I suppose some fifty-odd people came in and dropped letters into those slots in the next fifteen minutes, nearly all of them men; and the look of astonishment46 and disgust on Kate's face was something to see. Because just about every last man, without breaking stride, aimed a shot of thick brown tobacco juice at one of the several dozen cuspidors scattered47 around the big floor. Some were expert, hitting the mark squarely and audibly, then walking on toward or past us looking pleased and self-satisfied. Others missed by a foot or more, and now, our eyes used to the gloom of the feeble lighting, we saw that the floor was soiled everywhere you looked; and I saw Kate reach down the side of one leg, gather up her skirts, and stand holding them a good two inches from the floor. We waited, minute after minute, people streaming in and out, the squeak48 and clatter25 of the hinged brass flaps of the many letter drops almost never entirely49 stopping. I was sure Kate was picturing, as I was, the blue envelope, singed50 at one end, covered on the back with a man's last words. Were we about to see it again? Maybe not; it was possible that it had been posted at an outside mailbox, and at the thought I was instantly certain it had been, that we were never going to see "the sending of" the letter that would "cause the Destruction by Fire of the entire World...." And then here he came, at ten minutes of six by the big lobby clock, shoving through the heavy doors. Here he came, walking fast and full of purpose, a black-bearded round-bellied John Bull of a man, and the excitement flared51 so that for an instant I literally52 could not see. Filling my vision now, here he came heading across the great tiled floor directly for us, and his hairy right hand held the long slim robin's-egg-blue envelope. His stubby, flat-topped plug hat hung jauntily53 on the back of his head; and his unbuttoned overcoat, swept behind him by the speed of his walk, exposed the long curve of his belly55 shoved belligerently56 forward. His chin was lifted, thrusting his stiff beard almost horizontally outward as though he were defying the world, and a corner of his mouth gripped a cigar butt54, lifting his lip so that he appeared to be snarling57. He was an imposing58 and memorable59 man, and he didn't see me, didn't see anyone; his brown fierce little eyes looked straight ahead, lost in his own concerns and purpose and the importance of the act he was about to perform. And then we saw what we had come across the years to see. He thrust the long blue envelope toward the brass slot marked CITY and there was an instant when I had a glimpse of its face. I saw the strange green stamp, slightly tilted60 to the right; saw it in memory, canceled, and saw it in actuality, queerly unmarked; saw the slanted61 script, old and browning in memory, fresh-written and sharply black in actuality, but reading identically: Andrew W. Carmody, Esq., 589 Fifth Avenue.... The end of the envelope, unsinged and unopened now, pushed the brass flap inward, the hand holding it turned at the wrist, a diamond ring gleaming. Then the blue envelope was gone, the brass flap still swinging, its mysterious journey toward the future begun. The man had turned on his heel, was walking swiftly toward the outer doors, and—that was all we'd come to see but we simply weren't able to let him walk out and away, into the night and lost forever—Kate and I stepped forward to follow.
We pushed through the doors, and it was dark out now. Our man turned north, back the way we'd come, walking along the Broadway side of the post office. We followed, watching him pass through the yellowy circles at the base of each streetlamp, the light sliding along the silk curves of his hat. Beyond the curb62 Broadway lay in almost complete darkness, its traffic still noisy but much less heavy. And now the traffic was dim shapes and moving shadows visible only in bits and pieces. You'd see a fan shape of muddy spokes revolving63 through the swaying light of a lantern slung64 from a van's axle, but the wagon31 itself and its driver and team would be lost in the blackness; or see the shine of a silvery door handle and the waxed curve of a jouncing carriage body under its own flickering65 side lamp, and nothing more of it. Across the dark street, the windows and doorways66 of business houses were almost dark, their shapes silhouetted67 only by turned-down night-lights. Pedestrians—the last of the office workers, I supposed—hurried past us, their faces yellowing and coming momentarily clear as they approached and passed through the cones69 of dim street-lighting, pale and almost lost in the in-between blackness. Across the street a man, a dark blur70 against the dimly lighted doorways and windows, carried a pole, and with this, as he walked, he reached up into each dark streetlamp, touching71 it into light. I'd felt Kate's arm tighten72 under mine, drawing my arm closer to her side, and I understood why. This strange dim street, still clattering73 steel against cobble in a blackness relieved by squares, rectangles and cones of vague light whose very color was strange, had me uneasy, too. And yet— oh, God, just to be here!—something in me responded to it and the mystery of the hurrying, dimly seen people around us, and I knew Rube Prien had been right: This was the greatest possible adventure. My arm squeezed down on Kate's, halting her beside me. Just beyond a streetlamp ahead, our man had abruptly turned to the curb and stepped out into the street. Now he stood within the slightly trembling circle of light on the cobbles, hat gleaming on the back of his head, belly jutting74, looking past us to the south, his head moving from side to side trying to see through the oncoming traffic in the unmistakable attitude of a man impatiently searching for a bus. Vague in the dark of the street beside us, a heavy wagon trundled past. Kate and I watched its lantern jolting75 and swaying under the rear axle, watched its heavy black bulk clatter toward the puddle76 of yellow light ahead and the man standing inside it. The driver stood up, sharply silhouetted for us against the streetlight ahead. He was shouting, cursing, and we saw his arm move fast and heard the crack of his whip. The man standing in the street facing him lifted his head, jutting his beard, and we stood watching him stare up at the driver high above him without a change of expression and without budging77 or intention to budge78. We stared at the driver's back, saw his whip arm lift high in threat. Then we saw the move of his left shoulder as he twitched79 his left rein17. And under the lamp the horse and then the wagon curved around the man on the street. The upraised whip passed directly over the shining hat; but neither whip nor the man under it moved. Then, disappearing into the darkness ahead, the driver shouted an obscenity over his shoulder, and our man tossed back his head and—I thought his hat would tumble down his back, but it did not—he laughed. We'd had to resume our walk, slowing our pace, but we were very nearly abreast80 of him as he peered once more to the south, then swung impatiently away toward the curb. "A bus?" he said, as though suddenly astonished. "Why should I ever wait for a bus again!" He stepped up onto thewalk, Kate and I looking out into the street pretending to ignore him; he was only a step ahead of us now. He turned to walk rapidly north, and we stopped, giving him time to draw ahead. He didn't go far. We stood waiting, watching, and he walked quickly along a row of four or five hansom cabs lined up to the street corner ahead, and stopped at the first in line. "Home!" he said, his voice ringing out happy and exuberant81 as he reached for the door handle. "All the way home, and in style!" "And where might that be?" The faint silhouette68 of the driver leaned over the side of his exposed seat, his voice sardonic82. "Nineteen Gramercy Park," the man said, climbing in; then the cab door slammed, I heard the driver cluck at his horse, heard the reins83 crack, and stood watching the cab pull out and into the thin stream of wavering lamps and lanterns. I turned to Kate, but she was staring at the walk. At the base of a curbside wooden telegraph pole lay a half oval of snow out of the pedestrian path, protected by the pole and still untouched. The patch of snow lay just within the circle of pale light from a streetlamp, and at the edge of the patch, sharply and clearly impressed in the snow, was a replica84 in miniature of the tombstone whose photograph Kate had shown me over the grave of Andrew Carmody outside Gillis, Montana. Almost matter-of-factly Kate murmured, "It'impossible." She looked up at me. "It's impossible!"shesaidagain,hervoicesuddenlyangr(s) y, and I knew what she felt; this was so far from any sensible explanation that it made you mad, and I nodded. "I know," I said. "But there it is." And there it still was; we bent85 forward to stare at it. All we could do was stand looking at that shape in the snow; straight-edged at bottom and sides, the top perfectly86 rounded in a cartoonist's tombstone shape, and, in its interior, the design formed of dozens of tiny dots, a nine-pointed star contained in a circle. The cab was long gone when I looked up, lost in the traffic and dark. I stood staring, eyes narrowed, but I wasn't looking after it. A second or so before, above the iron rattle27 of the thinning Broadway street traffic, I'd heard a sound, a familiar sound at the very edge of my attention, and now I realized what it had been. I said, "Kate, would you like a drink? In front of a great big fire?" "Yes. Oh, my God, yes," she said, and I took her arm, and we walked half a dozen yards ahead to the corner. Across the street one of the illuminated87 signs framing the streetlamp read BROADWAY, the other PARK PLACE. And a short block west on Park Place I saw the source of that familiar clackety-racketing sound. Its three tall slim windows were lighted redly, the familiar gabled shape of its roof black against the night sky: There, perched over the street, was an El station like an old old friend. We crossed Broadway—it wasn't hard now, the traffic sparse—and on the other side I turned to look back. This was a dark city, but just beyond the rear of the post office on the far side of CityHall Park I saw a five-story building that still stands in twentieth-century New York. But now the upper floors were brilliant with the light of hundreds of gas jets. Carved in the stone of the side of the building, clearly readable in the light streaming out the upper windows, was THE NEW YORK TIMES. They were up there now—I could walk back, climb a wooden staircase, and actually see them—derbied reporters scribbling88 in longhand; dozens and dozens of typesetters in sleeve protectors standing in long rows plucking type letter by letter from wooden cases, their hands blurred89 by motion as they set every word, sentence, paragraph, column and page of what would presently be, ink still wet, tomorrow morning's New York Times. They were there now as I stared across the darkness at those brilliantly lighted windows, preparing a paper I might already and long since have seen brown and crumbling90 at the edges, lying forgotten in an old file. I shivered, turning away, and we walked on a short block to the El station. As I climbed the steps, even the ironwork of the railings seemed wonderfully familiar. I'd visited New York often as a boy, ridden the El many times. And now here again, inside the little station, were the bare worn floorboards, the wooden tongue-and-groove walls, the little scooped-out wooden shelf projecting from under the change-booth window, grained and polished from ten thousand hands. There was a cuspidor on this floor and the station was lighted by a single tin-shaded kerosene91 ceiling lamp. But even the dimness was familiar; as late as the 1950's I'd been in stations just like this. I shoved two nickels in through the little half-moon hole at the bottom of the wide-meshed grill92 between me and the mustached man in the booth. He took them without looking up from his paper, and shoved out two printed tickets. Then we walked out to the platform, and for just an instant it was once again a tiny shock to see the dozen or so passengers: the women in skirts that nearly brushed the platform, wearing bonnets93 and shawls, some carrying muffs; and the whiskered men in their derbies, silk hats, and fur hats, smoking cigars, carrying canes94. Then a whistle toottoot-tooted, a high happy sound, we turned to look down the tracks, and I was astounded95. Martin had told me, shown me pictures, but I'd forgotten; a short, squat96, toy locomotive was chuffchuffing toward us, red sparks flaring97 into the night from its miniature stack. Its brakes grabbed, the chuff-chuff slowing, white steam jetting from its sides, and the train—engineer leaning out its side window—slid into the station and on past us. There were three cars, enameled98 light green and trimmed with gilt arabesques99. Inside, seats ran the length of the car; they were upholstered in brown, and at intervals100 along the backs New York Elevated Rail Road was elaborately woven into the cloth; there was a kerosene ceiling lamp at each end of the car. We'd hardly sat down before a conductor in a low-crowned, flat-brimmed uniform cap came through, walking fast, collecting tickets. The car was nearly filled, but once more I was used to the way people looked, and glancing at Kate's face, I could see that she was, too. It didn't pop into my mind that the brown-bearded man directly across the aisle101 from us might be going to a wedding; the shiny silk topper he wore was the hat he wore every day, of course, like many another man in this very car. Next to him, staring absently into space, sat a woman wearing a navy-blue scarf tied under her chin, brown knit shawl, a long dark-green dress, and—I caught a glimpse—between the end of her skirt and the tops of herblack button shoes she wore heavy white knit stockings with broad horizontal red stripes. But I could see more than the clothes now; I could see the girl who wore them. And see that in spite of the clothes she was young and pretty. I even thought I could tell—I don't know how, but I thought so—that she had a nice figure. Kate was nudging