It was naturally difficult for Heyst to keep his mind from dwelling11 on the nature and consequences of this, his latest departure from the part of an unconcerned spectator. Yet he had retained enough of his wrecked12 philosophy to prevent him from asking himself consciously how it would end. But at the same time he could not help being temperamentally, from long habit and from set purpose, a spectator still, perhaps a little less naive13 but (as he discovered with some surprise) not much more far sighted than the common run of men. Like the rest of us who act, all he could say to himself, with a somewhat affected14 grimness, was:
“We shall see!”
This mood of grim doubt intruded15 on him only when he was alone. There were not many such moments in his day now; and he did not like them when they came. On this morning he had no time to grow uneasy. Alma came out to join him long before the sun, rising above the Samburan ridge, swept the cool shadow of the early morning and the remnant of the night’s coolness clear off the roof under which they had dwelt for more than three months already. She came out as on other mornings. He had heard her light footsteps in the big room — the room where he had unpacked16 the cases from London; the room now lined with the backs of books halfway17 up on its three sides. Above the cases the fine matting met the ceiling of tightly stretched white calico. In the dusk and coolness nothing gleamed except the gilt18 frame of the portrait of Heyst’s father, signed by a famous painter, lonely in the middle of a wall.
Heyst did not turn round.
“Do you know what I was thinking of?” he asked.
“No,” she said. Her tone betrayed always a shade of anxiety, as though she were never certain how a conversation with him would end. She leaned on the guard-rail by his side.
“No,” she repeated. “What was it?” She waited. Then, rather with reluctance19 than shyness, she asked:
“Were you thinking of me?”
“I was wondering when you would come out,” said Heyst, still without looking at the girl — to whom, after several experimental essays in combining detached letters and loose syllables20, he had given the name of Lena.
She remarked after a pause:
“I was not very far from you.”
“Apparently you were not near enough for me.”
“You could have called if you wanted me,” she said. “And I wasn’t so long doing my hair.”
“Apparently it was too long for me.”
“Well, you were thinking of me, anyhow. I am glad of it. Do you know, it seems to me, somehow, that if you were to stop thinking of me I shouldn’t be in the world at all!”
He turned round and looked at her. She often said things which surprised him. A vague smile faded away on her lips before his scrutiny21.
“What is it?” he asked. “It is a reproach?”
“A reproach! Why, how could it be?” she defended herself.
“Well, what did it mean?” he insisted.
“What I said — just what I said. Why aren’t you fair?”
“Ah, this is at least a reproach!”
She coloured to the roots of her hair.
“It looks as if you were trying to make out that I am disagreeable,” she murmured. “Am I? You will make me afraid to open my mouth presently. I shall end by believing I am no good.”
Her head drooped22 a little. He looked at her smooth, low brow, the faintly coloured checks, and the red lips parted slightly, with the gleam of her teeth within.
“And then I won’t be any good,” she added with conviction. “That I won’t! I can only be what you think I am.”
He made a slight movement. She put her hand on his arm, without raising her head, and went on, her voice animated23 in the stillness of her body:
“It is so. It couldn’t be any other way with a girl like me and a man like you. Here we are, we two alone, and I can’t even tell where we are.”
“A very well-known spot of the globe,” Heyst uttered gently. “There must have been at least fifty thousand circulars issued at the time — a hundred and fifty thousand, more likely. My friend was looking after that, and his ideas were large and his belief very strong. Of us two it was he who had the faith. A hundred and fifty thousand, certainly.”
“What is it you mean?” she asked in a low tone.
“What should I find fault with you for?” Heyst went on. “For being amiable24, good, gracious — and pretty?”
A silence fell. Then she said:
“It’s all right that you should think that of me. There’s no one here to think anything of us, good or bad.”
The rare timbre25 of her voice gave a special value to what she uttered. The indefinable emotion which certain intonations27 gave him, he was aware, was more physical than moral. Every time she spoke28 to him she seemed to abandon to him something of herself — something excessively subtle and inexpressible, to which he was infinitely29 sensible, which he would have missed horribly if she were to go away. While he was looking into her eyes she raised her bare forearm, out of the short sleeve, and held it in the air till he noticed it and hastened to pose his great bronze moustaches on the whiteness of the skin. Then they went in.
