Without going beyond his fourteen-year-old power of reasoning Peter had a strange and abiding3 faith in the Canadian blue jay tribe. He was a boy's bird, if there ever was one, with his everlasting4 cocksureness, his persevering5 courage and his hundred and one little tricks of outlawry6 and piracy—a bird who was always ready for a fight, never ran away from trouble, and who lived up beautifully to the man-made law, "Do others before others do you." He was a gentleman and a sportsman even if he was a robber and a pest, and Peter loved him.
He could see this particular blue jay very clearly. Shouting voices and the crack of rifles had not frightened him away, and he was making a great commotion7 in the spruce tops, screaming until it seemed his raucous8 cries must split his throat. Then, too, there[42] was the cheerful little sapsucker who persisted in pecking for grubs in the end of the big log behind which Peter and his father were hidden, and two newly mated red squirrels who chattered9 and ran up and down a tree a little farther on, one chasing the other. A big yellow butterfly slowly opened and closed its fan-like wings almost within reach of Peter's hand.
These things kept the madness of utter fear out of the boy's brain. His thin, rather frail10 face was very white; his blue eyes were round, and staring; his body, not so strong as it should have been, was doubled up behind the log, and his heart throbbed11 like a hammer inside him—but his courage was not gone. There were no tear stains about his eyes. In one of his hands he clutched a twisted stick.
From the blue jay and the sapsucker and the yellow butterfly his eyes rested upon the face of Donald McRae, his father. That father, so far back as Peter could remember clearly, had been not only a father, but mother and brother and pal12 as well. "One thing you must live up to all your life, Peter," this father had told him a hundred times, "and that is to be a pal to your own boy when you have one, just as you are now a pal of your dad's. If a dad and his boy are not pals13 they shouldn't have been born." So they had been that, with no secrets between them except one that had led up to this tragedy of today, and which the boy had not yet begun to understand. All he knew was that for some mysterious reason they were fighting for their[43] lives, and were now sheltered behind a log, and that men a little distance away were watching and waiting to kill them with guns.
The man smiled at him and chuckled14 in a way Peter loved. But the smile and the chuckle15 did not hide the flame smoldering16 deep in his eyes, nor the pallid17 tenseness of his face, nor the trickle18 of blood that persisted in running down his cheek and wetting the soft roll of his collar. He was bareheaded and sweaty; his blond hair, very much like Peter's, was wildly disheveled; his hands gripped a gun, and lying on his stomach, he had made himself a loophole by digging leaves and mold from under a crooked19 elbow in the log. Through this he had watched for his enemies. His grin was chummy and companionable as he turned to Peter.
"Everything all right?" he asked. "Not afraid, are you?"
Peter shook his head. "I'm not much scared."
"Getting hungry?"
"No."
"Thirsty?"
"A little—not much."
The man laughed. He did not feel like laughing. But he laughed, fighting to make it appear natural and unstrained.
"You're a trump20, Peter. God knows you're a trump!"
A rifle cracked in the thick fringe of balsams and jack[44] pines a hundred and fifty yards from them, and a bullet struck the log with a sodden21 chug. The man wiped the blood from his cheek with a handkerchief that was stained red.
"Does it hurt, dad?"
"Nothing but a scratch, Peter."
He put his face to the ground and peered under the log again.
Peter changed his position, uncramped his legs and doubled himself up in another fashion, hugging the earth closely. The blue jay was having a fit, and the sapsucker perked22 his bright-eyed little head at him not more than a dozen feet away. He could hear a bird singing, and one of the red squirrels was chattering23 his late afternoon song in a mountain ash tree overhanging the river. Between his knees was a clump24 of violets.
The log was almost at the edge of the river, which was a swollen25 flood, and the stream bent26 itself around like a hairpin27, shutting them in on three sides. That was why they were safe, Peter's father had told him. No living thing could swim it to get behind them, and in front of them was a narrow neck of land which was open and clear right up to the thick edge of the swamp a rifle shot away. Across that open no one had dared to come.
