He found her brightened and refreshed by sleep, and he brought her reassuring2 messages that all was well, encouraging her with hopes which himself he was very far from entertaining. If her reception of him was not expressedly friendly, neither was it unfriendly. She listened to the hopes he expressed of yet effecting her safe deliverance, and whilst she had no thanks to offer him for the efforts he was to exert on her behalf — accepting them as her absolute due, as the inadequate3 liquidation4 of the debt that lay between them — yet there was now none of that aloofness5 amounting almost to scorn which hitherto had marked her bearing towards him.
He came again some hours later, in the afternoon, by when his Nubians were once more at their post. He had no news to bring her beyond the fact that their sentinel on the heights reported a sail to westward6, beating up towards the island before the very gentle breeze that was blowing. But the argosy they awaited was not yet in sight, and he confessed that certain proposals which he had made to Asad for landing her in France had been rejected. Still she need have no fear, he added promptly7, seeing the sudden alarm that quickened in her eyes. A way would present itself. He was watching, and would miss no chance.
“And if no chance should offer?” she asked him.
“Why then I will make one,” he answered, lightly almost. “I have been making them all my life, and it would be odd if I should have lost the trick of it on my life’s most important occasion.”
This mention of his life led to a question from her.
“How did you contrive8 the chance that has made you what you are? I mean,” she added quickly, as if fearing that the purport9 of that question might be misunderstood, “that has enabled you to become a corsair captain.”
“’Tis a long story that,” he said. “I should weary you in the telling of it.”
“No,” she replied, and shook her head, her clear eyes solemnly meeting his clouded glance. “You would not weary me. Chances may be few in which to learn it.”
“And you would learn it?” quoth he, and added, “That you may judge me?”
“Perhaps,” she said, and her eyes fell.
With bowed head he paced the length of the small chamber10, and back again. His desire was to do her will in this, which is natural enough — for if it is true that who knows all must perforce forgive all, never could it have been truer than in the case of Sir Oliver Tressilian.
So he told his tale. Pacing there he related it at length, from the days when he had toiled11 at an oar12 on one of the galleys14 of Spain down to that hour in which aboard the Spanish vessel15 taken under Cape16 Spartel he had determined17 upon that voyage to England to present his reckoning to his brother. He told his story simply and without too great a wealth of detail, yet he omitted nothing of all that had gone to place him where he stood. And she, listening, was so profoundly moved that at one moment her eyes glistened18 with tears which she sought vainly to repress. Yet he, pacing there, absorbed, with head bowed and eyes that never once strayed in her direction, saw none of this.
“And so,” he said, when at last that odd narrative19 had reached its end, “you know what the forces were that drove me. Another stronger than myself might have resisted and preferred to suffer death. But I was not strong enough. Or perhaps it is that stronger than myself was my desire to punish, to vent20 the bitter hatred21 into which my erstwhile love for Lionel was turned.”
“And for me, too — as you have told me,” she added.
“Not so,” he corrected her. “I hated you for your unfaith, and most of all for your having burnt unread the letter that I sent you by the hand of Pitt. In doing that you contributed to the wrongs I was enduring, you destroyed my one chance of establishing my innocence22 and seeking rehabilitation23, you doomed24 me for life to the ways which I was treading. But I did not then know what ample cause you had to believe me what I seemed. I did not know that it was believed I had fled. Therefore I forgive you freely a deed for which at one time I confess that I hated you, and which spurred me to bear you off when I found you under my hand that night at Arwenack when I went for Lionel.”
“You mean that it was no part of your intent to have done so?” she asked him.
“To carry you off together with him?” he asked. “I swear to God I had not premeditated that. Indeed, it was done because not premeditated, for had I considered it, I do think I should have been proof against any such temptation. It assailed25 me suddenly when I beheld26 you there with Lionel, and I succumbed27 to it. Knowing what I now know I am punished enough, I think.”
“I think I can understand,” she murmured gently, as if to comfort him, for quick pain had trembled in his voice.
He tossed back his turbaned head. “To understand is something,” said he. “It is half-way at least to forgiveness. But ere forgiveness can be accepted the evil done must be atoned29 for to the full.”