Wang immediately appeared in front, and, squatting30 on his heels, began to potter mysteriously about some plants at the foot of the veranda. When Heyst and the girl came out again, the Chinaman had gone in his peculiar31 manner, which suggested vanishing out of existence rather than out of sight, a process of evaporation32 rather than of movement. They descended33 the steps, looking at each other, and started off smartly across the cleared ground; but they were not ten yards away when, without perceptible stir or sound, Wang materialized inside the empty room. The Chinaman stood still with roaming eyes, examining the walls as if for signs, for inscriptions34; exploring the floor as if for pitfalls35, for dropped coins. Then he cocked his head slightly at the profile of Heyst’s father, pen in hand above a white sheet of paper on a crimson36 tablecloth37; and, moving forward noiselessly, began to clear away the breakfast things.
Though he proceeded without haste, the unerring precision of his movements, the absolute soundlessness of the operation, gave it something of the quality of a conjuring38 trick. And, the trick having been performed, Wang vanished from the scene, to materialize presently in front of the house. He materialized walking away from it, with no visible or guessable intention; but at the end of some ten paces he stopped, made a half turn, and put his hand up to shade his eyes. The sun had topped the grey ridge of Samburan. The great morning shadow was gone; and far away in the devouring sunshine Wang was in time to see Number One and the woman, two remote white specks39 against the sombre line of the forest. In a moment they vanished. With the smallest display of action, Wang also vanished from the sunlight of the clearing.
Heyst and Lena entered the shade of the forest path which crossed the island, and which, near its highest point had been blocked by felled trees. But their intention was not to go so far. After keeping to the path for some distance, they left it at a point where the forest was bare of undergrowth, and the trees, festooned with creepers, stood clear of one another in the gloom of their own making. Here and there great splashes of light lay on the ground. They moved, silent in the great stillness, breathing the calmness, the infinite isolation40, the repose41 of a slumber42 without dreams. They emerged at the upper limit of vegetation, among some rocks; and in a depression of the sharp slope, like a small platform, they turned about and looked from on high over the sea, lonely, its colour effaced43 by sunshine, its horizon a heat mist, a mere44 unsubstantial shimmer45 in the pale and blinding infinity46 overhung by the darker blaze of the sky.
“It makes my head swim,” the girl murmured, shutting her eyes and putting her hand on his shoulder.
Heyst, gazing fixedly47 to the southward, exclaimed:
“Sail ho!”
A moment of silence ensued.
“It must be very far away,” he went on. “I don’t think you could see it. Some native craft making for the Moluccas, probably. Come, we mustn’t stay here.”
With his arm round her waist, he led her down a little distance, and they settled themselves in the shade; she, seated on the ground, he a little lower, reclining at her feet.
“You don’t like to look at the sea from up there?” he said after a time.
She shook her head. That empty space was to her the abomination of desolation. But she only said again:
“It makes my head swim.”
“Too big?” he inquired.
“Too lonely. It makes my heart sink, too,” she added in a low voice, as if confessing a secret.
“I’m am afraid,” said Heyst, “that you would be justified48 in reproaching me for these sensations. But what would you have?”
His tone was playful, but his eyes, directed at her face, were serious. She protested.
“I am not feeling lonely with you — not a bit. It is only when we come up to that place, and I look at all that water and all that light —”
“We will never come here again, then,” he interrupted her.
She remained silent for a while, returning his gaze till he removed it.
“It seems as if everything that there is had gone under,” she said.
“Reminds you of the story of the deluge,” muttered the man, stretched at her feet and looking at them. “Are you frightened at it?”
“I should be rather frightened to be left behind alone. When I say, I, of course I mean we.”
“Do you?” . . . Heyst remained silent for a while. “The vision of a world destroyed,” he mused49 aloud. “Would you be sorry for it?”
“I should be sorry for the happy people in it,” she said simply.
His gaze travelled up her figure and reached her face, where he seemed to detect the veiled glow of intelligence, as one gets a glimpse of the sun through the clouds.
“I should have thought it’s they specially50 who ought to have been congratulated. Don’t you?”
“Oh, yes — I understand what you mean; but there were forty days before it was all over.”
“You seem to be in possession of all the details.”
Heyst spoke just to say something rather than to gaze at her in silence. She was not looking at him.
“Sunday school,” she murmured. “I went regularly from the time I was eight till I was thirteen. We lodged51 in the north of London, off Kingsland Road. It wasn’t a bad time. Father was earning good money then. The woman of the house used to pack me off in the afternoon with her own girls. She was a good woman. Her husband was in the post office. Sorter or something. Such a quiet man. He used to go off after supper for night-duty, sometimes. Then one day they had a row, and broke up the home. I remember I cried when we had to pack up all of a sudden and go into other lodgings52. I never knew what it was, though —”
“The deluge,” muttered Heyst absently.