A dozen times during the past hour Peter had wished the river was not there, for it held them prisoners even if it did keep their enemies back. Across it, not much[45] farther away than he could have thrown a stone, was a deep, dense28 forest of primeval darkness, low and swampy29, in which he conceived a thousand hiding-places for himself and his father. Peter's mind sometimes traveled beyond his years, and as he looked at the stream, yearning30 for the safety of the other side, he wondered why the blue jay and the sapsucker and the singing brush sparrow should have wings while they had only legs and arms.
Only wings could carry them over the stream. In the dry months of summer it was not much more than a creek31, with sand bars and pebbly32 shores and polished rocks sticking out of it. Now, in this flood time of spring, it had no shores and was a thing gone mad. It was deep and black, and swept past with a steady, growling33 roar, eating into the banks on its way, uprooting34 trees and slashing35 itself into caldrons of boiling fury where the channel narrowed or where it leaped over the great boulders36 and rock débris of rapids. From where he crouched37 Peter could see one of these places a quarter of a mile below, and there the water was not black but white, and leaped and spouted38 as if huge monsters were churning it. Under ordinary conditions the swollen stream would have lured39 and fascinated him. It came out of a vast and mysterious Canadian wilderness40, and it disappeared into an adventure land of forests equally vast and strange. With it rode many things of interest—huge piles of driftwood, shooting down on the crest41 of the flood like[46] islands; big logs that sped with the swiftness of monster serpents; and great trees, freshly torn out by the roots, and with their tops trailing and swishing like whips urging on a living thing.
Peter was staring at it when a hand rested itself gently on his head. Donald McRae was watching him, and a slow torture had burned itself like the scar of a living coal in his eyes and face. More than the earth he walked upon and more than the God he believed in, he loved this boy. It was Peter, with his thin, quizzical face, and his mind and courage developed beyond his strength and years, who had made life bearable and joyous42 for him. As he had worshiped the mother, linking his soul with hers until it had been taken away, so he worshiped this one precious part of her she had left to him. Without Peter....
He choked back the thickness in his throat as he placed his hand on the boy's head. It was a habit with him to talk with Peter at times as if he were a man, and the man-way in which Peter's eyes met his now gave him courage.
"They won't try to cross that open before dark," he said. "They're afraid of us in the light, Peter. But they'll come when it's dark. And we can't wait for them. We've got to get away."
The boy's face brightened. He had a consummate43 faith in this father of his. He waited, keenly expectant, twisting one of the blue violets between his thin fingers.
[47]
"Does the creek frighten you, son?" asked the man.
"It's pretty swift, but I'm not much scared of it."
"Of course not. You wouldn't be your dad's boy, if you were. See that log down there, the big dry one, half in the water?" He pointed44, and Peter nodded. "When it begins to get dusk we'll crawl down and take a ride on that. It won't be hard to get away."
For the first time a tremor45 came in the boy's voice.
"Dad, what are they trying to shoot us for? What have we done?"
Donald McRae made a pretense46 of peering through his loophole again. He wanted to cry out with the sickness that was in his heart, and in the same voice call down the vengeance47 of God upon the makers48 of that grim and merciless law which at last had come to corner and destroy him where he had built his little cabin home in the edge of the wilderness. It was impossible—now—to answer that question of Peter's, "What have we done?"
He raised his head, and faced his boy.
"It's five o'clock. We'd better have a bite to eat. When we take to the water it will spoil our grub."
From the pocket of a coat which lay at his side he took some biscuits and meat. Peter made a sandwich and munched49 at it, yearning for a little of the black river-water to go with it. When the man had finished he drew from an inside pocket of the same coat a wallet, a pencil and a corked50 bottle half filled with[48] matches. In the wallet he found a sheet of paper, and on this he wrote for several minutes, after which he folded the sheet of paper very tightly, thrust it into the bottle with the matches, and corked it in securely. Then he gave the bottle to Peter.