“If possible,” said she.
“It must be made possible,” he answered her with heat, and on that he checked abruptly30, arrested by a sound of shouting from without.
He recognized the voice of Larocque, who at dawn had returned to his sentinel’s post on the summit of the headland, relieving the man who had replaced him there during the night.
“My lord! My lord!” was the cry, in a voice shaken by excitement, and succeeded by a shouting chorus from the crew.
Sakr-el-Bahr turned swiftly to the entrance, whisked aside the curtain, and stepped out upon the poop. Larocque was in the very act of clambering over the bulwarks31 amidships, towards the waist-deck where Asad awaited him in company with Marzak and the trusty Biskaine. The prow32, on which the corsairs had lounged at ease since yesterday, was now a seething33 mob of inquisitive34 babbling35 men, crowding to the rail and even down the gangway in their eagerness to learn what news it was that brought the sentinel aboard in such excited haste.
From where he stood Sakr-el-Bahr heard Larocque’s loud announcement.
“The ship I sighted at dawn, my lord!”
“Well?” barked Asad.
“She is here — in the bay beneath that headland. She has just dropped anchor.”
“No need for alarm in that,” replied the Basha at once. “Since she has anchored there it is plain that she has no suspicion of our presence. What manner of ship is she?”
“A tall galleon36 of twenty guns, flying the flag of England.
“Of England!” cried Asad in surprise. “She’ll need be a stout37 vessel to hazard herself in Spanish waters.”
Sakr-el-Bahr advanced to the rail.
“Does she display no further device?” he asked.
Larocque turned at the question. “Ay,” he answered, “a narrow blue pennant38 on her mizzen is charged with a white bird — a stork39, I think.”
“A stork?” echoed Sakr-el-Bahr thoughtfully. He could call to mind no such English blazon40, nor did it seem to him that it could possibly be English. He caught the sound of a quickly indrawn breath behind him. He turned to find Rosamund standing42 in the entrance, not more than half concealed43 by the curtain. Her face showed white and eager, her eyes were wide.
“What is’t?” he asked her shortly.
“A stork, he thinks,” she said, as though that were answer enough.
“I’ faith an unlikely bird,” he commented. “The fellow is mistook.”
“Yet not by much, Sir Oliver.”
“How? Not by much?” Intrigued44 by something in her tone and glance, he stepped quickly up to her, whilst below the chatter45 of voices increased.
“That which he takes to be a stork is a heron — a white heron, and white is argent in heraldry, is’t not?”
“It is. What then?”
“D’ye not see? That ship will be the Silver Heron.”
He looked at her. “‘S life!” said he, “I reck little whether it be the silver heron or the golden grasshopper46. What odds47?”
“It is Sir John’s ship — Sir John Killigrew’s,” she explained. “She was all but ready to sail when . . . when you came to Arwenack. He was for the Indies. Instead — don’t you see? — out of love for me he will have come after me upon a forlorn hope of overtaking you ere you could make Barbary.”
“God’s light!” said Sakr-el-Bahr, and fell to musing48. Then he raised his head and laughed. “Faith, he’s some days late for that!”
But the jest evoked49 no response from her. She continued to stare at him with those eager yet timid eyes.
“And yet,” he continued, “he comes opportunely50 enough. If the breeze that has fetched him is faint, yet surely it blows from Heaven.”
“Were it . . .?” she paused, faltering51 a moment.
Then, “Were it possible to communicate with him?” she asked, yet with hesitation52.
“Possible — ay,” he answered. “Though we must needs devise the means, and that will prove none so easy.”
“And you would do it?” she inquired, an undercurrent of wonder in her question, some recollection of it in her face.
“Why, readily,” he answered, “since no other way presents itself. No doubt ’twill cost some lives,” he added, “but then. . . . ” And he shrugged53 to complete the sentence.
“Ah, no, no! Not at that price!” she protested. And how was he to know that all the price she was thinking of was his own life, which she conceived would be forfeited54 if the assistance of the Silver Heron were invoked55?