me. "No ads." She nodded toward the spaces over the windows. I looked, and said, "I wonder how long before some genius thinks of them?" We'd taken a right-angled curve to the left almost immediately after starting up, then a curve to the right a block or so farther on. I didn't know where we were, or what street we were over now. But we were heading in the right direction, steadily102 and rapidly north, stopping for only seconds at each station. We were no longer curious about the people around us, but just sat staring out the windows. We were facing west, and looking past the shiny topper of the man opposite, I peered through the shiny window out at the strange nighttime New York sliding past us. There were lights, thousands of them, but of no brightness: these were thousands of tiny flecks103 affecting the darkness not at all; they were gaslights, most of them, white at this distance and almost steady; but there was candlelight, too, and, I supposed, kerosene. No colors, no neon, nothing to read, just a vast blackness pricked104 with lights, and all of them, I realized, below us. This was a Manhattan in which we looked out over the rooftops, its tallest structures the dozens of church spires105 silhouetted against—yes, the Hudson River, just becoming visible under a rising moon. A few minutes later—we couldn't the moon, but it was higher now—the river brightened,itsdarksurfaceglinting,andsuddenl(see) y I saw the darker bulk of sailing ships anchored offshore106, and the silhouettes107 of their bare masts. I shivered then, staring out that window at the strangeness of the city flowing past. This was Manhattan and there lay the Hudson, but I was a very long way from anything I knew. We got off at the last stop, Sixth Avenue and Fifty-ninth Street, only a block from where we'd come out of Central Park this afternoon. We crossed the street and again entered the park, walking through it silently, postponing108 anything we had to say till we reached the sanctuary109 of the Dakota; we could see it far ahead, towering alone against the moonlit sky. Then Kate and I sat in my living room, our second drinks in our hands: good stiff drinks, whiskey and water. The fire was going again, and we'd said, and then said once more, all there was to say about the blue envelope and the man who'd mailed it, and the tiny image of the Gillis tombstone marked in the snow. Now, after a little silence, I said, "What's the one single thing of all you saw that made the strongest impression? The streets, the people? The buildings? The way the city looked from the El?"Kate took a sip110 of her drink, thinking, then said, "No; their faces." I looked at her questioningly. "They aren't like the faces we're used to," she said, shaking her head as though I were disputing her. "The faces we saw today were different." I thought possibly she was right, but I said, "An illusion. They dress so differently. The women have hardly any makeup111. The men have beards, chin whiskers, side-whiskers—" "It's not that, Si, and we're used to beards. Their faces are actually different; think about it." I sipped112 at my drink, then said, "You may be right. I think you are. But different how?" We couldn't say, either of us. But staring at the fire, sipping113 my drink and remembering the faces we'd seen—on the bus, the sidewalks of Fifth Avenue, on the El, in the gaslighted marbleand-dark-wood lobby of that strange vanished post office—I knew Kate was right. Then I realized something: "Vanished," I'd just said to myself, and I looked over at Kate. Testing her impression, I said, "Katie, where are we? What's outside the windows right now? Are we in 1882 still?" For a moment she considered it, then shook her head. "Why not?" "Because..." She shrugged114. "Because we came back, that's all. We were finished, so we came back to the apartment, and we came back in our minds, too." Suddenly doubtful, she said, "Haven't we?" We got up and, glasses in hand, walked over to the windows and looked down into the blackness of Central Park, hesitating. Then we leaned forward and, foreheads touching the windowpane, looked straight down into the street. And saw the long string of traffic lights, red as far as we could see in both directions. They all flicked115 green, the cars starting up, and a cab horn shrieked116 in rage at a car speeding out of the Park to beat the light at Seventy-second. I turned to Kate, shrugging, lifting my drink to finish it. "Yep," I said. "We're back."
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1
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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rhythmical
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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residential
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| adj.提供住宿的；居住的；住宅的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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13
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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slewing
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| n.快速定向，快速瞄准v.（尤指在协议或建议中）规定，约定，讲明（条件等）( stipulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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tandem
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| n.同时发生；配合；adv.一个跟着一个地；纵排地；adj.（两匹马）前后纵列的 | |
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maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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35
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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36
lumbered
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| 砍伐（lumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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38
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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40
ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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41
shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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42
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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43
pennant
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| n.三角旗；锦标旗 | |
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44
pebbled
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| 用卵石铺（pebble的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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45
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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46
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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47
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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48
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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49
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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50
singed
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的过去式和过去分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿] | |
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51
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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54
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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55
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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56
belligerently
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57
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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58
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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59
memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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60
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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61
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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62
curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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63
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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64
slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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65
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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66
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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67
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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69
cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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70
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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71
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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72
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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73
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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74
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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75
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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76
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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77
budging
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的现在分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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78
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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79
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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80
abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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81
exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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82
sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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83
reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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84
replica
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| n.复制品 | |
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85
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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86
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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88
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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89
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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90
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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91
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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92
grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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93
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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94
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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95
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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96
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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97
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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98
enameled
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| 涂瓷釉于，给…上瓷漆，给…上彩饰( enamel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
arabesques
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| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
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100
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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101
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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102
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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103
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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104
pricked
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| 刺，扎，戳( prick的过去式和过去分词 )； 刺伤； 刺痛； 使剧痛 | |
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105
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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106
offshore
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| adj.海面的，吹向海面的；adv.向海面 | |
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107
silhouettes
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| 轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 )； （人的）体形； （事物的）形状； 剪影 | |
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108
postponing
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| v.延期，推迟( postpone的现在分词 ) | |
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109
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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110
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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111
makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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112
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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114
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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115
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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116
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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