"Put that in your pocket," he said, "and remember what I'm telling you now, Peter. We're going to make for a place called Five Fingers. A man lives there whose name is Simon McQuarrie. Don't forget those two—Five Fingers and Simon McQuarrie. What I have written and put in the bottle is for him. If anything should happen to me——" He broke in upon himself with a cheerful laugh. "Of course nothing will happen, Peter, but if it should—you promise to take that bottle to him?"
"I'll take it."
"Where?"
"Five Fingers."
"Who?"
"Simon McQuarrie."
"Right. Now keep watch through this hole while I cut some leather strings51 out of the tops of my boots. We may need them to harness the log with when we go to sea. Won't they be surprised when they come and find us gone—eh—Peter?"
"You bet they will!" agreed Peter fervently52.
Quietly he began watching the open through the hole which his father had made under the log. He breathed a little more tensely, for he realized the deadly importance[49] of his vigil. Yesterday one of his ambitions had been to wear a uniform when he was old enough, one with stripes and brass53 buttons, and with a big revolver fastened to a cord hung around his neck. He had looked upon the wilderness police with the awe54 of a youngster who loved romance and adventure. Today he hated them. Only a little while ago he had waited for his father at their cabin, with a good dinner ready for him. Then his father had come, galloping55 on a horse Peter had never seen before.
"I've had a little trouble with the police, Peter, and we've got to hit into the woods," he had said.
The suddenness of it had taken Peter's breath away. They did not wait to eat any of the dinner he had prepared. Even then the police almost caught them before they reached this log. There were four of them. His father had kept them back with his rifle, and Peter was disappointed in his marksmanship. He was sure he could have done better himself. His father missed every time, even though his bullets did go close enough to make their enemies dodge56 behind trees. And always before that he had been proud of his father's shooting!
His hand touched the cool barrel of the rifle, and a thrill ran through him. It was a thing he had never felt before. He was sure he would not miss if he could only be given a chance, for he had often hit rabbits at that distance of a hundred and fifty yards, and a man was many times larger than a rabbit. An inch at a[50] time, slowly and carefully so that his father would not notice what he was doing, he poked57 the barrel of the rifle through the hole. He would be ready, anyway. He had forgotten fear. His blood was hot. His father had always talked to him about playing square, and never taking a mean advantage, and always to fight for women, no matter who they were. Well, there were no women here, but it wasn't playing square when four men came after his father like this. If they would come out, clean and sportsmanlike, one at a time, and fight with fists instead of guns....
"You see, Peter," his father was saying as he cut a thin strip from his boot top, "I couldn't leave you in the cabin alone. I've got to get you down to Five Fingers. If Simon McQuarrie isn't there, you wait for him. And don't show anyone else that paper in the bottle!"
Peter was not listening. His heart had given a sudden terrific jump and was half choking him. In the edge of a clump of dwarf58 banksians something had moved. And then his father turned—just in time to catch his hand, to stop his finger at the trigger, to drag him back from the hole. Never as long as he lived would he forget the terrible look that had come into his father's face. To hide it Donald McRae leaned over his son and hugged him close to his arms, and for a space the law might have descended59 upon them without resistance.
From the shelter of the evergreens61 Corporal Crear[51] of the Provincial62 Police was looking toward the log. His men were lying close about him.
"We've got to go out and get him when it's dark enough," he said. "Don't shoot unless you have to, but if that happens—shoot straight. Only be sure it's not the kid. That's what puzzles me—why McRae has the kid with him out there behind the log!"
Only Donald McRae and Peter could have solved that mystery for Crear, and even then Crear might not have understood. It was something which belonged entirely63 to Peter and his father. As they waited for the sun to dip behind the tall evergreen60 forest across the river, they lay very close together, and their eyes met frequently and their hands and bodies touched.