Before he could return her any answer his attention was diverted. A sullen56 threatening note had crept into the babble57 of the crew, and suddenly one or two voices were raised to demand insistently58 that Asad should put to sea at once and remove his vessel from a neighbourhood become so dangerous. Now, the fault of this was Marzak’s. His was the voice that first had uttered that timid suggestion, and the infection of his panic had spread instantly through the corsair ranks.
Asad, drawn41 to the full of his gaunt height, turned upon them the eyes that had quelled59 greater clamours, and raised the voice which in its day had hurled60 a hundred men straight into the jaws61 of death without a protest.
“Silence!” he commanded. “I am your lord and need no counsellors save Allah. When I consider the time come, I will give the word to row, but not before. Back to your quarters, then, and peace!”
He disdained62 to argue with them, to show them what sound reasons there were for remaining in this secret cove63 and against putting forth64 into the open. Enough for them that such should be his will. Not for them to question his wisdom and his decisions.
But Asad-ed-Din had lain overlong in Algiers whilst his fleets under Sakr-el-Bahr and Biskaine had scoured65 the inland sea. The men were no longer accustomed to the goad66 of his voice, their confidence in his judgment67 was not built upon the sound basis of past experience. Never yet had he led into battle the men of this crew and brought them forth again in triumph and enriched by spoil.
So now they set their own judgment against his. To them it seemed a recklessness — as, indeed, Marzak had suggested — to linger here, and his mere68 announcement of his purpose was far from sufficient to dispel69 their doubts.
The murmurs70 swelled71, not to be overborne by his fierce presence and scowling72 brow, and suddenly one of the renegades — secretly prompted by the wily Vigitello — raised a shout for the captain whom they knew and trusted.
“Sakr-el-Bahr! Sakr-el-Bahr! Thou’lt not leave us penned in this cove to perish like rats!”
It was as a spark to a train of powder. A score of voices instantly took up the cry; hands were flung out towards Sakr-el-Bahr, where he stood above them and in full view of all, leaning impassive and stern upon the poop-rail, whilst his agile73 mind weighed the opportunity thus thrust upon him, and considered what profit was to be extracted from it.
Asad fell back a pace in his profound mortification74. His face was livid, his eyes blared furiously, his hand flew to the jewelled hilt of his scimitar, yet forbore from drawing the blade. Instead he let loose upon Marzak the venom75 kindled76 in his soul by this evidence of how shrunken was his authority.
“Thou fool!” he snarled77. “Look on thy craven’s work. See what a devil thou hast raised with thy woman’s counsels. Thou to command a galley13! Thou to become a fighter upon the seas! I would that Allah had stricken me dead ere I begat me such a son as thou!”
Marzak recoiled78 before the fury of words that he feared might be followed by yet worse. He dared make no answer, offer no excuse; in that moment he scarcely dared breathe.
Meanwhile Rosamund in her eagerness had advanced until she stood at Sakr-el-Bahr’s elbow.
“God is helping79 us!” she said in a voice of fervent80 gratitude81. “This is your opportunity. The men will obey you.”
He looked at her, and smiled faintly upon her eagerness. “Ay, mistress, they will obey me,” he said. But in the few moments that were sped he had taken his resolve. Whilst undoubtedly82 Asad was right, and the wise course was to lie close in this sheltering cove where the odds of their going unperceived were very heavily in their favour, yet the men’s judgment was not altogether at fault. If they were to put to sea, they might by steering83 an easterly course pass similarly unperceived, and even should the splash of their oars84 reach the galleon beyond the headland, yet by the time she had weighed anchor and started in pursuit they would be well away straining every ounce of muscle at the oars, whilst the breeze — a heavy factor in his considerations — was become so feeble that they could laugh at pursuit by a vessel that depended upon wind alone. The only danger, then, was the danger of the galleon’s cannon85, and that danger was none so great as from experience Sakr-el-Bahr well knew.
Thus was he reluctantly forced to the conclusion that in the main the wiser policy was to support Asad, and since he was full confident of the obedience86 of the men he consoled himself with the reflection that a moral victory might be in store for him out of which some surer profit might presently be made.