He felt intensely aware of her personality, as if this were the first moment of leisure he had found to look at her since they had come together. The peculiar timbre of her voice, with its modulations of audacity53 and sadness, would have given interest to the most inane54 chatter55. But she was no chatterer. She was rather silent, with a capacity for immobility, an upright stillness, as when resting on the concert platform between the musical numbers, her feet crossed, her hands reposing56 on her lap. But in the intimacy57 of their life her grey, unabashed gaze forced upon him the sensation of something inexplicable58 reposing within her; stupidity or inspiration, weakness or force — or simply an abysmal59 emptiness, reserving itself even in the moments of complete surrender.
During a long pause she did not look at him. Then suddenly, as if the word “deluge” had stuck in her mind, she asked, looking up at the cloudless sky:
“Does it ever rain here?”
“There is a season when it rains almost every day,” said Heyst, surprised. “There are also thunderstorms. We once had a ‘mud-shower.’”
“Mud-shower?”
“Our neighbour there was shooting up ashes. He sometimes clears his red-hot gullet like that; and a thunderstorm came along at the same time. It was very messy; but our neighbour is generally well behaved — just smokes quietly, as he did that day when I first showed you the smudge in the sky from the schooner’s deck. He’s a good-natured, lazy fellow of a volcano.”
“I saw a mountain smoking like that before,” she said, staring at the slender stem of a tree-fern some dozen feet in front of her. “It wasn’t very long after we left England — some few days, though. I was so ill at first that I lost count of days. A smoking mountain — I can’t think how they called it.”
“Vesuvius, perhaps,” suggested Heyst.
“That’s the name.”
“I saw it, too, years, ages ago,” said Heyst.
“On your way here?”
“No, long before I ever thought of coming into this part of the world. I was yet a boy.”
She turned and looked at him attentively60, as if seeking to discover some trace of that boyhood in the mature face of the man with the hair thin at the top and the long, thick moustaches. Heyst stood the frank examination with a playful smile, hiding the profound effect these veiled grey eyes produced — whether on his heart or on his nerves, whether sensuous61 or spiritual, tender or irritating, he was unable to say.
“Well, princess of Samburan,” he said at last, “have I found favour in your sight?”
She seemed to wake up, and shook her head.
“I was thinking,” she murmured very low.
“Thought, action — so many snares62! If you begin to think you will be unhappy.”
“I wasn’t thinking of myself!” she declared with a simplicity63 which took Heyst aback somewhat.
“On the lips of a moralist this would sound like a rebuke,” he said, half seriously; “but I won’t suspect you of being one. Moralists and I haven’t been friends for many years.”
She had listened with an air of attention.
“I understood you had no friends,” she said. “I am pleased that there’s nobody to find fault with you for what you have done. I like to think that I am in no one’s way.”
Heyst would have said something, but she did not give him time. Unconscious of the movement he made she went on:
“What I was thinking to myself was, why are you here?”
Heyst let himself sink on his elbow again.
“If by ‘you’ you mean ‘we’— well, you know why we are here.”
She bent64 her gaze down at him.
“No, it isn’t that. I meant before — all that time before you came across me and guessed at once that I was in trouble, with no one to turn to. And you know it was desperate trouble too.”
Her voice fell on the last words, as if she would end there; but there was something so expectant in Heyst’s attitude as he sat at her feet, looking up at her steadily65, that she continued, after drawing a short, quick breath:
“It was, really. I told you I had been worried before by bad fellows. It made me unhappy, disturbed — angry, too. But oh, how I hated, hated, HATED that man!”
“That man” was the florid Schomberg with the military bearing, benefactor66 of white men (‘decent food to eat in decent company’)— mature victim of belated passion. The girl shuddered67. The characteristic harmoniousness68 of her face became, as it were, decomposed69 for an instant. Heyst was startled.
“Why think of it now?” he cried.
“It’s because I was cornered that time. It wasn’t as before. It was worse, ever so much. I wished I could die of my fright — and yet it’s only now that I begin to understand what a horror it might have been. Yes, only now, since we —”
Heyst stirred a little.
“Came here,” he finished.
Her tenseness relaxed, her flushed face went gradually back to its normal tint70.
“Yes,” she said indifferently, but at the same time she gave him a stealthy glance of passionate71 appreciation72; and then her face took on a melancholy73 cast, her whole figure drooped imperceptibly.
“But you were coming back here anyhow?” she asked.
“Yes. I was only waiting for Davidson. Yes, I was coming back here, to these ruins — to Wang, who perhaps did not expect to see me again. It’s impossible to guess at the way that Chinaman draws his conclusions, and how he looks upon one.”
“Don’t talk about him. He makes me feel uncomfortable. Talk about yourself!”
“About myself? I see you are still busy with the mystery of my existence here; but it isn’t at all mysterious. Primarily the man with the quill74 pen in his hand in that picture you so often look at is responsible for my existence. He is also responsible for what my existence is, or rather has been. He was a great man in his way. I don’t know much of his history. I suppose he began like other people; took fine words for good, ringing coin and noble ideals for valuable banknotes. He was a great master of both, himself, by the way. Later he discovered — how am I to explain it to you? Suppose the world were a factory and all mankind workmen in it. Well, he discovered that the wages were not good enough. That they were paid in counterfeit75 money.”
“I see!” the girl said slowly.
“Do you?”
Heyst, who had been speaking as if to himself, looked up curiously76.
“It wasn’t a new discovery, but he brought his capacity for scorn to bear on it. It was immense. It ought to have withered77 this globe. I don’t know how many minds he convinced. But my mind was very young then, and youth I suppose can be easily seduced78 — even by a negation79. He was very ruthless, and yet he was not without pity. He dominated me without difficulty. A heartless man could not have done so. Even to fools he was not utterly80 merciless. He could be indignant, but he was too great for flouts81 and jeers82. What he said was not meant for the crowd; it could not be; and I was flattered to find myself among the elect. They read his books, but I have heard his living word. It was irresistible83. It was as if that mind were taking me into its confidence, giving me a special insight into its mastery of despair. Mistake, no doubt. There is something of my father in every man who lives long enough. But they don’t say anything. They can’t. They wouldn’t know how, or perhaps, they wouldn’t speak if they could. Man on this earth is an unforeseen accident which does not stand close investigation84. However, that particular man died as quietly as a child goes to sleep. But, after listening to him, I could not take my soul down into the street to fight there. I started off to wander about, an independent spectator — if that is possible.”
For a long time the girl’s grey eyes had been watching his face. She discovered that, addressing her, he was really talking to himself. Heyst looked up, caught sight of her as it were, and caught himself up, with a low laugh and a change of tone.
“All this does not tell you why I ever came here. Why, indeed? It’s like prying85 into inscrutable mysteries which are not worth scrutinizing86. A man drifts. The most successful men have drifted into their successes. I don’t want to tell you that this is a success. You wouldn’t believe me if I did. It isn’t; neither is it the ruinous failure it looks. It proves nothing, unless perhaps some hidden weakness in my character — and even that is not certain.”
He looked fixedly at her, and with such grave eyes that she felt obliged to smile faintly at him, since she did not understand what he meant. Her smile was reflected, still fainter, on his lips.
“This does not advance you much in your inquiry,” he went on. “And in truth your question is unanswerable; but facts have a certain positive value, and I will tell you a fact. One day I met a cornered man. I use the word because it expresses the man’s situation exactly, and because you just used it yourself. You know what that means?”
“What do you say?” she whispered, astounded87. “A man!”
Heyst laughed at her wondering eyes.
“No! No! I mean in his own way.”
“I knew very well it couldn’t be anything like that,” she observed under her breath.
“I won’t bother you with the story. It was a custom-house affair, strange as it may sound to you. He would have preferred to be killed outright88 — that is, to have his soul dispatched to another world, rather than to be robbed of his substance, his very insignificant89 substance, in this. I saw that he believed in another world because, being cornered, as I have told you, he went down on his knees and prayed. What do you think of that?”
Heyst paused. She looked at him earnestly.
“You didn’t make fun of him for that?” she said.
Heyst made a brusque movement of protest
“My dear girl, I am not a ruffian,” he cried. Then, returning to his usual tone: “I didn’t even have to conceal90 a smile. Somehow it didn’t look a smiling matter. No, it was not funny; it was rather pathetic; he was so representative of an the past victims of the Great Joke. But it is by folly91 alone that the world moves, and so it is a respectable thing upon the whole. And besides, he was what one would call a good man. I don’t mean especially because he had offered up a prayer. No! He was really a decent fellow, he was quite unfitted for this world, he was a failure, a good man cornered — a sight for the gods; for no decent mortal cares to look at that sort.” A thought seemed to occur to him. He turned his face to the girl. “And you, who have been cornered too — did you think of offering a prayer?”
Neither her eyes nor a single one of her features moved the least bit. She only let fall the words:
“I am not what they call a good girl.”
“That sounds evasive,” said Heyst after a short silence. “Well, the good fellow did pray and after he had confessed to it I was struck by the comicality of the situation. No, don’t misunderstand me — I am not alluding92 to his act, of course. And even the idea of Eternity93, Infinity, Omnipotence94, being called upon to defeat the conspiracy95 of two miserable96 Portuguese97 half-castes did not move my mirth. From the point of view of the supplicant98, the danger to be conjured99 was something like the end of the world, or worse. No! What captivated my fancy was that I, Axel Heyst, the most detached of creatures in this earthly captivity100, the veriest tramp on this earth, an indifferent stroller going through the world’s bustle101 — that I should have been there to step into the situation of an agent of Providence102. I, a man of universal scorn and unbelief . . . ”
“You are putting it on,” she interrupted in her seductive voice, with a coaxing103 intonation26.
“No. I am not like that, born or fashioned, or both. I am not for nothing the son of my father, of that man in the painting. I am he, all but the genius. And there is even less in me than I make out, because the very scorn is falling away from me year after year. I have never been so amused as by that episode in which I was suddenly called to act such an incredible part. For a moment I enjoyed it greatly. It got him out of his corner, you know.”
“You saved a man for fun — is that what you mean? Just for fun?”
“Why this tone of suspicion?” remonstrated104 Heyst. “I suppose the sight of this particular distress105 was disagreeable to me. What you call fun came afterwards, when it dawned on me that I was for him a walking, breathing, incarnate106 proof of the efficacy of prayer. I was a little fascinated by it — and then, could I have argued with him? You don’t argue against such evidence, and besides it would have looked as if I had wanted to claim all the merit. Already his gratitude107 was simply frightful108. Funny position, wasn’t it? The boredom109 came later, when we lived together on board his ship. I had, in a moment of inadvertence, created for myself a tie. How to define it precisely110 I don’t know. One gets attached in a way to people one has done something for. But is that friendship? I am not sure what it was. I only know that he who forms a tie is lost. The germ of corruption111 has entered into his soul.”
Heyst’s tone was light, with the flavour of playfulness which seasoned all his speeches and seemed to be of the very essence of his thoughts. The girl he had come across, of whom he had possessed112 himself, to whose presence he was not yet accustomed, with whom he did not yet know how to live; that human being so near and still so strange, gave him a greater sense of his own reality than he had ever known in all his life.
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1
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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proprietorship
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| n.所有（权）；所有权 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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devouring
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| 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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8
teeming
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| adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 )；到处都是；（指水、雨等）暴降；倾注 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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gilt
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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timbre
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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intonations
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| n.语调，说话的抑扬顿挫( intonation的名词复数 )；（演奏或唱歌中的）音准 | |
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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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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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32
evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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33
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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34
inscriptions
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| （作者）题词( inscription的名词复数 )； 献词； 碑文； 证劵持有人的登记 | |
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35
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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36
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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37
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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38
conjuring
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| n.魔术 | |
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39
specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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40
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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41
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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42
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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43
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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46
infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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47
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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48
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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49
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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50
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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51
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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52
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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53
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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54
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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55
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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56
reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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57
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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58
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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59
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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62
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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63
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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68
harmoniousness
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| 和谐 | |
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decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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passionate
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| 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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72
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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74
quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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77
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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78
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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79
negation
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| n.否定；否认 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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81
flouts
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| v.藐视，轻视( flout的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
jeers
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| n.操纵帆桁下部（使其上下的）索具；嘲讽( jeer的名词复数 )v.嘲笑( jeer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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83
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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84
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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85
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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86
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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87
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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88
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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89
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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90
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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91
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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92
alluding
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| 提及，暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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93
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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94
omnipotence
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| n.全能，万能，无限威力 | |
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95
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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96
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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97
Portuguese
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| n.葡萄牙人；葡萄牙语 | |
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98
supplicant
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| adj.恳求的n.恳求者 | |
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99
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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100
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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101
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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102
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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103
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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104
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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105
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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106
incarnate
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| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
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107
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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108
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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109
boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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110
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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111
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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112
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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