There was something pathetically doglike in the man's dependence64 upon his boy. Take Peter away from him and his heart was gone, for Peter was the one thing he had left of a great faith and a great love that would never die. More than once a cold fear had swept over him at the thought of something happening to him, and he had always prayed that if anything did happen, it would come to both at the same time. Even now he would not have sent Peter back to the safety of the cabin. That would have meant dissolution for himself—and strangers and a heartbreaking tragedy of aloneness for Peter.
Across the river there was hope, and a refuge for Peter at Five Fingers with Simon McQuarrie. A woman had put an undying faith in the justness of God[52] in Donald McRae's soul, and always there were two things in his breast, faith and memory of the woman, like stars which no darkness could dim. Their glow lay warmly in his eyes as he saw the courage with which the boy waited for the setting of the sun.
As the long shadows came creeping across the river Peter no longer felt the fear which had made his heart beat so uncomfortably fast. His father's presence and the touch of his hand filled him with an utter confidence. The man even pointed out to him the mysteries of an ant home which they had accidentally destroyed in the log, and told him a story of how once upon a time he had gone down a flooded stream like this, and what fun it had been.
Then the shadows came more swiftly. The sun at last left only a golden glow above the forest. The blue jay and the sapsucker were gone. Out of the woods came the melodious65 dusk song of many red squirrels. A flock of crows sailed overhead on their way to the evening roosting place. The rush of the river seemed more gentle and lost its menace for Peter. The churning turmoil66 of the distant rapids was mellowed in a soft mist, and a little later they could not make out clearly the driftwood going down with the stream.
"Now is our time," said Peter's father. "Creep after me, flat on your stomach."
It took them only a minute to reach the big dry log. They could move freely here, for the upward dip of the bank concealed67 them. Donald McRae did not let[53] Peter guess the tension he was under as he worked. He stood his rifle where the police would easily find it and laughed softly as he tied one end of a stout68 leather thong69 about Peter's wrist and the other end about his own. After that he rolled the log into the water and tested it to get its proper balance and tied the other leather thongs70 to a projecting stub.
"It's just right," he announced cheerfully. "A canoe couldn't have been better built for us, Peter. Are you ready?"
"I'm ready," said Peter.
He was in the water to his knees; now he went in to his waist. It was cold, biting cold; his teeth clicked, but he did not say anything about it. He looped his arms about the stub and through one of the leather thongs, and from the opposite side of the log his father twisted the fingers of one hand tightly in his coat. Then they began to move. His feet lost bottom and the cold water shot up to his armpits, taking his breath away. His father grinned cheerfully at him and he tried to grin back. In a moment they were in the current and the shore began to slip past them with amazing swiftness. It was not unpleasant, except for the icy chill of the water, which seemed to take the place of blood in his veins71. There was no resistance against his body; the log carried them buoyantly and smoothly72, so that after a little he had courage to look about him.
Their log had swung quickly into mid-stream, and[54] they were overtaking a more slowly moving mass of driftwood. The thought came to Peter that it was like a race. Then something alive caught his eyes on the flotsam. It was a furry73, catlike creature with short, perky ears and a fox's face, and he could almost have touched it with his hands when they passed.
"A fisher-cat," said his father. "He will have a nice swim when he hits the rapids!"
Peter was wondering just how much of a chance the fisher-cat had when something drifted against him. It was a drowned porcupine74, floating belly75 up. The porky must have had a nice swim, too!
He shivered. The roar of the rapids was growing, and it was no longer pleasant to hear. The musical cadence76 which distance had given it was gone, and a sullen77, snarling78 undertone of menace and wrath79 began to pound at the drums of his ears. In the twilight80 it looked as though they were racing81 straight into the mouth of a huge churn out of which milky82 froth was spouting83.