In answer, then, to those who still called upon him, he leapt down the companion and strode along the gangway to the waist-deck to take his stand at the Basha’s side. Asad watched his approach with angry misgivings87; it was with him a foregone conclusion that things being as they were Sakr-el-Bahr would be ranged against him to obtain complete control of these mutineers and to cull88 the fullest advantage from the situation. Softly and slowly he unsheathed his scimitar, and Sakr-el-Bahr seeing this out of the corner of his eye, yet affected89 not to see, but stood forward to address the men.
“How now?” he thundered wrathfully. “What shall this mean? Are ye all deaf that ye have not heard the commands of your Basha, the exalted90 of Allah, that ye dare raise your mutinous91 voices and say what is your will?”
Sudden and utter silence followed that exhortation92. Asad listened in relieved amazement93; Rosamund caught her breath in sheer dismay.
What could he mean, then? Had he but fooled and duped her? Were his intentions towards her the very opposite to his protestations? She leant upon the poop-rail straining to catch every syllable94 of that speech of his in the lingua franca, hoping almost that her indifferent knowledge of it had led her into error on the score of what he had said.
She saw him turn with a gesture of angry command upon Larocque, who stood there by the bulwarks, waiting.
“Back to thy post up yonder, and keep watch upon that vessel’s movements, reporting them to us. We stir not hence until such be our lord Asad’s good pleasure. Away with thee!”
Larocque without a murmur28 threw a leg over the bulwarks and dropped to the oars, whence he clambered ashore95 as he had been bidden. And not a single voice was raised in protest.
Sakr-el-Bahr’s dark glance swept the ranks of the corsairs crowding the forecastle.
“Because this pet of the hareem,” he said, immensely daring, indicating Marzak by a contemptuous gesture, “bleats of danger into the ears of men, are ye all to grow timid and foolish as a herd96 of sheep? By Allah! What are ye? Are ye the fearless sea-hawks that have flown with me, and struck where the talons97 of my grappling-hooks were flung, or are ye but scavenging crows?”
He was answered by an old rover whom fear had rendered greatly daring.
“We are trapped here as Dragut was trapped at Jerba.”
“Thou liest,” he answered. “Dragut was not trapped, for Dragut found a way out. And against Dragut there was the whole navy of Genoa, whilst against us there is but one single galleon. By the Koran, if she shows fight, have we no teeth? Will it be the first galleon whose decks we have overrun? But if ye prefer a coward’s counsel, ye sons of shame, consider that once we take the open sea our discovery will be assured, and Larocque hath told you that she carries twenty guns. I tell you that if we are to be attacked by her, best be attacked at close quarters, and I tell you that if we lie close and snug98 in here it is long odds that we shall never be attacked at all. That she has no inkling of our presence is proven, since she has cast anchor round the headland. And consider that if we fly from a danger that doth not exist, and in our flight are so fortunate as not to render real that danger and to court it, we abandon a rich argosy that shall bring profit to us all.”
“But I waste my breath in argument,” he ended abruptly. “You have heard the commands of your lord, Asad-ed-Din, and that should be argument enough. No more of this, then.”
Without so much as waiting to see them disperse99 from the rail and return to their lounging attitudes about the forecastle, he turned to Asad.
“It might have been well to hang the dog who spoke100 of Dragut and Jerba,” he said. “But it was never in my nature to be harsh with those who follow me.” And that was all.
Asad from amazement had passed quickly to admiration101 and a sort of contrition102, into which presently there crept a poisonous tinge103 of jealousy104 to see Sakr-el-Bahr prevail where he himself alone must utterly105 have failed. This jealousy spread all-pervadingly, like an oil stain. If he had come to bear ill-will to Sakr-el-Bahr before, that ill-will was turned of a sudden into positive hatred for one in whom he now beheld a usurper106 of the power and control that should reside in the Basha alone. Assuredly there was no room for both of them in the Bashalik of Algiers.
Therefore the words of commendation which had been rising to his lips froze there now that Sakr-el-Bahr and he stood face to face. In silence he considered his lieutenant107 through narrowing evil eyes, whose message none but a fool could have misunderstood.
Sakr-el-Bahr was not a fool, and he did not misunderstand it for a moment. He felt a tightening108 at the heart, and ill-will sprang to life within him responding to the call of that ill-will. Almost he repented109 him that he had not availed himself of that moment of weakness and mutiny on the part of the crew to attempt the entire superseding110 of the Basha.
The conciliatory words he had in mind to speak he now suppressed. To that venomous glance he opposed his ever ready mockery. He turned to Biskaine.
“Withdraw,” he curtly111 bade him, “and take that stout sea-warrior with thee.” And he indicated Marzak.
Biskaine turned to the Basha. “Is it thy wish, my lord?” he asked.
Asad nodded in silence, and motioned him away together with the cowed Marzak.
“My lord,” said Sakr-el-Bahr, when they were alone, “yesterday I made thee a proposal for the healing of this breach112 between us, and it was refused. But now had I been the traitor113 and mutineer thou hast dubbed114 me I could have taken full advantage of the humour of my corsairs. Had I done that it need no longer have been mine to propose or to sue. Instead it would have been mine to dictate115. Since I have given thee such crowning proof of my loyalty116, it is my hope and trust that I may be restored to the place I had lost in thy confidence, and that this being so thou wilt117 accede118 now to that proposal of mine concerning the Frankish woman yonder.”
It was unfortunate perhaps that she should have been standing there unveiled upon the poop within the range of Asad’s glance; for the sight of her it may have been that overcame his momentary119 hesitation and stifled120 the caution which prompted him to accede. He considered her a moment, and a faint colour kindled in his cheeks which anger had made livid.
“It is not for thee, Sakr-el-Bahr,” he answered at length, “to make me proposals. To dare it, proves thee far removed indeed from the loyalty thy lips profess121. Thou knowest my will concerning her. Once hast thou thwarted122 and defied me, misusing123 to that end the Prophet’s Holy Law. Continue a barrier in my path and it shall be at thy peril124.” His voice was raised and it shook with anger.
“Not so loud,” said Sakr-el-Bahr, his eyes gleaming with a response of anger. “For should my men overhear these threats of thine I will not answer for what may follow. I oppose thee at my peril sayest thou. Be it so, then.” He smiled grimly. “It is war between us, Asad, since thou hast chosen it. Remember hereafter when the consequences come to overwhelm thee that the choice was thine.”
“Thou mutinous, treacherous125 son of a dog!” blazed Asad.
Sakr-el-Bahr turned on his heel. “Pursue the path of an old man’s folly,” he said over his shoulder, “and see whither it will lead thee.”
Upon that he strode away up the gangway to the poop, leaving the Basha alone with his anger and some slight fear evoked by that last bold menace. But notwithstanding that he menaced boldly the heart of Sakr-el-Bahr was surcharged with anxiety. He had conceived a plan; but between the conception and its execution he realized that much ill might lie.
“Mistress,” he addressed Rosamund as he stepped upon the poop. “You are not wise to show yourself so openly.”
To his amazement she met him with a hostile glance.
“Not wise?” said she, her countenance126 scornful. “You mean that I may see more than was intended for me. What game do you play here, sir, that you tell me one thing and show me by your actions that you desire another?”
He did not need to ask her what she meant. At once he perceived how she had misread the scene she had witnessed.
“I’ll but remind you,” he said very gravely, “that once before you did me a wrong by over-hasty judgment, as has been proven to you.”
It overthrew127 some of her confidence. “But then. . . . ” she began.
“I do but ask you to save your judgment for the end. If I live I shall deliver you. Meanwhile I beg that you will keep your cabin. It does not help me that you be seen.”
She looked at him, a prayer for explanation trembling on her lips. But before the calm command of his tone and glance she slowly lowered her head and withdrew beyond the curtain.
点击收听单词发音
1 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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2 reassuring | |
a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的,使人放心的 | |
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3 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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4 liquidation | |
n.清算,停止营业 | |
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5 aloofness | |
超然态度 | |
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6 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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7 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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8 contrive | |
vt.谋划,策划;设法做到;设计,想出 | |
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9 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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10 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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11 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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12 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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13 galley | |
n.(飞机或船上的)厨房单层甲板大帆船;军舰舰长用的大划艇; | |
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14 galleys | |
n.平底大船,战舰( galley的名词复数 );(船上或航空器上的)厨房 | |
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15 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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16 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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17 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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18 glistened | |
v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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20 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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21 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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22 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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23 rehabilitation | |
n.康复,悔过自新,修复,复兴,复职,复位 | |
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24 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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25 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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26 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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27 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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28 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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29 atoned | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的过去式和过去分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
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30 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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31 bulwarks | |
n.堡垒( bulwark的名词复数 );保障;支柱;舷墙 | |
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32 prow | |
n.(飞机)机头,船头 | |
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33 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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34 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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35 babbling | |
n.胡说,婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 );作潺潺声(如流水);含糊不清地说话;泄漏秘密 | |
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36 galleon | |
n.大帆船 | |
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38 pennant | |
n.三角旗;锦标旗 | |
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39 stork | |
n.鹳 | |
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40 blazon | |
n.纹章,装饰;精确描绘;v.广布;宣布 | |
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41 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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42 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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43 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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44 intrigued | |
adj.好奇的,被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式);激起…的兴趣或好奇心;“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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45 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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46 grasshopper | |
n.蚱蜢,蝗虫,蚂蚱 | |
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47 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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48 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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49 evoked | |
[医]诱发的 | |
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50 opportunely | |
adv.恰好地,适时地 | |
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51 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
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52 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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53 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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54 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55 invoked | |
v.援引( invoke的过去式和过去分词 );行使(权利等);祈求救助;恳求 | |
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56 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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57 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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58 insistently | |
ad.坚持地 | |
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59 quelled | |
v.(用武力)制止,结束,镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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61 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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62 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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63 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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64 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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65 scoured | |
走遍(某地)搜寻(人或物)( scour的过去式和过去分词 ); (用力)刷; 擦净; 擦亮 | |
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66 goad | |
n.刺棒,刺痛物;激励;vt.激励,刺激 | |
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67 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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68 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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69 dispel | |
vt.驱走,驱散,消除 | |
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70 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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71 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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72 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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73 agile | |
adj.敏捷的,灵活的 | |
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74 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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75 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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76 kindled | |
(使某物)燃烧,着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 ); 激起(感情等); 发亮,放光 | |
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77 snarled | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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78 recoiled | |
v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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79 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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80 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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81 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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82 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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83 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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84 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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85 cannon | |
n.大炮,火炮;飞机上的机关炮 | |
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86 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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87 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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88 cull | |
v.拣选;剔除;n.拣出的东西;剔除 | |
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89 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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90 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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91 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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92 exhortation | |
n.劝告,规劝 | |
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93 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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94 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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95 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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96 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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97 talons | |
n.(尤指猛禽的)爪( talon的名词复数 );(如爪般的)手指;爪状物;锁簧尖状突出部 | |
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98 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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99 disperse | |
vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
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100 spoke | |
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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101 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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102 contrition | |
n.悔罪,痛悔 | |
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103 tinge | |
vt.(较淡)着色于,染色;使带有…气息;n.淡淡色彩,些微的气息 | |
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104 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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105 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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106 usurper | |
n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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107 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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108 tightening | |
上紧,固定,紧密 | |
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109 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110 superseding | |
取代,接替( supersede的现在分词 ) | |
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111 curtly | |
adv.简短地 | |
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112 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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113 traitor | |
n.叛徒,卖国贼 | |
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114 dubbed | |
v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 );把…称为;配音;复制 | |
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115 dictate | |
v.口授;(使)听写;指令,指示,命令 | |
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116 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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117 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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118 accede | |
v.应允,同意 | |
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119 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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120 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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121 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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122 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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123 misusing | |
v.使用…不当( misuse的现在分词 );把…派作不正当的用途;虐待;滥用 | |
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124 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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125 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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126 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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127 overthrew | |
overthrow的过去式 | |
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