break quickly to reveal the strength and patient effort of the new germination.
In everything she saw she grasped and groped to find the creation of the living God, instead of the old, hard barren form of bygone living. Sometimes great terror possessed her. Sometimes she lost touch, she lost her feeling, she could only know the old horror of the husk which bound in her and all mankind. They were all in prison, they were all going mad.
She saw the stiffened122 bodies of the colliers, which seemed already enclosed in a coffin123, she saw their unchanging eyes, the eyes of those who are buried alive: she saw the hard, cutting edges of the new houses, which seemed to spread over the hillside in their insentient triumph, the triumph of horrible, amorphous124 angles and straight lines, the expression of corruption125 triumphant127 and unopposed, corruption so pure that it is hard and brittle: she saw the dun atmosphere over the blackened hills opposite, the dark blotches128 of houses, slate29 roofed and amorphous, the old church-tower standing129 up in hideous130 obsoleteness131 above raw new houses on the crest132 of the hill, the amorphous, brittle, hard edged new houses advancing from Beldover to meet the corrupt126 new houses from Lethley, the houses of Lethley advancing to mix with the houses of Hainor, a dry, brittle, terrible corruption spreading over the face of the land, and she was sick with a nausea so deep that she perished as she sat. And then, in the blowing clouds, she saw a band of faint iridescence133 colouring in faint colours a portion of the hill. And forgetting, startled, she looked for the hovering134 colour and saw a rainbow forming itself. In one place it gleamed fiercely, and, her heart anguished135 with hope, she sought the shadow of iris136 where the bow should be. Steadily the colour gathered, mysteriously, from nowhere, it took presence upon itself, there was a faint, vast rainbow. The arc bended and strengthened itself till it arched indomitable, making great architecture of light and colour and the space of heaven, its pedestals luminous137 in the corruption of new houses on the low hill, its arch the top of heaven.
And the rainbow stood on the earth. She knew that the sordid138 people who crept hard-scaled and separate on the face of the world’s corruption were living still, that the rainbow was arched in their blood and would quiver to life in their spirit, that they would cast off their horny covering of disintegration139, that new, clean, naked bodies would issue to a new germination, to a new growth, rising to the light and the wind and the clean rain of heaven. She saw in the rainbow the earth’s new architecture, the old, brittle corruption of houses and factories swept away, the world built up in a living fabric140 of Truth, fitting to the over-arching heaven.
The End
点击收听单词发音
1 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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2 inert | |
adj.无活动能力的,惰性的;迟钝的 | |
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3 devouring | |
吞没( devour的现在分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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4 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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5 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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6 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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7 radically | |
ad.根本地,本质地 | |
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8 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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9 bondage | |
n.奴役,束缚 | |
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10 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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11 perverse | |
adj.刚愎的;坚持错误的,行为反常的 | |
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12 revere | |
vt.尊崇,崇敬,敬畏 | |
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13 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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14 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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15 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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16 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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17 restiveness | |
n.倔强,难以驾御 | |
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18 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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19 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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20 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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21 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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22 suffocate | |
vt.使窒息,使缺氧,阻碍;vi.窒息,窒息而亡,阻碍发展 | |
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23 drenched | |
adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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24 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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25 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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26 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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27 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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28 slates | |
(旧时学生用以写字的)石板( slate的名词复数 ); 板岩; 石板瓦; 石板色 | |
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29 slate | |
n.板岩,石板,石片,石板色,候选人名单;adj.暗蓝灰色的,含板岩的;vt.用石板覆盖,痛打,提名,预订 | |
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30 brilliance | |
n.光辉,辉煌,壮丽,(卓越的)才华,才智 | |
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31 chaos | |
n.混乱,无秩序 | |
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32 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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33 hawthorn | |
山楂 | |
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34 chaotic | |
adj.混沌的,一片混乱的,一团糟的 | |
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35 myriads | |
n.无数,极大数量( myriad的名词复数 ) | |
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36 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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37 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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38 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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39 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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40 marshy | |
adj.沼泽的 | |
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41 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 fluctuation | |
n.(物价的)波动,涨落;周期性变动;脉动 | |
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43 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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44 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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45 groove | |
n.沟,槽;凹线,(刻出的)线条,习惯 | |
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46 sere | |
adj.干枯的;n.演替系列 | |
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47 looming | |
n.上现蜃景(光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼)v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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48 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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49 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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50 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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51 circumvent | |
vt.环绕,包围;对…用计取胜,智胜 | |
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52 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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53 hoofs | |
n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54 dike | |
n.堤,沟;v.开沟排水 | |
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55 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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56 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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58 iridescent | |
adj.彩虹色的,闪色的 | |
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59 incandescent | |
adj.遇热发光的, 白炽的,感情强烈的 | |
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60 twiggy | |
多细枝的,小枝繁茂的 | |
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61 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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62 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
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63 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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64 extinction | |
n.熄灭,消亡,消灭,灭绝,绝种 | |
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65 swerved | |
v.(使)改变方向,改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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67 brandished | |
v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 );炫耀 | |
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68 brandishing | |
v.挥舞( brandish的现在分词 );炫耀 | |
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69 faltered | |
(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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70 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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71 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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72 shuddering | |
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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73 dreading | |
v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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74 detour | |
n.绕行的路,迂回路;v.迂回,绕道 | |
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75 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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76 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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77 galloped | |
(使马)飞奔,奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 ); 快速做[说]某事 | |
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78 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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79 flux | |
n.流动;不断的改变 | |
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80 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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81 spectral | |
adj.幽灵的,鬼魂的 | |
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82 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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83 nausea | |
n.作呕,恶心;极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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84 plumbed | |
v.经历( plumb的过去式和过去分词 );探究;用铅垂线校正;用铅锤测量 | |
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85 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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86 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
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87 apathetic | |
adj.冷漠的,无动于衷的 | |
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88 delirious | |
adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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89 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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90 gnaw | |
v.不断地啃、咬;使苦恼,折磨 | |
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91 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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92 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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93 corrosion | |
n.腐蚀,侵蚀;渐渐毁坏,渐衰 | |
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94 extraneous | |
adj.体外的;外来的;外部的 | |
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95 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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96 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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97 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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98 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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99 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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100 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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101 encumbrances | |
n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 );累赘;妨碍;阻碍 | |
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102 allocated | |
adj. 分配的 动词allocate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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103 entangled | |
adj.卷入的;陷入的;被缠住的;缠在一起的v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 acorns | |
n.橡子,栎实( acorn的名词复数 ) | |
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105 kernel | |
n.(果实的)核,仁;(问题)的中心,核心 | |
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106 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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107 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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108 rift | |
n.裂口,隙缝,切口;v.裂开,割开,渗入 | |
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109 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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110 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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111 glamorous | |
adj.富有魅力的;美丽动人的;令人向往的 | |
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112 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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113 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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114 poignant | |
adj.令人痛苦的,辛酸的,惨痛的 | |
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115 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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116 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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117 repudiated | |
v.(正式地)否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 );拒绝接受;拒绝与…往来;拒不履行(法律义务) | |
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118 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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119 germination | |
n.萌芽,发生;萌发;生芽;催芽 | |
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120 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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121 brittle | |
adj.易碎的;脆弱的;冷淡的;(声音)尖利的 | |
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122 stiffened | |
加强的 | |
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123 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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124 amorphous | |
adj.无定形的 | |
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125 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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126 corrupt | |
v.贿赂,收买;adj.腐败的,贪污的 | |
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127 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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128 blotches | |
n.(皮肤上的)红斑,疹块( blotch的名词复数 );大滴 [大片](墨水或颜色的)污渍 | |
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129 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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130 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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131 obsoleteness | |
废弃 | |
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132 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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133 iridescence | |
n.彩虹色;放光彩;晕色;晕彩 | |
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134 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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135 anguished | |
adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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136 iris | |
n.虹膜,彩虹 | |
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137 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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138 sordid | |
adj.肮脏的,不干净的,卑鄙的,暗淡的 | |
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139 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
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140 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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