Then two things happened which seemed odd to Peter. The dead porcupine was clinging to the log as if some sort of life held it there, and the fisher-cat's raft of driftwood which they had overtaken and passed was now passing them. To Peter this last was unaccountable, but to Donald McRae, who understood the whims84 and caprices of flood currents, there was no mystery about it. For a moment the fisher-cat seemed about to make a leap for the log. Then he huddled85 back and disappeared[55] with his raft in the rougher water that preceded the gray wall of spume.
The man's hand tightened86 its hold on Peter.
"Hang on and don't get scared," he cried. "We'll go through this like a rubber ball!"
That was the last Peter heard of his voice, and suddenly his father's face was blotted87 out from his vision. A huge mouth opened and engulfed88 them. He could feel himself going down it, with roaring gloom and mighty89 explosions of water bursting itself against great rocks all about him. For a space which seemed an eternity90 he gave himself up for lost, and he wanted to scream out to his father. But the water smothered91 him. It thrust him under, buried him, then tossed him up to breathe. He hung on, as his father had told him, and after three or four minutes which were so many hours to him he could breathe easier and the roaring grew less.
They had come through a half-mile of the rapids then. The last of the rocks snapped at them, like growling dogs at their heels, and suddenly the water grew deep and smooth where it swung shoreward in a great eddy92. For the first time Peter felt a hurt. It was his father's hand, holding him in a grip that only death could have broken. And then he saw his father's face. Donald McRae was gasping93 for breath. Even Peter would never know the fight he had made to keep the log running right during those three or four minutes in the rapids.
[56]
Slowly the current brought them to the shore. It was the shore they wanted, too, with its deep evergreen forests and its hundreds of miles of untrailed hiding-places. The big pool was dotted with drifting masses of débris. One of these, very near to them, Peter was sure he recognized. But the fisher-cat was no longer on it.
He was terribly cold, and when at last his father brought the end of the log to the shore and helped him out to dry ground the boy fell down in a sodden heap. He was ashamed of himself and tried to get up.
Donald McRae took one of his hands.
"You must walk, Peter—run if you can. Come on!"
He almost dragged him into the darkness of the forest, and Peter began to use his legs. It made him feel better. But his teeth chattered and his body shook as if he had the ague. Two or three hundred yards in the shelter of the timber they came to an overturned spruce tree, and near this was a birch with festoons of loose bark hanging from it.
Donald McRae stripped off an armful of the bark, and one of Peter's blue hands fished out the precious bottle of matches from his pocket. Very soon the flames were leaping up joyously94, and he felt their warmth entering into his body. He helped to gather wood. In a quarter of an hour there was a glow in his face, and the big backlog95 of pitch-filled cedar96 was a flaming furnace. Darkness settled heavily in the forest, and he was no longer afraid or uncomfortable as[57] he continued to dry his clothes. His father, in a period between wood-gathering, cleaned his pipe and began to dry out some of his soaked tobacco. That was cheerful and inspiring. It always seemed chummier and more homelike to Peter when his father was smoking his pipe.
Later they broke off cedar and balsam boughs97 until they had a soft bed two feet deep within the warmth of the fire. When the last thread in his clothing was dry Peter crept into this bed. He had no idea of sleeping but made himself a comfortable nest and sat bright-eyed and watchful98 while his father rested with his back against the log and smoked.
A hundred times they had made camps together that were very much like this one. On hunting and fishing expeditions, and when berries were ripe, and on the trap lines, they had slept out many nights with boughs for a bed. But there had never been the thrill of tonight. The cumulative99 significance of what had happened was just beginning to find itself in Peter's head. This night was different from all other nights. The darkness which had gathered heavily about them was different, the fire did not seem as friendly, and his father, smoking his pipe, was changed. Always in their adventuring they had been in quest of something—fish or venison, berries or fur. Now something was after them. It was this slow process of mental and physical change from the hunter into the hunted, and its understanding, that was creeping into Peter's soul.
