Mrs Havelock put down her teacup and took a Patum Peperium sandwich. She said: "They really are the most dreadful show-offs."
Colonel Havelock looked over the top of his Daily Gleaner12. "Who?"
"Pyramus and Daphnis."
"Oh, yes." Colonel Havelock thought the names idiotic13. He said: "It looks to me as if Batista will be on the run soon. Castro's keeping up the pressure pretty well. Chap at Barclay's told me this morning that there's a lot of funk money coming over here already. Said that Belair's been sold to nominees14. One hundred and fifty thousand pounds for a thousand acres of cattle-tick and a house the red ants'll have down by Christmas! Somebody's suddenly gone and bought that ghastly Blue Harbour hotel, and there's even talk that Jimmy Farquharson has found a buyer for his place - leaf-spot and Panama disease thrown in for good measure, I suppose."
"That'll be nice for Ursula. The poor dear can't stand it out here. But I can't say I like the idea of the whole island being bought up by these Cubans. But Tim, where do they get all the money from, anyway?"
"Rackets, union funds, Government money - God knows. The place is riddled16 with crooks17 and gangsters20. They must want to get their money out of Cuba and into something else quick. Jamaica's as good as anywhere else now we've got this convertibility21 with the dollar. Apparently22 the man who bought Belair just shovelled23 the money on to the floor of Aschenheim's office out of a suitcase. I suppose he'll keep the place for a year or two, and when the trouble's blown over or when Castro's got in and finished cleaning up he'll put it on the market again, take a reasonable loss and move off somewhere else. Pity, in a way. Belair used to be a fine property. It could have been brought back if anyone in the family had cared."
"It was ten thousand acres in Bill's grandfather's day. It used to take the busher three days to ride the boundary."
"Fat lot Bill cares. I bet he's booked his passage to London already. That's one more of the old families gone. Soon won't be anyone left of that lot but us. Thank God Judy likes the place."
Mrs Havelock said "Yes, dear" calmingly and pinged the bell for the tea things to be cleared away. Agatha, a huge blue-black Negress wearing the old-fashioned white headcloth that has gone out in Jamaica except in the hinterland, came out through the white and rose drawing-room followed by Fayprince, a pretty young quadroon from Port Maria whom she was training as second housemaid. Mrs Havelock said: "It's time we started bottling, Agatha. The guavas are early this year."
Agatha's face was impassive. She said: "Yes'm. But we done need more bottles."
"Why? It was only last year I got you two dozen of the best I could find at Henriques."
"Yes'm. Someone done mash25 five, six of dose."
"Oh dear. How did that happen?"
"Couldn't say'm." Agatha picked up the big silver tray and waited, watching Mrs Havelock's face.
Mrs Havelock had not lived most of her life in Jamaica without learning that a mash is a mash and that one would not get anywhere hunting for a culprit. So she just said cheerfully: "Oh, all right, Agatha. I'll get some more when I go into Kingston."
"Yes'm." Agatha, followed by the young girl, went back into the house.
Mrs Havelock picked up a piece of petit-point and began stitching, her fingers moving automatically. Her eyes went back to the big bushes of Japanese Hat and Monkeyfiddle. Yes, the two male birds were back. With gracefully26 cocked tails they moved among the flowers. The sun was low on the horizon and every now and then there was a flash of almost piercingly beautiful green. A mocking-bird, on the topmost branch of a frangipani, started on its evening repertoire29. The tinkle30 of an early tree-frog announced the beginning of the short violet dusk.
Content, twenty thousand acres in the foothills of Candlefly Peak, one of the most easterly of the Blue Mountains in the county of Portland, had been given to an early Havelock by Oliver Cromwell as a reward for having been one of the signatories to King Charles's death warrant. Unlike so many other settlers of those and later times the Havelocks had maintained the plantation31 through three centuries, through earthquakes and hurricanes and through the boom and bust32 of cocoa, sugar, citrus and copra. Now it was in bananas and cattle, and it was one of the richest and best run of all the private estates in the island. The house, patched up or rebuilt after earthquake or hurricane, was a hybrid33 - a mahogany-pillared, two-storeyed central block on the old stone foundations flanked by two single-storeyed wings with widely overhung, flat-pitched Jamaican roofs of silver cedar35 shingles36. The Havelocks were now sitting on the deep veranda of the central block facing the gently sloping garden beyond which a vast tumbling jungle vista37 stretched away twenty miles to the sea.
Colonel Havelock put down his Gleaner. "I thought I heard a car."
Mrs Havelock said firmly: "If it's those ghastly Feddens from Port Antonio, you've simply got to get rid of them. I can't stand any more of their moans about England. And last time they were both quite drunk when they left and dinner was cold." She got up quickly. "I'm going to tell Agatha to say I've got a migraine."
Agatha came out through the drawing-room door. She looked fussed. She was followed closely by three men. She said hurriedly: "Gemmun from Kingston'm. To see de Colonel."
The leading man slid past the housekeeper38. He was still wearing his hat, a panama with a short very up-curled brim. He took this off with his left hand and held it against his stomach. The rays of the sun glittered on hair-grease and on a mouthful of smiling white teeth. He went up to Colonel Havelock, his outstretched hand held straight in front of him. "Major Gonzales. From Havana. Pleased to meet you, Colonel."
The accent was the sham39 American of a Jamaican taxi-driver. Colonel Havelock had got to his feet. He touched the outstretched hand briefly40. He looked over the Major's shoulder at the other two men who had stationed themselves on either side of the door. They were both carrying that new holdall of the tropics - a Pan American overnight bag. The bags looked heavy. Now the two men bent41 down together and placed them beside their yellowish shoes. They straightened themselves. They wore flat white caps with transparent42 green visors that cast green shadows down to their cheekbones. Through the green shadows their intelligent animal eyes fixed43 themselves on the Major, reading his behaviour.
"They are my secretaries."
Colonel Havelock took a pipe out of his pocket and began to fill it. His direct blue eyes took in the sharp clothes, the natty44 shoes, the glistening45 fingernails of the Major and the blue jeans and calypso shirts of the other two. He wondered how he could get these men into his study and near the revolver in the top drawer of his desk. He said: "What can I do for you?" As he lit his pipe he watched the Major's eyes and mouth through the smoke.
Major Gonzales spread his hands. The width of his smile remained constant. The liquid, almost golden eyes were amused, friendly. "It is a matter of business, Colonel. I represent a certain gentleman in Havana" - he made a throw-away gesture with his right hand. "A powerful gentleman. A very fine guy." Major Gonzales assumed an expression of sincerity46. "You would like him, Colonel. He asked me to present his compliments and to inquire the price of your property."
Mrs Havelock, who had been watching the scene with a polite half-smile on her lips, moved to stand beside her husband. She said kindly47, so as not to embarrass the poor man: "What a shame, Major. All this way on these dusty roads! Your friend really should have written first, or asked anyone in Kingston or at Government House. You see, my husband's family have lived here for nearly three hundred years." She looked at him sweetly, apologetically. "I'm afraid there just isn't any question of selling Content. There never has been. I wonder where your important friend can possibly have got the idea from."
Major Gonzales bowed briefly. His smiling face turned back to Colonel Havelock. He said, as if Mrs Havelock had not opened her mouth: "My gentleman is told this is one of the finest estancias in Jamaica. He is a most generous man. You may mention any sum that is reasonable."
Colonel Havelock said firmly: "You heard what Mrs Havelock said. The property is not for sale."
Major Gonzales laughed. It sounded quite genuine laughter. He shook his head as if he was explaining something to a rather dense48 child. "You misunderstand me, Colonel. My gentleman desires this property and no other property in Jamaica. He has some funds, some extra funds, to invest. These funds are seeking a home in Jamaica. My gentleman wishes this to be their home."
Colonel Havelock said patiently: "I quite understand, Major. And I am so sorry you have wasted your time. Content will never be for sale in my lifetime. And now, if you'll forgive me. My wife and I always dine early, and you have a long way to go." He made a gesture to the left, along the veranda. "I think you'll find this is the quickest way to your car. Let me show you."
Colonel Havelock moved invitingly49, but when Major Gonzales stayed where he was, he stopped. The blue eyes began to freeze.
There was perhaps one less tooth in Major Gonzales's smile and his eyes had become watchful50. But his manner was still jolly. He said cheerfully, "Just one moment, Colonel." He issued a curt51 order over his shoulder. Both the Havelocks noticed the jolly mask slip with the few sharp words through the teeth. For the first time Mrs Havelock looked slightly uncertain. She moved still closer to her husband. The two men picked up their blue Pan American bags and stepped forward. Major Gonzales reached for the zipper52 on each of them in turn and pulled. The taut53 mouths sprang open. The bags were full to the brim with neat solid wads of American money. Major Gonzales spread his arms. "All hundred dollar bills. All genuine. Half a million dollars. That is, in your money, let us say, one hundred and eighty thousand pounds. A small fortune. There are many other good places to live in the world, Colonel. And perhaps my gentleman would add a further twenty thousand pounds to make the round sum. You would know in a week. All I need is half a sheet of paper with your signature. The lawyers can do the rest. Now, Colonel," the smile was winning, "shall we say yes and shake hands on it? Then the bags stay here and we leave you to your dinner."
The Havelocks now looked at the Major with the same expression - a mixture of anger and disgust. One could imagine Mrs Havelock telling the story next day. "Such a common, greasy54 little man. And those filthy55 plastic bags full of money! Timmy was wonderful. He just told him to get out and take the dirty stuff away with him."
Colonel Havelock's mouth turned down with distaste. He said: "I thought I had made myself clear. Major. The property is not for sale at any price. And I do not share the popular thirst for American dollars. I must now ask you to leave." Colonel Havelock laid his cold pipe on the table as if he was preparing to roll up his sleeves.
For the first time Major Gonzales's smile lost its warmth. The mouth continued to grin but it was now shaped in an angry grimace56. The liquid golden eyes were suddenly brassy and hard. He said softly: "Colonel. It is I who have not made myself clear. Not you. My gentleman has instructed me to say that if you will not accept his most generous terms we must proceed to other measures."
Mrs Havelock was suddenly afraid. She put her hand on Colonel Havelock's arm and pressed it hard. He put his hand over hers in reassurance57. He said through tight lips: "Please leave us alone and go, Major. Otherwise I shall communicate with the police."
The pink tip of Major Gonzales's tongue came out and slowly licked along his lips. All the light had gone out of his face and it had become taut and hard. He said harshly. "So the property is not for sale in your lifetime, Colonel. Is that your last word?" His right hand went behind his back and he clicked his fingers softly, once. Behind him the gun-hands of the two men slid through the opening of their gay shirts above the waistbands. The sharp animal eyes watched the Major's fingers behind his back.
Mrs Havelock's hand went up to her mouth. Colonel Havelock tried to say yes, but his mouth was dry. He swallowed noisily. He could not believe it. This mangy Cuban crook18 must be bluffing59. He managed to say thickly: "Yes, it is."
Major Gonzales nodded curtly60. "In that case, Colonel, my gentleman will carry on the negotiations61 with the next owner - with your daughter."
The fingers clicked. Major Gonzales stepped to one side to give a clear field of fire. The brown monkey-hands came out from under the gay shirts. The ugly sausage-shaped hunks of metal spat62 and thudded - again and again, even when the two bodies were on their way to the ground.
Major Gonzales bent down and verified where the bullets had hit. Then the three small men walked quickly back through the rose and white drawing-room and across the dark carved mahogany hall and out through the elegant front door. They climbed unhurriedly into a black Ford63 Consul64 Sedan with Jamaican number plates and, with Major Gonzales driving and the two gunmen sitting upright in the back seat, they drove off at an easy pace down the long avenue of Royal Palms. At the junction65 of the drive and the road to Port Antonio the cut telephone wires hung down through the trees like bright lianas. Major Gonzales slalomed the car carefully and expertly down the rough parochial road until he was on the metalled strip near the coast. Then he put on speed. Twenty minutes after the killing66 he came to the outer sprawl67 of the little banana port. There he ran the stolen car on to the grass verge68 beside the road and the three men got out and walked the quarter of a mile through the sparsely69 lit main street to the banana wharves71. The speedboat was waiting, its exhaust bubbling. The three men got in and the boat zoomed72 off across the still waters of what an American poetess has called the most beautiful harbour in the world. The anchor chain was already half up on the glittering fifty-ton Chriscraft. She was flying the Stars and Stripes. The two graceful27 antennae73 of the deep-sea rods explained that these were tourists - from Kingston, perhaps, or from Montego Bay. The three men went on board and the speedboat was swung in. Two canoes were circling, begging. Major Gonzales tossed a fifty-cent piece to each of them and the stripped men dived. The twin diesels74 awoke to a stuttering roar and the Chriscraft settled her stern down a fraction and made for the deep channel below the Titchfield hotel. By dawn she would be back in Havana. The fishermen and wharfingers ashore75 watched her go, and went on with their argument as to which of the filmstars holidaying in Jamaica this could have been.
Up on the broad veranda of Content the last rays of the sun glittered on the red stains. One of the doctor birds whirred over the balustrade and hovered76 close above Mrs Havelock's heart, looking down. No, this was not for him. He flirted77 gaily78 off to his roosting-perch among the closing hibiscus.
There came the sound of someone in a small sports car making a racing79 change at the bend of the drive. If Mrs Havelock had been alive she would have been getting ready to say: "Judy, I'm always telling you not to do that on the corner. It scatters80 gravel81 all over the lawn and you know how it ruins Joshua's lawn-mower."
It was a month later. In London, October had begun with a week of brilliant Indian summer, and the noise of the mowers came up from Regent's Park and in through the wide open windows of M's office. They were motor-mowers and James Bond reflected that one of the most beautiful noises of summer, the drowsy82 iron song of the old machines, was going for ever from the world. Perhaps today children felt the same about the puff83 and chatter84 of the little two-stroke engines. At least the cut grass would smell the same.
Bond had time for these reflections because M seemed to be having difficulty in coming to the point. Bond had been asked if he had anything on at the moment, and he had replied happily that he hadn't and had waited for Pandora's box to be opened for him. He was mildly intrigued85 because M had addressed him as James and not by his number - 007. This was unusual during duty hours. It sounded as if there might be some personal angle to this assignment - as if it might be put to him more as a request than as an order. And it seemed to Bond that there was an extra small cleft86 of worry between the frosty, damnably clear, grey eyes. And three minutes was certainly too long to spend getting a pipe going.
M swivelled his chair round square with the desk and flung the box of matches down so that it skidded87 across the red leather top towards Bond. Bond fielded it and skidded it politely back to the middle of the desk. M smiled briefly. He seemed to make up his mind. He said mildly: "James, has it ever occurred to you that every man in the fleet knows what to do except the commanding admiral?"
Bond frowned. He said: "It hadn't occurred to me, sir. But I see what you mean. The rest only have to carry out orders. The admiral has to decide on the orders. I suppose it's the same as saying that Supreme88 Command is the loneliest post there is."
M jerked his pipe sideways. "Same sort of idea. Someone's got to be tough. Someone's got to decide in the end. If you send a havering signal to the Admiralty you deserve to be put on the beach. Some people are religious - pass the decision on to God." M's eyes were defensive89. "I used to try that sometimes in the Service, but He always passed the buck90 back again - told me to get on and make up my own mind. Good for one, I suppose, but tough. Trouble is, very few people keep tough after about forty. They've been knocked about by life - had troubles, tragedies, illnesses. These things soften91 you up." M looked sharply at Bond. "How's your coefficient of toughness, James? You haven't got to the dangerous age yet."
Bond didn't like personal questions. He didn't know what to answer, nor what the truth was. He had not got a wife or children - had never suffered the tragedy of a personal loss. He had not had to stand up to blindness or a mortal disease. He had absolutely no idea how he would face these things that needed so much more toughness than he had ever had to show. He said hesitantly: "I suppose I can stand most things if I have to and if I think it's right, sir. I mean" - he did not like using such words - "if the cause is - er - sort of just, sir." He went on, feeling ashamed at himself for throwing the ball back at M: "Of course it's not easy to know what is just and what isn't. I suppose I assume that when I'm given an unpleasant job in the Service the cause is a just one."
"Dammit," M's eyes glittered impatiently. "That's just what I mean! You rely on me. You won't take any damned responsibility yourself." He thrust the stem of his pipe towards his chest. "I'm the one who has to do that. I'm the one who has to decide if a thing is right or not." The anger died out of the eyes. The grim mouth bent sourly. He said gloomily: "Oh well, I suppose it's what I'm paid for. Somebody's got to drive the bloody92 train." M put his pipe back in his mouth and drew on it deeply to relieve his feelings.
Now Bond felt sorry for M. He had never before heard M use as strong a word as 'bloody'. Nor had M ever given a member of his staff any hint that he felt the weight of the burden he was carrying and had carried ever since he had thrown up the certain prospect93 of becoming Fifth Sea Lord in order to take over the Secret Service. M. had got himself a problem. Bond wondered what it was. It would not be concerned with danger. If M could get the odds94 more or less right he would risk anything, anywhere in the world. It would not be political. M did not give a damn for the susceptibilities of any Ministry95 and thought nothing of going behind their backs to get a personal ruling from the Prime Minister. It might be moral. It might be personal. Bond said: "Is there anything I can help over, sir?"
M looked briefly, thoughtfully at Bond, and then swivelled his chair so that he could look out of the window at the high summery clouds. He said abruptly96: "Do you remember the Havelock case?"
"Only what I read in the papers, sir. Elderly couple in Jamaica. The daughter came home one night and found them full of bullets. There was some talk of gangsters from Havana. The housekeeper said three men had called in a car. She thought they might have been Cubans. It turned out the car had been stolen. A yacht had sailed from the local harbour that night. But as far as I remember the police didn't get anywhere. That's all, sir. I haven't seen any signals passing on the case."
M said gruffly: "You wouldn't have. They've been personal to me. We weren't asked to handle the case. Just happens," M cleared his throat: this private use of the Service was on his conscience, "I knew the Havelocks. Matter of fact I was best man at their wedding. Malta. Nineteen-twenty-five."
"I see, sir. That's bad."
M said shortly: "Nice people. Anyway, I told Station C to look into it. They didn't get anywhere with the Batista people, but we've got a good man with the other side - with this chap Castro. And Castro's Intelligence people seem to have the Government pretty well penetrated97. I got the whole story a couple of weeks ago. It boils down to the fact that a man called Hammerstein, or von Hammerstein, had the couple killed. There are a lot of Germans well dug in in these banana republics. They're Nazis98 who got out of the net at the end of the War. This one's ex-Gestapo. He got a job as head of Batista's Counter Intelligence. Made a packet of money out of extortion and blackmail99 and protection. He was set up for life until Castro's lot began to make headway. He was one of the first to start easing himself out. He cut one of his officers in on his loot, a man called Gonzales, and this man travelled around the Caribbean with a couple of gunmen to protect him and began salting away Hammerstein's money outside Cuba - put it in real estate and suchlike under nominees. Only bought the best, but at top prices. Hammerstein could afford them. When money didn't work he'd use force - kidnap a child, burn down a few acres, anything to make the owner see reason. Well, this man Hammerstein heard of the Havelocks' property, one of the best in Jamaica, and he told Gonzales to go and get it. I suppose his orders were to kill the Havelocks if they wouldn't sell and then put pressure on the daughter. There's a daughter, by the way. Should be about twenty-five by now. Never seen her myself. Anyway, that's what happened. They killed the Havelocks. Then two weeks ago Batista sacked Hammerstein. May have got to hear about one of these jobs. I don't know. But, anyway, Hammerstein cleared out and took his little team of three with him. Timed things pretty well, I should say. It looks as if Castro may get in this winter if he keeps the pressure up."
Bond said softly: "Where have they gone to?"
"America. Right up in the North of Vermont. Up against the Canadian border. Those sort of men like being close to frontiers. Place called Echo Lake. It's some kind of a millionaire's ranch28 he's rented. Looks pretty from the photographs. Tucked away in the mountains with this little lake in the grounds. He's certainly chosen himself somewhere where he won't be troubled with visitors."
"How did you get on to this, sir?"
"I sent a report of the whole case to Edgar Hoover. He knew of the man. I guessed he would. He's had a lot of trouble with this gun-running from Miami to Castro. And he's been interested in Havana ever since the big American gangster19 money started following the casinos there. He said that Hammerstein and his party had come into the States on six months visitors' visas. He was very helpful. Wanted to know if I'd got enough to build up a case on. Did I want these men extradited for trial in Jamaica? I talked it over here with the Attorney General and he said there wasn't a hope unless we could get the witnesses from Havana. There's no chance of that. It was only through Castro's Intelligence that we even know as much as we do. Officially the Cubans won't raise a finger. Next, Hoover offered to have their visas revoked100 and get them on the move again. I thanked him and said no, and we left it at that."
M sat for a moment in silence. His pipe had died and he relit it. He went on: "I decided101 to have a talk with our friends the Mounties. I got on to the Commissioner102 on the scrambler. He's never let me down yet. He strayed one of his frontier patrol planes over the border and took a full aerial survey of this Echo Lake place. Said that if I wanted any other co-operation he'd provide it. And now," M slowly swivelled his chair back square with the desk, "I've got to decide what to do next."
Now Bond realised why M was troubled, why he wanted someone else to make the decision. Because these had been friends of M. Because a personal element was involved, M had worked on the case by himself. And now it had come to the point when justice ought to be done and these people brought to book. But M was thinking: is this justice, or is it revenge? No judge would take a murder case in which he had personally known the murdered person. M wanted someone else, Bond, to deliver judgement. There were no doubts in Bond's mind. He didn't know the Havelocks or care who they were. Hammerstein had operated the law of the jungle on two defenceless old people. Since no other law was available, the law of the jungle should be visited upon Hammerstein. In no other way could justice be done. If it was revenge, it was the revenge of the community.
Bond said: "I wouldn't hesitate for a minute, sir. If foreign gangsters find they can get away with this kind of thing they'll decide the English are as soft as some other people seem to think we are. This is a case for rough justice - an eye for an eye."
M went on looking at Bond. He gave no encouragement, made no comment.
Bond said: "These people can't be hung, sir. But they ought to be killed."
M's eyes ceased to focus on Bond. For a moment they were blank, looking inward. Then he slowly reached for the top drawer of his desk on the left-hand side, pulled it open and extracted a thin file without the usual title across it and without the top-secret red star. He placed the file squarely in front of him and his hand rummaged103 again in the open drawer. The hand brought out a rubber stamp and a red-ink pad. M opened the pad, tamped104 the rubber stamp on it and then carefully, so that it was properly aligned105 with the top right-hand corner of the docket, pressed it down on the grey cover.
M replaced the stamp and the ink pad in the drawer and closed the drawer. He turned the docket round and pushed it gently across the desk to Bond.
The red sansserif letters, still damp, said: FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.
Bond said nothing. He nodded and picked up the docket and walked out of the room.
Two days later, Bond took the Friday Comet to Montreal. He did not care for it. It flew too high and too fast and there were too many passengers. He regretted the days of the old Stratocruiser - that fine lumbering106 old plane that took ten hours to cross the Atlantic. Then one had been able to have dinner in peace, sleep for seven hours in a comfortable bunk107, and get up in time to wander down to the lower deck and have that ridiculous BOAC 'country house' breakfast while the dawn came up and flooded the cabin with the first bright gold of the Western hemisphere. Now it was all too quick. The stewards108 had to serve everything almost at the double, and then one had a bare two hours snooze before the hundred-mile-long descent from forty thousand feet. Only eight hours after leaving London, Bond was driving a Hertz U-drive Plymouth saloon along the broad Route 17 from Montreal to Ottawa and trying to remember to keep on the right of the road.
The Headquarters of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police are in the Department of Justice alongside Parliament Buildings in Ottawa. Like most Canadian public buildings, the Department of Justice is a massive block of grey masonry111 built to look stodgily112 important and to withstand the long and hard winters. Bond had been told to ask at the front desk for the Commissioner and to give his name as 'Mr James'. He did so, and a young fresh-faced RCMP corporal, who looked as if he did not like being kept indoors on a warm sunny day, took him up in the lift to the third floor and handed him over to a sergeant113 in a large tidy office which contained two girl secretaries and a lot of heavy furniture. The sergeant spoke114 on an intercom and there was a ten minutes' delay during which Bond smoked and read a recruiting pamphlet which made the Mounties sound like a mixture between a dude ranch, Dick Tracy and Rose Marie. When he was shown in through the connecting door a tall youngish man in a dark blue suit, white shirt and black tie turned away from the window and came towards him. "Mr James?" the man smiled thinly. "I'm Colonel, let's say - er - Johns."
They shook hands. "Come along and sit down. The Commissioner's very sorry not to be here to welcome you himself. He has a bad cold - you know, one of those diplomatic ones." Colonel 'Johns' looked amused. "Thought it might be best to take the day off. I'm just one of the help. I've been on one or two hunting trips myself and the Commissioner fixed on me to handle this little holiday of yours," the Colonel paused, "on me only. Right?"
Bond smiled. The Commissioner was glad to help but he was going to handle this with kid gloves. There would be no come-back on his office. Bond thought he must be a careful and very sensible man. He said: "I quite understand. My friends in London didn't want the Commissioner to bother himself personally with any of this. And I haven't seen the Commissioner or been anywhere near his headquarters. That being so, can we talk English for ten minutes or so - just between the two of us?"
Colonel Johns laughed. "Sure. I was told to make that little speech and then get down to business. You understand, Commander, that you and I are about to connive115 at various felonies, starting with obtaining a Canadian hunting licence under false pretences116 and being an accessory to a breach117 of the frontier laws, and going on down from there to more serious things. It wouldn't do anyone one bit of good to have any ricochets from this little lot. Get me?"
"That's how my friends feel too. When I go out of here, we'll forget each other, and if I end up in Sing-Sing that's my worry. Well, now?"
Colonel Johns opened a drawer in the desk and took out a bulging118 file and opened it. The top document was a list. He put his pencil on the first item and looked across at Bond. He ran his eye over Bond's old black and white hound's-tooth tweed suit and white shirt and thin black tie. He said: "Clothes." He unclipped a plain sheet of paper from the file and slid it across the desk. "This is a list of what I reckon you'll need and the address of a big second-hand119 clothing store here in the city. Nothing fancy, nothing conspicuous120 - khaki shirt, dark brown jeans, good climbing boots or shoes. See they're comfortable. And there's the address of a chemist for walnut121 stain. Buy a gallon and give yourself a bath in the stuff. There are plenty of browns in the hills at this time and you won't want to be wearing parachute cloth or anything that smells of camouflage122. Right? If you're picked up, you're an Englishman on a hunting trip in Canada who's lost his way and got across the border by mistake. Rifle. Went down myself and put it in the boot of your Plymouth while you were waiting. One of the new Savage123 99Fs, Weatherby 6 × 62 'scope, five-shot repeater with twenty rounds of high-velocity .250-3.000. Lightest big game lever action on the market. Only six and a half pounds. Belongs to a friend. Glad to have it back one day, but he won't miss it if it doesn't turn up. It's been tested and it's okay up to five hundred. Gun licence," Colonel Johns slid it over, "issued here in the city in your real name as that fits with your passport. Hunting licence ditto, but small game only, vermin, as it isn't quite the deer season yet, also driving licence to replace the provisional one I had waiting for you with the Hertz people. Haversack, compass - used ones, in the boot of your car. Oh, by the way," Colonel Johns looked up from his list, "you carrying a personal gun?"
"Yes. Walther PPK in a Burns Martin holster."
"Right, give me the number. I've got a blank licence here. If that gets back to me it's quite okay. I've got a story for it."
Bond took out his gun and read off the number. Colonel Johns filled in the form and pushed it over.
"Now then, maps. Here's a local Esso map that's all you need to get you to the area." Colonel Johns got up and walked round with the map to Bond and spread it out. "You take this route 17 back to Montreal, get on to 37 over the bridge at St Anne's and then over the river again on to 7. Follow 7 on down to Pike River. Get on 52 at Stanbridge. Turn right in Stanbridge for Frelighsburg and leave the car in a garage there. Good roads all the way. Whole trip shouldn't take you more than five hours including stops. Okay? Now this is where you've got to get things right. Make it that you get to Frelighsburg around three a.m. Garage-hand'll be half asleep and you'll be able to get the gear out of the boot and move off without him noticing even if you were a double-headed Chinaman." Colonel Johns went back to his chair and took two more pieces of paper off the file. The first was a scrap124 of pencilled map, the other a section of aerial photograph. He said, looking seriously at Bond: "Now, here are the only inflammable things you'll be carrying and I've got to rely on you getting rid of them just as soon as they've been used, or at once if there's a chance of you getting into trouble. This," he pushed the paper over, "is a rough sketch125 of an old smuggling126 route from Prohibition127 days. It's not used now or I wouldn't recommend it." Colonel Johns smiled sourly. "You might find some rough customers coming over in the opposite direction, and they're apt to shoot and not even ask questions afterwards - crooks, druggers, white-slavers - but nowadays they mostly travel up by Viscount. This route was used for runners between Franklin, just over the Derby Line, and Frelighsburg. You follow this path through the foothills, and you detour128 Franklin and get into the start of the Green Mountains. There it's all Vermont spruce and pine with a bit of maple129, and you can stay inside that stuff for months and not see a soul. You get across country here, over a couple of highways, and you leave Enosburg Falls to the west. Then you're over a steep range and down into the top of the valley you want. The cross is Echo Lake and, judging from the photographs, I'd be inclined to come down on top of it from the east. Got it?"
"What's the distance? About ten miles?"
"Ten and a half. Take you about three hours from Frelighsburg if you don't lose your way, so you'll be in sight of the place around six and have about an hour's light to help you over the last stretch." Colonel Johns pushed over the square of aerial photograph. It was a central cut from the one Bond had seen in London. It showed a long low range of well-kept buildings made of cut stone. The roofs were of slate130, and there was a glimpse of graceful bow windows and a covered patio131. A dust road ran past the front door and on this side were garages and what appeared to be kennels132. On the garden side was a stone flagged terrace with a flowered border, and beyond this two or three acres of trim lawn stretched down to the edge of the small lake. The lake appeared to have been artificially created with a deep stone dam. There was a group of wrought-iron garden furniture where the dam wall left the bank and, halfway133 along the wall, a diving-board and a ladder to climb out of the lake. Beyond the lake the forest rose steeply up. It was from this side that Colonel Johns suggested an approach. There were no people in the photograph, but on the stone flags in front of the patio was a quantity of expensive-looking aluminium134 garden furniture and a central glass table with drinks. Bond remembered that the larger photograph had shown a tennis court in the garden and on the other side of the road the trim white fences and grazing horses of a stud farm. Echo Lake looked what it was - the luxurious135 retreat, in deep country, well away from atom bomb targets, of a millionaire who liked privacy and could probably offset136 a lot of his running expenses against the stud farm and an occasional good let. It would be an admirable refuge for a man who had had ten steamy years of Caribbean politics and who needed a rest to recharge his batteries. The lake was also convenient for washing blood off hands.
Colonel Johns closed his now empty file and tore the typewritten list into small fragments and dropped them in the wastepaper basket. The two men got to their feet. Colonel Johns took Bond to the door and held out his hand. He said: "Well, I guess that's all. I'd give a lot to come with you. Talking about all this has reminded me of one or two sniping jobs at the end of the War. I was in the Army then. We were under Monty in Eighth Corps137. On the left of the line in the Ardennes. It was much the same sort of country as you'll be using, only different trees. But you know how it is in these police jobs. Plenty of paper work and keep your nose clean for the pension. Well, so long and the best of luck. No doubt I'll read all about it in the papers," he smiled, "whichever way it goes."
Bond thanked him and shook him by the hand. A last question occurred to him. He said: "By the way, is the Savage single pull or double? I won't have a chance of finding out and there may not be much time for experimenting when the target shows."
"Single pull and it's a hair-trigger. Keep your finger off until you're sure you've got him. And keep outside three hundred if you can. I guess these men are pretty good themselves. Don't get too close." He reached for the door handle. His other hand went to Bond's shoulder. "Our Commissioner's got a motto: 'Never send a man where you can send a bullet.' You might remember that. So long, Commander."
Bond spent the night and most of the next day at the KO-ZEE Motor Court outside Montreal. He paid in advance for three nights. He passed the day looking to his equipment and wearing in the soft ripple138 rubber climbing boots he had bought in Ottawa. He bought glucose139 tablets and some smoked ham and bread from which he made himself sandwiches. He also bought a large aluminium flask140 and filled this with three-quarters Bourbon and a quarter coffee. When darkness came he had dinner and a short sleep and then diluted141 the walnut stain and washed himself all over with the stuff even to the roots of his hair. He came out looking like a Red Indian with blue-grey eyes. Just before midnight he quietly opened the side door into the automobile142 bay, got into the Plymouth and drove off on the last lap south to Frelighsburg.
The man at the all-night garage was not as sleepy as Colonel Johns had said he would be.
"Goin' huntin', mister?"
You can get far in North America with laconic143 grunts144. Huh, hun and hi! in their various modulations, together with sure, guess so, that so? and nuts! will meet almost any contingency145.
Bond, slinging146 the strap148 of his rifle over his shoulder, said "Hun."
"Man got a fine beaver149 over by Highgate Springs Saturday."
Bond said indifferently "That so?", paid for two nights and walked out of the garage. He had stopped on the far side of the town, and now he only had to follow the highway for a hundred yards before he found the dirt track running off into the woods on his right. After half an hour the track petered out at a broken-down farmhouse150. A chained dog set up a frenzied151 barking, but no light showed in the farmhouse and Bond skirted it and at once found the path by the stream. He was to follow this for three miles. He lengthened152 his stride to get away from the dog. When the barking stopped there was silence, the deep velvet153 silence of woods on a still night. It was a warm night with a full yellow moon that threw enough light down through the thick spruce for Bond to follow the path without difficulty. The springy, cushioned soles of the climbing boots were wonderful to walk on, and Bond got his second wind and knew he was making good time. At around four o'clock the trees began to thin and he was soon walking through open fields with the scattered154 lights of Franklin on his right. He crossed a secondary, tarred road, and now there was a wider track through the woods and on his right the pale glitter of a lake. By five o'clock he had crossed the black rivers of US highways 108 and 120. On the latter was a sign saying ENOSBURG FALLS 1 MI. Now he was on the last lap - a small hunting trail that climbed steeply. Well away from the highway, he stopped and shifted his rifle and knapsack round, had a cigarette and burned the sketch-map. Already there was a faint paling in the sky and small noises in the forest - the harsh, melancholy155 cry of a bird he did not know and the rustlings of small animals. Bond visualised the house deep down in the little valley on the other side of the mountain ahead of him. He saw the blank curtained windows, the crumpled156 sleeping faces of the four men, the dew on the lawn and the widening rings of the early rise on the gunmetal surface of the lake. And here, on the other side of the mountain, was the executioner coming up through the trees. Bond closed his mind to the picture, trod the remains157 of his cigarette into the ground and got going.
Was this a hill or a mountain? At what height does a hill become a mountain? Why don't they manufacture something out of the silver bark of birch trees? It looks so useful and valuable. The best things in America are chipmunks158, and oyster160 stew109. In the evening darkness doesn't really fall, it rises. When you sit on top of a mountain and watch the sun go down behind the mountain opposite, the darkness rises up to you out of the valley. Will the birds one day lose their fear of man? It must be centuries since man has killed a small bird for food in these woods, yet they are still afraid. Who was this Ethan Allen who commanded the Green Mountain Boys of Vermont? Now, in American motels, they advertise Ethan Allen furniture as an attraction. Why? Did he make furniture? Army boots should have rubber soles like these.
With these and other random161 thoughts Bond steadily162 climbed upwards163 and obstinately164 pushed away from him the thought of the four faces asleep on the white pillows.
The round peak was below the tree-line and Bond could see nothing of the valley below. He rested and then chose an oak tree, and climbed up and out along a thick bough15. Now he could see everything - the endless vista of the Green Mountains stretching in every direction as far as he could see, away to the east the golden ball of the sun just coming up in glory, and below, two thousand feet down a long easy slope of treetops broken once by a wide band of meadow, through a thin veil of mist, the lake, the lawns and the house.
Bond lay along the branch and watched the band of pale early morning sunshine creeping down into the valley. It took a quarter of an hour to reach the lake, and then seemed to flood at once over the glittering lawn and over the wet slate tiles of the roofs. Then the mist went quickly from the lake and the target area, washed and bright and new, lay waiting like an empty stage.
Bond slipped the telescopic sight out of his pocket and went over the scene inch by inch. Then he examined the sloping ground below him and estimated ranges. From the edge of the meadow, which would be his only open field of fire unless he went down through the last belt of trees to the edge of the lake, it would be about five hundred yards to the terrace and the patio, and about three hundred to the diving-board and the edge of the lake. What did these people do with their time? What was their routine? Did they ever bathe? It was still warm enough. Well, there was all day. If by the end of it they had not come down to the lake, he would just have to take his chance at the patio and five hundred yards. But it would not be a good chance with a strange rifle. Ought he to get on down straight away to the edge of the meadow? It was a wide meadow, perhaps five hundred yards of going without cover. It would be as well to get that behind him before the house awoke. What time did these people get up in the morning?
As if to answer him, a white blind rolled up in one of the smaller windows to the left of the main block. Bond could distinctly hear the final snap of the spring roller. Echo Lake! Of course. Did the echo work both ways? Would he have to be careful of breaking branches and twigs166? Probably not. The sounds in the valley would bounce upwards off the surface of the water. But there must be no chances taken.
A thin column of smoke began to trickle167 up straight into the air from one of the left-hand chimneys. Bond thought of the bacon and eggs that would soon be frying. And the hot coffee. He eased himself back along the branch and down to the ground. He would have something to eat, smoke his last safe cigarette and get on down to the firing point.
The bread stuck in Bond's throat. Tension was building up in him. In his imagination he could already hear the deep bark of the Savage. He could see the black bullet lazily, like a slow flying bee, homing down into the valley towards a square of pink skin. There was a light smack168 as it hit. The skin dented169, broke and then closed up again leaving a small hole with bruised172 edges. The bullet ploughed on, unhurriedly, towards the pulsing heart - the tissues, the bloodvessels, parting obediently to let it through. Who was this man he was going to do this to? What had he ever done to Bond? Bond looked thoughtfully down at his trigger finger. He crooked173 it slowly, feeling in his imagination the cool curve of metal. Almost automatically, his left hand reached out for the flask. He held it to his lips and tilted174 his head back. The coffee and whisky burned a small fire down his throat. He put the top back on the flask and waited for the warmth of the whisky to reach his stomach. Then he got slowly to his feet, stretched and yawned deeply and picked up the rifle and slung175 it over his shoulder. He looked round carefully to mark the place when he came back up the hill and started slowly off down through the trees.
Now there was no trail and he had to pick his way slowly, watching the ground for dead branches. The trees were more mixed. Among the spruce and silver birch there was an occasional oak and beech176 and sycamore and, here and there, the blazing Bengal fire of a maple in autumn dress. Under the trees was a sparse70 undergrowth of their saplings and much dead wood from old hurricanes. Bond went carefully down, his feet making little sound among the leaves and moss-covered rocks, but soon the forest was aware of him and began to pass on the news. A large doe, with two Bambi-like young, saw him first and galloped177 off with an appalling178 clatter179. A brilliant woodpecker with a scarlet head flew down ahead of him, screeching180 each time Bond caught up with it, and always there were the chipmunks, craning up on their hind58 feet, lifting their small muzzles181 from their teeth as they tried to catch his scent110, and then scampering182 off to their rock holes with chatterings that seemed to fill the woods with fright. Bond willed them to have no fear, that the gun he carried was not meant for them, but with each alarm he wondered if, when he got to the edge of the meadow, he would see down on the lawn a man with glasses who had been watching the frightened birds fleeing the treetops.
But when he stopped behind a last broad oak and looked down across the long meadow to the final belt of trees and the lake and the house, nothing had changed. All the other blinds were still down and the only movement was the thin plume184 of smoke.
It was eight o'clock. Bond gazed down across the meadow to the trees, looking for one which would suit his purpose. He found it - a big maple, blazing with russet and crimson185. This would be right for his clothes, its trunk was thick enough and it stood slightly back from the wall of spruce. From there, standing186, he would be able to see all he needed of the lake and the house. Bond stood for a while, plotting his route down through the thick grass and golden-rod of the meadow. He would have to do it on his stomach, and slowly. A small breeze got up and combed the meadow. If only it would keep blowing and cover his passage!
Somewhere not far off, up to the left on the edge of the trees, a branch snapped. It snapped once decisively and there was no further noise. Bond dropped to one knee, his ears pricked187 and his senses questing. He stayed like that for a full ten minutes, a motionless brown shadow against the wide trunk of the oak.
Animals and birds do not break twigs. Dead wood must carry a special danger signal for them. Birds never alight on twigs that will break under them, and even a large animal like a deer with antlers and four hooves to manipulate moves quite silently in a forest unless he is in flight. Had these people after all got guards out? Gently Bond eased the rifle off his shoulder and put his thumb on the safe. Perhaps, if the people were still sleeping, a single shot, from high up in the woods, would pass for a hunter or a poacher. But then, between him and approximately where the twig165 had snapped, two deer broke cover and cantered unhurriedly across the meadow to the left. It was true that they stopped twice to look back, but each time they cropped a few mouthfuls of grass before moving on and into the distant fringe of the lower woods. They showed no fright and no haste. It was certainly they who had been the cause of the snapped branch. Bond breathed a sigh. So much for that. And now to get on across the meadow.
A five-hundred-yard crawl through tall concealing188 grass is a long and wearisome business. It is hard on knees and hands and elbows, there is a vista of nothing but grass and flower stalks, and the dust and small insects get into your eyes and nose and down your neck. Bond focused on placing his hands right and maintaining a slow, even speed. The breeze had kept up and his wake through the grass would certainly not be noticeable from the house.
From above, it looked as if a big ground animal - a beaver perhaps, or a woodchuck - was on its way down the meadow. No, it would not be a beaver. They always move in pairs. And yet perhaps it might be a beaver - for now, from higher up on the meadow, something, somebody else had entered the tall grass, and behind and above Bond a second wake was being cut in the deep sea of grass. It looked as if whatever it was would slowly catch up on Bond and that the two wakes would converge190 just at the next tree-line.
Bond crawled and slithered steadily on, stopping only to wipe the sweat and dust off his face and, from time to time, to make sure that he was on course for the maple. But when he was close enough for the tree-line to hide him from the house, perhaps twenty feet from the maple, he stopped and lay for a while, massaging192 his knees and loosening his wrists for the last lap.
He had heard nothing to warn him, and when the soft threatening whisper came from only feet away in the thick grass on his left, his head swivelled so sharply that the vertebrae of his neck made a cracking sound.
"Move an inch and I'll kill you." It had been a girl's voice, but a voice that fiercely meant what it said.
Bond, his heart thumping193, stared up the shaft194 of the steel arrow whose blue-tempered triangular195 tip parted the grass stalks perhaps eighteen inches from his head.
The bow was held sideways, flat in the grass. The knuckles196 of the brown fingers that held the binding197 of the bow below the arrow-tip were white. Then there was the length of glinting steel and, behind the metal feathers, partly obscured by waving strands198 of grass, were grimly clamped lips below two fierce grey eyes against a background of sunburned skin damp with sweat. That was all Bond could make out through the grass. Who the hell was this? One of the guards? Bond gathered saliva199 back into his dry mouth and began slowly to edge his right hand, his out-of-sight hand, round and up towards his waistband and his gun. He said softly: "Who the hell are you?"
The arrow-tip gestured threateningly. "Stop that right hand or I'll put this through your shoulder. Are you one of the guards?"
"No. Are you?"
"Don't be a fool. What are you doing here?" The tension in the voice had slackened, but it was still hard, suspicious. There was a trace of accent - what was it, Scots? Welsh?
It was time to get to level terms. There was something particularly deadly about the blue arrow-tip. Bond said easily: "Put away your bow and arrow, Robina. Then I'll tell you."
"You swear not to go for your gun?"
"All right. But for God's sake let's get out of the middle of this field." Without waiting, Bond rose on hands and knees and started to crawl again. Now he must get the initiative and hold it. Whoever this damned girl was, she would have to be disposed of quickly and discreetly200 before the shooting match began. God, as if there wasn't enough to think of already!
Bond reached the trunk of the tree. He got carefully to his feet and took a quick look through the blazing leaves. Most of the blinds had gone up. Two slow-moving coloured maids were laying a large breakfast table on the patio. He had been right. The field of vision over the tops of the trees that now fell sharply to the lake was perfect. Bond unslung his rifle and knapsack and sat down with his back against the trunk of the tree. The girl came out of the edge of the grass and stood up under the maple. She kept her distance. The arrow was still held in the bow but the bow was unpulled. They looked warily201 at each other.
The girl looked like a beautiful unkempt dryad in ragged202 shirt and trousers. The shirt and trousers were olive green, crumpled and splashed with mud and stains and torn in places, and she had bound her pale blonde hair with golden-rod to conceal189 its brightness for her crawl through the meadow. The beauty of her face was wild and rather animal, with a wide sensuous203 mouth, high cheekbones and silvery grey, disdainful eyes. There was the blood of scratches on her forearms and down one cheek, and a bruise171 had puffed204 and slightly blackened the same cheekbone. The metal feathers of a quiver full of arrows showed above her left shoulder. Apart from the bow, she carried nothing but a hunting knife at her belt and, at her other hip159, a small brown canvas bag that presumably carried her food. She looked like a beautiful, dangerous customer who knew wild country and forests and was not afraid of them. She would walk alone through life and have little use for civilisation205.
Bond thought she was wonderful. He smiled at her. He said softly, reassuringly206: "I suppose you're Robina Hood207. My name's James Bond." He reached for his flask and unscrewed the top and held it out. "Sit down and have a drink of this - firewater and coffee. And I've got some biltong. Or do you live on dew and berries?"
She came a little closer and sat down a yard from him. She sat like a Red Indian, her knees splayed wide and her ankles tucked up high under her thighs208. She reached for the flask and drank deeply with her head thrown back. She handed it back without comment. She did not smile. She said "Thanks" grudgingly209, and took her arrow and thrust it over her back to join the others in the quiver. She said, watching him closely: "I suppose you're a poacher. The deer-hunting season doesn't open for another three weeks. But you won't find any deer down here. They only come so low at night. You ought to be higher up during the day, much higher. If you like, I'll tell you where there are some. Quite a big herd210. It's a bit late in the day, but you could still get to them. They're up-wind from here and you seem to know about stalking. You don't make much noise."
"Is that what you're doing here - hunting? Let's see your licence."
Her shirt had buttoned-down breast pockets. Without protest she took out from one of them the white paper and handed it over.
The licence had been issued in Bennington, Vermont. It had been issued in the name of Judy Havelock. There was a list of types of permit. 'Non-resident hunting' and 'Non-resident bow and arrow' had been ticked. The cost had been $18.50, payable212 to the Fish and Game Service, Montpelier, Vermont. Judy Havelock had given her age as twenty-five and her place of birth as Jamaica.
Bond thought: 'God Almighty213!' He handed the paper back. So that was the score! He said with sympathy and respect: "You're quite a girl, Judy. It's a long walk from Jamaica. And you were going to take him on with your bow and arrow. You know what they say in China: 'Before you set out on revenge, dig two graves.' Have you done that, or did you expect to get away with it?"
The girl was staring at him. "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you know about it?"
Bond reflected. There was only one way out of this mess and that was to join forces with the girl. What a hell of a business! He said resignedly: "I've told you my name. I've been sent out from London by, er, Scotland Yard. I know all about your troubles and I've come out here to pay off some of the score and see you're not bothered by these people. In London we think that the man in that house might start putting pressure on you, about your property, and there's no other way of stopping him."
The girl said bitterly: "I had a favourite pony214, a Palomino. Three weeks ago they poisoned it. Then they shot my Alsatian. I'd raised it from a puppy. Then came a letter. It said, 'Death has many hands. One of these hands is now raised over you.' I was to put a notice in the paper, in the personal column, on a particular day. I was just to say, 'I will obey. Judy.' I went to the police. All they did was to offer me protection. It was people in Cuba, they thought. There was nothing else they could do about it. So I went to Cuba and stayed in the best hotel and gambled big in the casinos." She gave a little smile. "I wasn't dressed like this. I wore my best dresses and the family jewels. And people made up to me. I was nice to them. I had to be. And all the while I asked questions. I pretended I was out for thrills - that I wanted to see the underworld and some real gangsters, and so on. And in the end I found out about this man." She gestured down towards the house. "He had left Cuba. Batista had found out about him or something. And he had a lot of enemies. I was told plenty about him and in the end I met a man, a sort of high-up policeman, who told me the rest after I had," she hesitated and avoided Bond's eyes, "after I had made up to him." She paused. She went on: "I left and went to America. I had read somewhere about Pinkerton's, the detective people. I went to them and paid to have them find this man's address." She turned her hands palm upwards on her lap. Now her eyes were defiant216. "That's all."
"How did you get here?"
"I flew up to Bennington. Then I walked. Four days. Up through the Green Mountains. I kept out of the way of people. I'm used to this sort of thing. Our house is in the mountains in Jamaica. They're much more difficult than these. And there are more people, peasants, about in them. Here no one ever seems to walk. They go by car."
"And what were you going to do then?"
"I'm going to shoot von Hammerstein and walk back to Bennington." The voice was as casual as if she had said she was going to pick a wild flower.
From down in the valley came the sound of voices. Bond got to his feet and took a quick look through the branches. Three men and two girls had come on to the patio. There was talk and laughter as they pulled out chairs and sat down at the table. One place was left empty at the head of the table between the two girls. Bond took out his telescopic sight and looked through it. The three men were very small and dark. One of them, who smiled all the time and whose clothes looked the cleanest and smartest, would be Gonzales. The other two were low peasant types. They sat together at the foot of the oblong table and took no part in the talk. The girls were swarthy brunettes. They looked like cheap Cuban whores. They wore bright bathing dresses and a lot of gold jewellery, and laughed and chattered217 like pretty monkeys. The voices were almost clear enough to understand, but they were talking Spanish.
Bond felt the girl near him. She stood a yard behind him. Bond handed her the glass. He said: "The neat little man is called Major Gonzales. The two at the bottom of the table are gunmen. I don't know who the girls are. Von Hammerstein isn't there yet." She took a quick look through the glass and handed it back without comment. Bond wondered if she realised that she had been looking at the murderers of her father and mother.
The two girls had turned and were looking towards the door into the house. One of them called out something that might have been a greeting. A short, square, almost naked man came out into the sunshine. He walked silently past the table to the edge of the flagged terrace facing the lawn and proceeded to go through a five-minute programme of physical drill.
Bond examined the man minutely. He was about five feet four with a boxer's shoulders and hips218, but a stomach that was going to fat. A mat of black hair covered his breasts and shoulder blades, and his arms and legs were thick with it. By contrast, there was not a hair on his face or head and his skull219 was a glittering whitish yellow with a deep dent170 at the back that might have been a wound or the scar of a trepanning. The bone structure of the face was that of the conventional Prussian officer - square, hard and thrusting - but the eyes under the naked brows were close-set and piggish, and the large mouth had hideous220 lips - thick and wet and crimson. He wore nothing but a strip of black material, hardly larger than an athletic221 support-belt, round his stomach, and a large gold wrist-watch on a gold bracelet222. Bond handed the glass to the girl. He was relieved. Von Hammerstein looked just about as unpleasant as M's dossier said he was.
Bond watched the girl's face. The mouth looked grim, almost cruel, as she looked down on the man she had come to kill. What was he to do about her? He could see nothing but a vista of troubles from her presence. She might even interfere223 with his own plans and insist on playing some silly role with her bow and arrow. Bond made up his mind. He just could not afford to take chances. One short tap at the base of the skull and he would gag her and tie her up until it was all over. Bond reached softly for the butt211 of his automatic.
Nonchalantly the girl moved a few steps back. Just as nonchalantly she bent down, put the glass on the ground and picked up her bow. She reached behind her for an arrow, and fitted it casually224 into the bow. Then she looked up at Bond and said quietly: "Don't get any silly ideas. And keep your distance. I've got what's called wide-angled vision. I haven't come all the way here to be knocked on the head by a flat-footed London bobby. I can't miss with this at fifty yards, and I've killed birds on the wing at a hundred. I don't want to put an arrow through your leg, but I shall if you interfere."
Bond cursed his previous indecision. He said fiercely: "Don't be a silly bitch. Put that damned thing down. This is man's work. How in hell do you think you can take on four men with a bow and arrow?"
The girl's eyes blazed obstinately. She moved her right foot back into the shooting stance. She said through compressed, angry lips: "You go to hell. And keep out of this. It was my mother and father they killed. Not yours. I've already been here a day and a night. I know what they do and I know how to get Hammerstein. I don't care about the others. They're nothing without him. Now then." She pulled the bow half taut. The arrow pointed225 at Bond's feet. "Either you do what I say or you're going to be sorry. And don't think I don't mean it. This is a private thing I've sworn to do and nobody's going to stop me." She tossed her head imperiously. "Well?"
Bond gloomily measured the situation. He looked the ridiculously beautiful wild girl up and down. This was good hard English stock spiced with the hot peppers of a tropical childhood. Dangerous mixture. She had keyed herself up to a state of controlled hysteria. He was quite certain that she would think nothing of putting him out of action. And he had absolutely no defence. Her weapon was silent, his would alert the whole neighbourhood. Now the only hope would be to work with her. Give her part of the job and he would do the rest. He said quietly: "Now listen, Judy. If you insist on coming in on this thing we'd better do it together. Then perhaps we can bring it off and stay alive. This sort of thing is my profession. I was ordered to do it - by a close friend of your family, if you want to know. And I've got the right weapon. It's got at least five times the range of yours. I could take a good chance of killing him now, on the patio. But the odds aren't quite good enough. Some of them have got bathing things on. They'll be coming down to the lake. Then I'm going to do it. You can give supporting fire." He ended lamely226: "It'll be a great help."
"No." She shook her head decisively. "I'm sorry. You can give what you call supporting fire if you like. I don't care one way or the other. You're right about the swimming. Yesterday they were all down at the lake around eleven. It's just as warm today and they'll be there again. I shall get him from the edge of the trees by the lake. I found a perfect place last night. The bodyguard227 men bring their guns with them - sort of tommy-gun things. They don't bathe. They sit around and keep guard. I know the moment to get von Hammerstein and I'll be well away from the lake before they take in what's happened. I tell you I've got it all planned. Now then. I can't hang around any more. I ought to have been in my place already. I'm sorry, but unless you say yes straight away there's no alternative." She raised the bow a few inches.
Bond thought: 'Damn this girl to hell.' He said angrily: "All right then. But I can tell you that if we get out of this you're going to get such a spanking228 you won't be able to sit down for a week." He shrugged229. He said with resignation: "Go ahead. I'll look after the others. If you get away all right, meet me here. If you don't, I'll come down and pick up the pieces."
The girl unstrung her bow. She said indifferently: "I'm glad you're seeing sense. These arrows are difficult to pull out. Don't worry about me. But keep out of sight and mind the sun doesn't catch that glass of yours." She gave Bond the brief, pitying, self-congratulatory smile of the woman who has had the last word, and turned and made off down through the trees.
Bond watched the lithe191 dark green figure until it had vanished among the tree-trunks, then he impatiently picked up the glass and went back to his vantage-point. To hell with her! It was time to clear the silly bitch out of his mind and concentrate on the job. Was there anything else he could have done - any other way of handling it? Now he was committed to wait for her to fire the first shot. That was bad. But if he fired first there was no way of knowing what the hot-headed bitch would do. Bond's mind luxuriated briefly in the thought of what he would do to the girl once all this was over. Then there was movement in front of the house, and he put the exciting thoughts aside and lifted his glass.
The breakfast things were being cleared away by the two maids. There was no sign of the girls or the gunmen. Von Hammerstein was lying back among the cushions of an outdoor couch reading a newspaper and occasionally commenting to Major Gonzales, who sat astride an iron garden chair near his feet. Gonzales was smoking a cigar and from time to time he delicately raised a hand in front of his mouth, leant sideways and spat a bit of leaf out on the ground. Bond could not hear what von Hammerstein was saying, but his comments were in English and Gonzales answered in English. Bond glanced at his watch. It was ten-thirty. Since the scene seemed to be static, Bond sat down with his back to the tree and went over the Savage with minute care. At the same time he thought of what would shortly have to be done with it.
Bond did not like what he was going to do, and all the way from England he had had to keep on reminding himself what sort of men these were. The killing of the Havelocks had been a particularly dreadful killing. Von Hammerstein and his gunmen were particularly dreadful men whom many people around the world would probably be very glad to destroy, as this girl proposed to do, out of private revenge. But for Bond it was different. He had no personal motives230 against them. This was merely his job - as it was the job of a pest control officer to kill rats. He was the public executioner appointed by M to represent the community. In a way, Bond argued to himself, these men were as much enemies of his country as were the agents of SMERSH or of other enemy Secret Services. They had declared and waged war against British people on British soil and they were currently planning another attack. Bond's mind hunted round for more arguments to bolster231 his resolve. They had killed the girl's pony and her dog with two casual sideswipes of the hand as if they had been flies. They . . .
A burst of automatic fire from the valley brought Bond to his feet. His rifle was up and taking aim as the second burst came. The harsh racket of noise was followed by laughter and hand-clapping. The kingfisher, a handful of tattered232 blue and grey feathers, thudded to the lawn and lay fluttering. Von Hammerstein, smoke still dribbling233 from the snout of his tommy-gun, walked a few steps and put the heel of his naked foot down and pivoted234 sharply. He took his heel away and wiped it on the grass beside the heap of feathers. The others stood round, laughing and applauding obsequiously235. Von Hammerstein's red lips grinned with pleasure. He said something which included the word 'crackshot'. He handed the gun to one of the gunmen and wiped his hands down his fat backsides. He gave a sharp order to the two girls, who ran off into the house, then, with the others following, he turned and ambled215 down the sloping lawn towards the lake. Now the girls came running back out of the house. Each one carried an empty champagne236 bottle. Chattering183 and laughing they skipped down after the men.
Bond got himself ready. He clipped the telescopic sight on to the barrel of the Savage and took his stance against the trunk of the tree. He found a bump in the wood as a rest for his left hand, put his sights at 300, and took broad aim at the group of people by the lake. Then, holding the rifle loosely, he leaned against the trunk and watched the scene.
It was going to be some kind of a shooting contest between the two gunmen. They snapped fresh magazines on to their guns and at Gonzales's orders stationed themselves on the flat stone wall of the dam some twenty feet apart on either side of the diving-board. They stood with their backs to the lake and their guns at the ready.
Von Hammerstein took up his place on the grass verge, a champagne bottle swinging in each hand. The girls stood behind him, their hands over their ears. There was excited jabbering237 in Spanish, and laughter in which the two gunmen did not join. Through the telescopic sight their faces looked sharp with concentration.
Von Hammerstein barked an order and there was silence. He swung both arms back and counted "Un . . . Dos . . . Tres." With the 'tres' he hurled238 the champagne bottles high into the air over the lake.
The two men turned like marionettes, the guns clamped to their hips. As they completed the turn they fired. The thunder of the guns split the peaceful scene and racketed up from the water. Birds fled away from the trees screeching and some small branches cut by the bullets pattered down into the lake. The left-hand bottle disintegrated239 into dust, the right-hand one, hit by only a single bullet, split in two a fraction of a second later. The fragments of glass made small splashes over the middle of the lake. The gunman on the left had won. The smoke-clouds over the two of them joined and drifted away over the lawn. The echoes boomed softly into silence. The two gunmen walked along the wall to the grass, the rear one looking sullen240, the leading one with a sly grin on his face. Von Hammerstein beckoned241 the two girls forward. They came reluctantly, dragging their feet and pouting242. Von Hammerstein said something, asked a question of the winner. The man nodded at the girl on the left. She looked sullenly243 back at him. Gonzales and Hammerstein laughed. Hammerstein reached out and patted the girl on the rump as if she had been a cow. He said something in which Bond caught the words 'una noche'. The girl looked up at him and nodded obediently. The group broke up. The prize girl took a quick run and dived into the lake, perhaps to get away from the man who had won her favours, and the other girl followed her. They swam away across the lake calling angrily to each other. Major Gonzales took off his coat and laid it on the grass and sat down on it. He was wearing a shoulder holster which showed the butt of a medium-calibre automatic. He watched von Hammerstein take off his watch and walk along the dam wall to the diving-board. The gunmen stood back from the lake and also watched von Hammerstein and the two girls, who were now out in the middle of the little lake and were making for the far shore. The gunmen stood with their guns cradled in their arms and occasionally one of them would glance round the garden or towards the house. Bond thought there was every reason why von Hammerstein had managed to stay alive so long. He was a man who took trouble to do so.
Von Hammerstein had reached the diving-board. He walked along to the end and stood looking down at the water. Bond tensed himself and put up the safe. His eyes were fierce slits244. It would be any minute now. His finger itched34 on the trigger-guard. What in hell was the girl waiting for?
Von Hammerstein had made up his mind. He flexed245 his knees slightly. The arms came back. Through the telescopic sight Bond could see the thick hair over his shoulder blades tremble in a breeze that came to give a quick shiver to the surface of the lake. Now his arms were coming forward and there was a fraction of a second when his feet had left the board and he was still almost upright. In that fraction of a second there was a flash of silver against his back and then von Hammerstein's body hit the water in a neat dive.
Gonzales was on his feet, looking uncertainly at the turbulence246 caused by the dive. His mouth was open, waiting. He did not know if he had seen something or not. The two gunmen were more certain. They had their guns at the ready. They crouched247, looking from Gonzales to the trees behind the dam, waiting for an order.
Slowly the turbulence subsided248 and the ripples249 spread across the lake. The dive had gone deep.
Bond's mouth was dry. He licked his lips, searching the lake with his glass. There was a pink shimmer250 deep down. It wobbled slowly up. Von Hammerstein's body broke the surface. It lay head down, wallowing softly. A foot or so of steel shaft stuck up from below the left shoulder blade and the sun winked251 on the aluminium feathers.
Major Gonzales yelled an order and the two tommy-guns roared and flamed. Bond could hear the crash of the bullets among the trees below him. The Savage shuddered252 against his shoulder and the right-hand man fell slowly forward on his face. Now the other man was running for the lake, his gun still firing from the hip in short bursts. Bond fired and missed and fired again. The man's legs buckled253, but his momentum254 still carried him forward. He crashed into the water. The clenched255 finger went on firing the gun aimlessly up towards the blue sky until the water throttled256 the mechanism257.
The seconds wasted on the extra shot had given Major Gonzales a chance. He had got behind the body of the first gunman and now he opened up on Bond with the tommy-gun. Whether he had seen Bond or was only firing at the flashes from the Savage he was doing well. Bullets zipped into the maple and slivers258 of wood spattered into Bond's face. Bond fired twice. The dead body of the gunman jerked. Too low! Bond reloaded and took fresh aim. A snapped branch fell across his rifle. He shook it free, but now Gonzales was up and running forward to the group of garden furniture. He hurled the iron table on its side and got behind it as two snap shots from Bond kicked chunks259 out of the lawn at his heels. With this solid cover his shooting became more accurate, and burst after burst, now from the right of the table and now from the left, crashed into the maple tree while Bond's single shots clanged against the white iron or whined260 off across the lawn. It was not easy to traverse the telescopic sight quickly from one side of the table to the other and Gonzales was cunning with his changes. Again and again his bullets thudded into the trunk beside and above Bond. Bond ducked and ran swiftly to the right. He would fire, standing, from the open meadow and catch Gonzales off guard. But even as he ran, he saw Gonzales dart261 from behind the iron table. He also had decided to end the stalemate. He was running for the dam to get across and into the woods and come up after Bond. Bond stood and threw up his rifle. As he did so, Gonzales also saw him. He went down on one knee on the dam wall and sprayed a burst at Bond. Bond stood icily, hearing the bullets. The crossed hairs centred on Gonzales's chest. Bond squeezed the trigger. Gonzales rocked. He half got to his feet. He raised his arms and, with his gun still pumping bullets into the sky, dived clumsily face forward into the water.
Bond watched to see if the face would rise. It did not. Slowly he lowered his rifle and wiped the back of his arm across his face.
The echoes, the echoes of much death, rolled to and fro across the valley. Away to the right, in the trees beyond the lake, he caught a glimpse of the two girls running up towards the house. Soon they, if the maids had not already done so, would be on to the State troopers. It was time to get moving.
Bond walked back through the meadow to the lone11 maple. The girl was there. She stood up against the trunk of the tree with her back to him. Her head was cradled in her arms against the tree. Blood was running down the right arm and dripping to the ground, and there was a black stain high up on the sleeve of the dark green shirt. The bow and quiver of arrows lay at her feet. Her shoulders were shaking.
Bond came up behind her and put a protective arm across her shoulders. He said softly: "Take it easy, Judy. It's all over now. How bad's the arm?"
She said in a muffled262 voice: "It's nothing. Something hit me. But that was awful. I didn't - I didn't know it would be like that."
Bond pressed her arm reassuringly. "It had to be done. They'd have got you otherwise. Those were pro24 killers263 - the worst. But I told you this sort of thing was man's work. Now then, let's have a look at your arm. We've got to get going - over the border. The troopers'll be here before long."
She turned. The beautiful wild face was streaked264 with sweat and tears. Now the grey eyes were soft and obedient. She said: "It's nice of you to be like that. After the way I was. I was sort of - sort of wound up."
She held out her arm. Bond reached for the hunting-knife at her belt and cut off her shirtsleeve at the shoulder. There was the bruised, bleeding gash265 of a bullet wound across the muscle. Bond took out his own khaki handkerchief, cut it into three lengths and joined them together. He washed the wound dean with the coffee and whisky, and then took a thick slice of bread from his haversack and bound it over the wound. He cut her shirtsleeve into a sling147 and reached behind her neck to tie the knot. Her mouth was inches from his. The scent of her body had a warm animal tang. Bond kissed her once softly on the lips and once again, hard. He tied the knot. He looked into the grey eyes close to his. They looked surprised and happy. He kissed her again at each corner of the mouth and the mouth slowly smiled. Bond stood away from her and smiled back. He softly picked up her right hand and slipped the wrist into the sling. She said docilely266: "Where are you taking me?"
Bond said: "I'm taking you to London. There's this old man who will want to see you. But first we've got to get over into Canada, and I'll talk to a friend in Ottawa and get your passport straightened out. You'll have to get some clothes and things. It'll take a few days. We'll be staying in a place called the KO-ZEE Motel."
She looked at him. She was a different girl. She said softly: "That'll be nice. I've never stayed in a motel."
Bond bent down and picked up his rifle and knapsack and slung them over one shoulder. Then he hung her bow and quiver over the other, and turned and started up through the meadow.
She fell in behind and followed him, and as she walked she pulled the tired bits of golden-rod out of her hair and undid267 a ribbon and let the pale gold hair fall down to her shoulders.
点击收听单词发音
1 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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2 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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3 confiding | |
adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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4 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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5 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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6 veranda | |
n.走廊;阳台 | |
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7 sneaked | |
v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 );偷偷溜走;(儿童向成人)打小报告;告状 | |
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8 swirled | |
v.旋转,打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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10 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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11 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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12 gleaner | |
n.拾穗的人;割捆机 | |
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13 idiotic | |
adj.白痴的 | |
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14 nominees | |
n.被提名者,被任命者( nominee的名词复数 ) | |
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15 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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16 riddled | |
adj.布满的;充斥的;泛滥的v.解谜,出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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17 crooks | |
n.骗子( crook的名词复数 );罪犯;弯曲部分;(牧羊人或主教用的)弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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18 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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19 gangster | |
n.匪徒,歹徒,暴徒 | |
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20 gangsters | |
匪徒,歹徒( gangster的名词复数 ) | |
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21 convertibility | |
n.可改变性,可变化性;兑换 | |
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22 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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23 shovelled | |
v.铲子( shovel的过去式和过去分词 );锹;推土机、挖土机等的)铲;铲形部份 | |
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24 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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25 mash | |
n.麦芽浆,糊状物,土豆泥;v.把…捣成糊状,挑逗,调情 | |
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26 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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27 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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28 ranch | |
n.大牧场,大农场 | |
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29 repertoire | |
n.(准备好演出的)节目,保留剧目;(计算机的)指令表,指令系统, <美>(某个人的)全部技能;清单,指令表 | |
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30 tinkle | |
vi.叮当作响;n.叮当声 | |
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31 plantation | |
n.种植园,大农场 | |
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32 bust | |
vt.打破;vi.爆裂;n.半身像;胸部 | |
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33 hybrid | |
n.(动,植)杂种,混合物 | |
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34 itched | |
v.发痒( itch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35 cedar | |
n.雪松,香柏(木) | |
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36 shingles | |
n.带状疱疹;(布满海边的)小圆石( shingle的名词复数 );屋顶板;木瓦(板);墙面板 | |
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37 vista | |
n.远景,深景,展望,回想 | |
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38 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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39 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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40 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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41 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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42 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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43 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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44 natty | |
adj.整洁的,漂亮的 | |
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45 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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46 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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47 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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48 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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49 invitingly | |
adv. 动人地 | |
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50 watchful | |
adj.注意的,警惕的 | |
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51 curt | |
adj.简短的,草率的 | |
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52 zipper | |
n.拉链;v.拉上拉链 | |
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53 taut | |
adj.拉紧的,绷紧的,紧张的 | |
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54 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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55 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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56 grimace | |
v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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57 reassurance | |
n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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58 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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59 bluffing | |
n. 威吓,唬人 动词bluff的现在分词形式 | |
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60 curtly | |
adv.简短地 | |
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61 negotiations | |
协商( negotiation的名词复数 ); 谈判; 完成(难事); 通过 | |
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62 spat | |
n.口角,掌击;v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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63 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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64 consul | |
n.领事;执政官 | |
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65 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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66 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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67 sprawl | |
vi.躺卧,扩张,蔓延;vt.使蔓延;n.躺卧,蔓延 | |
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68 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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69 sparsely | |
adv.稀疏地;稀少地;不足地;贫乏地 | |
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70 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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71 wharves | |
n.码头,停泊处( wharf的名词复数 ) | |
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72 zoomed | |
v.(飞机、汽车等)急速移动( zoom的过去式 );(价格、费用等)急升,猛涨 | |
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73 antennae | |
n.天线;触角 | |
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74 diesels | |
柴油( diesel的名词复数 ); 柴油机机车(或船等) | |
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75 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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76 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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77 flirted | |
v.调情,打情骂俏( flirt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 gaily | |
adv.欢乐地,高兴地 | |
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79 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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80 scatters | |
v.(使)散开, (使)分散,驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 );撒 | |
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81 gravel | |
n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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82 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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83 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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84 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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85 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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86 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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87 skidded | |
v.(通常指车辆) 侧滑( skid的过去式和过去分词 );打滑;滑行;(住在)贫民区 | |
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88 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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89 defensive | |
adj.防御的;防卫的;防守的 | |
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90 buck | |
n.雄鹿,雄兔;v.马离地跳跃 | |
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91 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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92 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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93 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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94 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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95 ministry | |
n.(政府的)部;牧师 | |
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96 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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97 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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98 Nazis | |
n.(德国的)纳粹党员( Nazi的名词复数 );纳粹主义 | |
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99 blackmail | |
n.讹诈,敲诈,勒索,胁迫,恫吓 | |
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100 revoked | |
adj.[法]取消的v.撤销,取消,废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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102 commissioner | |
n.(政府厅、局、处等部门)专员,长官,委员 | |
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103 rummaged | |
翻找,搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 ); 已经海关检查 | |
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104 tamped | |
v.捣固( tamp的过去式和过去分词 );填充;(用炮泥)封炮眼口;夯实 | |
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105 aligned | |
adj.对齐的,均衡的 | |
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106 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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107 bunk | |
n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位;废话 | |
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108 stewards | |
(轮船、飞机等的)乘务员( steward的名词复数 ); (俱乐部、旅馆、工会等的)管理员; (大型活动的)组织者; (私人家中的)管家 | |
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109 stew | |
n.炖汤,焖,烦恼;v.炖汤,焖,忧虑 | |
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110 scent | |
n.气味,香味,香水,线索,嗅觉;v.嗅,发觉 | |
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111 masonry | |
n.砖土建筑;砖石 | |
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112 stodgily | |
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113 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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114 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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115 connive | |
v.纵容;密谋 | |
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116 pretences | |
n.假装( pretence的名词复数 );作假;自命;自称 | |
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117 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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118 bulging | |
膨胀; 凸出(部); 打气; 折皱 | |
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119 second-hand | |
adj.用过的,旧的,二手的 | |
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120 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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121 walnut | |
n.胡桃,胡桃木,胡桃色,茶色 | |
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122 camouflage | |
n./v.掩饰,伪装 | |
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123 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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124 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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125 sketch | |
n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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126 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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127 prohibition | |
n.禁止;禁令,禁律 | |
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128 detour | |
n.绕行的路,迂回路;v.迂回,绕道 | |
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129 maple | |
n.槭树,枫树,槭木 | |
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130 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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131 patio | |
n.庭院,平台 | |
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132 kennels | |
n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处,养狗场;狗窝( kennel的名词复数 );养狗场 | |
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133 halfway | |
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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134 aluminium | |
n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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135 luxurious | |
adj.精美而昂贵的;豪华的 | |
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136 offset | |
n.分支,补偿;v.抵消,补偿 | |
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137 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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138 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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139 glucose | |
n.葡萄糖 | |
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140 flask | |
n.瓶,火药筒,砂箱 | |
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141 diluted | |
无力的,冲淡的 | |
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142 automobile | |
n.汽车,机动车 | |
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143 laconic | |
adj.简洁的;精练的 | |
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144 grunts | |
(猪等)作呼噜声( grunt的第三人称单数 ); (指人)发出类似的哼声; 咕哝着说; 石鲈 | |
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145 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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146 slinging | |
抛( sling的现在分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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147 sling | |
vt.扔;悬挂;n.挂带;吊索,吊兜;弹弓 | |
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148 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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149 beaver | |
n.海狸,河狸 | |
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150 farmhouse | |
n.农场住宅(尤指主要住房) | |
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151 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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152 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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154 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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155 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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156 crumpled | |
adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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157 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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158 chipmunks | |
n.金花鼠( chipmunk的名词复数 ) | |
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159 hip | |
n.臀部,髋;屋脊 | |
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160 oyster | |
n.牡蛎;沉默寡言的人 | |
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161 random | |
adj.随机的;任意的;n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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162 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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163 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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164 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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165 twig | |
n.小树枝,嫩枝;v.理解 | |
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166 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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167 trickle | |
vi.淌,滴,流出,慢慢移动,逐渐消散 | |
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168 smack | |
vt.拍,打,掴;咂嘴;vi.含有…意味;n.拍 | |
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169 dented | |
v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 );损害;伤害;挫伤(信心、名誉等) | |
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170 dent | |
n.凹痕,凹坑;初步进展 | |
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171 bruise | |
n.青肿,挫伤;伤痕;vt.打青;挫伤 | |
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172 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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173 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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174 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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175 slung | |
抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 ); 吊挂; 遣送; 押往 | |
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176 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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177 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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178 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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179 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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180 screeching | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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181 muzzles | |
枪口( muzzle的名词复数 ); (防止动物咬人的)口套; (四足动物的)鼻口部; (狗)等凸出的鼻子和口 | |
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182 scampering | |
v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑,惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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183 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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184 plume | |
n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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185 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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186 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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187 pricked | |
刺,扎,戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 ); 刺伤; 刺痛; 使剧痛 | |
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188 concealing | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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189 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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190 converge | |
vi.会合;聚集,集中;(思想、观点等)趋近 | |
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191 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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192 massaging | |
按摩,推拿( massage的现在分词 ) | |
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193 thumping | |
adj.重大的,巨大的;重击的;尺码大的;极好的adv.极端地;非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词);狠打;怦怦地跳;全力支持 | |
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194 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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195 triangular | |
adj.三角(形)的,三者间的 | |
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196 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
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197 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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198 strands | |
n.(线、绳、金属线、毛发等的)股( strand的名词复数 );缕;海洋、湖或河的)岸;(观点、计划、故事等的)部份v.使滞留,使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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199 saliva | |
n.唾液,口水 | |
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200 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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201 warily | |
adv.留心地 | |
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202 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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203 sensuous | |
adj.激发美感的;感官的,感觉上的 | |
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204 puffed | |
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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205 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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206 reassuringly | |
ad.安心,可靠 | |
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207 hood | |
n.头巾,兜帽,覆盖;v.罩上,以头巾覆盖 | |
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208 thighs | |
n.股,大腿( thigh的名词复数 );食用的鸡(等的)腿 | |
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209 grudgingly | |
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210 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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211 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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212 payable | |
adj.可付的,应付的,有利益的 | |
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213 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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214 pony | |
adj.小型的;n.小马 | |
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215 ambled | |
v.(马)缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 );从容地走,漫步 | |
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216 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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217 chattered | |
(人)喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 ); 唠叨; (牙齿)打战; (机器)震颤 | |
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218 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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219 skull | |
n.头骨;颅骨 | |
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220 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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221 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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222 bracelet | |
n.手镯,臂镯 | |
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223 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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224 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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225 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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226 lamely | |
一瘸一拐地,不完全地 | |
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227 bodyguard | |
n.护卫,保镖 | |
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228 spanking | |
adj.强烈的,疾行的;n.打屁股 | |
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229 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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230 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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231 bolster | |
n.枕垫;v.支持,鼓励 | |
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232 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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233 dribbling | |
n.(燃料或油从系统内)漏泄v.流口水( dribble的现在分词 );(使液体)滴下或作细流;运球,带球 | |
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234 pivoted | |
adj.转动的,回转的,装在枢轴上的v.(似)在枢轴上转动( pivot的过去式和过去分词 );把…放在枢轴上;以…为核心,围绕(主旨)展开 | |
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235 obsequiously | |
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236 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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237 jabbering | |
v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 );急促兴奋地说话;结结巴巴 | |
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238 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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239 disintegrated | |
v.(使)破裂[分裂,粉碎],(使)崩溃( disintegrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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240 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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241 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242 pouting | |
v.撅(嘴)( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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243 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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244 slits | |
n.狭长的口子,裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开,撕开( slit的第三人称单数 );在…上开狭长口子 | |
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245 flexed | |
adj.[医]曲折的,屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 );弯曲;(为准备大干而)显示实力;摩拳擦掌 | |
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246 turbulence | |
n.喧嚣,狂暴,骚乱,湍流 | |
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247 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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248 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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249 ripples | |
逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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250 shimmer | |
v./n.发微光,发闪光;微光 | |
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251 winked | |
v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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252 shuddered | |
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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253 buckled | |
a. 有带扣的 | |
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254 momentum | |
n.动力,冲力,势头;动量 | |
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255 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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256 throttled | |
v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 );勒死;使窒息;压制 | |
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257 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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258 slivers | |
(切割或断裂下来的)薄长条,碎片( sliver的名词复数 ) | |
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259 chunks | |
厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 ); (某物)相当大的数量或部分 | |
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260 whined | |
v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 );哀诉,诉怨 | |
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261 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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262 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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263 killers | |
凶手( killer的名词复数 ); 消灭…者; 致命物; 极难的事 | |
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264 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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265 gash | |
v.深切,划开;n.(深长的)切(伤)口;裂缝 | |
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266 docilely | |
adv.容易教地,易驾驶地,驯服地 | |
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267 Undid | |
v. 解开, 复原 | |
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