[58]
He loved night with its mystery of darkness, its stars and its moon, but now he could feel and hear it breathing secret plottings and danger. When the fire crackled too loudly or its flames leaped too high he shivered, fearing it would betray them. He wondered why his father remained in the light now that they were warm and dry, for there were safer hiding-places in the great pits of gloom that encompassed100 them. But he said nothing, feeling strangely that even to voice fear would bring reality upon them.
He watched his father, and the brightness in his eyes—something new and strange that lay in them—was like a stab to Donald McRae. In this hour he saw the boy's soul changing. Peter, at last, was beginning to build up the truth. Something terrible must have happened—somewhere—or the police would not be after his father. He had believed the police were omniscient101, that they hunted only bad people. That was what they were for—to shut bad people in prisons, or hang them, or shoot them. And they were after his father!
The man saw these things in Peter's eyes and in his pale, thin face. And suddenly a revulsion of horror and of rage swept over Peter. If the police said his father was bad they were liars102. He hated them, and if the chance came to him he would get even with them. He would beat out their lives with a club. He would kill them—if they didn't leave his father alone!
He said nothing. But he got out of his nest in the[59] evergreen boughs and sat close to his father against the log, and Donald McRae put his arm around him and puffed103 hard at his pipe to keep the firelight from revealing what was in his eyes. The world might be against him, but Peter would be like this, his friend and pal to the last. He knew it, and thanked God.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
mellowed
|
|
| （使）成熟( mellow的过去式和过去分词 )； 使色彩更加柔和，使酒更加醇香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
abiding
|
|
| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
persevering
|
|
| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
outlawry
|
|
| 宣布非法，非法化，放逐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
7
commotion
|
|
| n.骚动，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
raucous
|
|
| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
chattered
|
|
| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
pal
|
|
| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
pals
|
|
| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
chuckled
|
|
| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chuckle
|
|
| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
smoldering
|
|
| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
trickle
|
|
| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
trump
|
|
| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sodden
|
|
| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
perked
|
|
| （使）活跃( perk的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）增值； 使更有趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
clump
|
|
| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hairpin
|
|
| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
dense
|
|
| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
swampy
|
|
| adj.沼泽的，湿地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
yearning
|
|
| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
creek
|
|
| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
pebbly
|
|
| 多卵石的，有卵石花纹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
growling
|
|
| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
uprooting
|
|
| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
slashing
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
crouched
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
spouted
|
|
| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
lured
|
|
| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
wilderness
|
|
| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
crest
|
|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
joyous
|
|
| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
consummate
|
|
| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
tremor
|
|
| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
pretense
|
|
| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
vengeance
|
|
| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
makers
|
|
| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
munched
|
|
| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
corked
|
|
| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
fervently
|
|
| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
brass
|
|
| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
galloping
|
|
| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
dodge
|
|
| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
poked
|
|
| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
dwarf
|
|
| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
evergreen
|
|
| n.常青树；adj.四季常青的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
evergreens
|
|
| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
provincial
|
|
| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
dependence
|
|
| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
melodious
|
|
| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
thong
|
|
| n.皮带；皮鞭；v.装皮带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
thongs
|
|
| 的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
smoothly
|
|
| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
furry
|
|
| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
porcupine
|
|
| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
belly
|
|
| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
cadence
|
|
| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
snarling
|
|
| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
racing
|
|
| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
milky
|
|
| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
spouting
|
|
| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
WHIMS
|
|
| 虚妄，禅病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
huddled
|
|
| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
tightened
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
blotted
|
|
| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
engulfed
|
|
| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
eternity
|
|
| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
smothered
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
eddy
|
|
| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
gasping
|
|
| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
backlog
|
|
| n.积压未办之事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
cedar
|
|
| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
cumulative
|
|
| adj.累积的，渐增的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
encompassed
|
|
| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
omniscient
|
|
| adj.无所不知的；博识的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
liars
|
|
| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |