Hostile Takeover
JULY 11 TO DECEMBER 30
Ninety-two percent of women in Sweden who have been subjected to sexual assault have not reported the most recent violent incident to the police.
CHAPTER 24
Friday, July 11–Saturday, July 12
Martin Vanger bent1 down and went through Mikael’s pockets. He took the key.
“Smart of you to change the lock,” he said. “I’m going to take care of your girlfriend when she gets back.”
Blomkvist reminded himself that Martin was a negotiator experienced from many industrial battles. He had already seen through one bluff2.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why all of this?” Blomkvist gestured vaguely3 at the space around him.
Martin bent down and put one hand under Blomkvist’s chin, lifting his head so their eyes met.
“Because it’s so easy,” he said. “Women disappear all the time. Nobody misses them. Immigrants. Whores from Russia. Thousands of people pass through Sweden every year.”
He let go of Blomkvist’s head and stood up.
Martin’s words hit Blomkvist like a punch in the face.
Christ Almighty4. This is no historical mystery. Martin Vanger is murdering women today. And I wandered right into it…
“As it happens, I don’t have a guest right now. But it might amuse you to know that while you and Henrik sat around babbling5 this winter and spring, there was a girl down here. Irina from Belarus. While you sat and ate dinner with me, she was locked up in the cage down here. It was a pleasant evening as I remember, no?”
Martin perched on the table, letting his legs dangle6. Blomkvist shut his eyes. He suddenly felt acid in his throat and he swallowed hard. The pain in his gut7 and in his ribs8 seemed to swell9.
“What do you do with the bodies?”
“I have my boat at the dock right below here. I take them a long way out to sea. Unlike my father, I don’t leave traces. But he was smart too. He spread his victims out all over Sweden.”
The puzzle pieces were falling into place.
Gottfried Vanger. From 1949 until 1965. Then Martin Vanger, starting in 1966 in Uppsala.
“You admire your father.”
“He was the one who taught me. He initiated10 me when I was fourteen.”
“Uddevalla. Lea Persson.”
“Aren’t you clever? Yes, I was there. I only watched, but I was there.”
“1964. Sara Witt in Ronneby.”
“I was sixteen. It was the first time I had a woman. My father taught me. I was the one who strangled her.”
He’s bragging11. Good Lord, what a revoltingly sick family.
“You can’t have any notion of how demented this is.”
“You are a very ordinary little person, Mikael. You would not be able to understand the godlike feeling of having absolute control over someone’s life and death.”
“You enjoy torturing and killing12 women, Martin.”
“I don’t think so really. If I do an intellectual analysis of my condition, I’m more of a serial13 rapist than a serial murderer. In fact, most of all I’m a serial kidnapper14. The killing is a natural consequence, so to speak, because I have to hide my crime.
“Of course my actions aren’t socially acceptable, but my crime is first and foremost a crime against the conventions of society. Death doesn’t come until the end of my guests’ visits here, after I’ve grown weary of them. It’s always so fascinating to see their disappointment.”
“Disappointment?”
“Exactly. Disappointment. They imagine that if they please me, they’ll live. They adapt to my rules. They start to trust me and develop a certain camaraderie15 with me, hoping to the very end that this camaraderie means something. The disappointment comes when it finally dawns on them that they’ve been well and truly screwed.”
Martin walked around the table and leaned against the steel cage.
“You with your bourgeois16 conventions would never grasp this, but the excitement comes from planning a kidnapping. They’re not done on impulse—those kinds of kidnappers17 invariably get caught. It’s a science with thousands of details that I have to weigh. I have to identify my prey18, map out her life, who is she, where does she come from, how can I make contact with her, what do I have to do to be alone with my prey without revealing my name or having it turn up in any future police investigation19?”
Shut up, for God’s sake, Blomkvist thought.
“Are you really interested in all this, Mikael?”
He bent down and stroked Blomkvist’s cheek. The touch was almost tender.
“You realise that this can only end one way? Will it bother you if I smoke?”
“You could offer me a cigarette,” he said.
Martin lit two cigarettes and carefully placed one of them between Blomkvist’s lips, letting him take a long drag.
“Thanks,” Blomkvist said, automatically.
Martin Vanger laughed again.
“You see. You’ve already started to adapt to the submission20 principle. I hold your life in my hands, Mikael. You know that I can dispatch you at any second. You pleaded with me to improve your quality of life, and you did so by using reason and a little good manners. And you were rewarded.”
Blomkvist nodded. His heart was pounding so hard it was almost unbearable21.
At 11:15 Lisbeth Salander drank the rest of the water from her PET bottle as she turned the pages. Unlike Blomkvist, who earlier in the day had choked on his coffee, she didn’t get the water down the wrong way. On the other hand, she did open her eyes wide when she made the connection.
Click!
For two hours she had been wading22 through the staff newsletters from all points of the compass. The main newsletter was Company Information. It bore the Vanger logo—a Swedish banner fluttering in the wind, with the point forming an arrow. The publication was presumably put together by the firm’s advertising23 department, and it was filled with propaganda that was supposed to make the employees feel that they were members of one big family.
In association with the winter sports holiday in February 1967, Henrik Vanger, in a magnanimous gesture, had invited fifty employees from the main office and their families to a week’s skiing holiday in H?rjedalen. The company had made record profits during the previous year. The PR department went too and put together a picture report.
Many of the pictures with amusing captions24 were from the slopes. Some showed groups in the bar, with laughing employees hoisting26 beer mugs. Two photographs were of a small morning function when Henrik Vanger proclaimed Ulla-Britt Mogren to be the Best Office Worker of the Year. She was given a bonus of five hundred kronor and a glass bowl.
The ceremony was held on the terrace of the hotel, clearly right before people were thinking of heading back to the slopes. About twenty people were in the picture.
On the far right, just behind Henrik Vanger, stood a man with long blond hair. He was wearing a dark padded jacket with a distinctive27 patch at the shoulder. Since the publication was in black-and-white, the colour wasn’t identifiable, but Salander was willing to bet her life that the shoulder patch was red.
The caption25 explained the connection. …far right, Martin Vanger (19), who is studying in Uppsala. He is already being discussed as someone with a promising28 future in the company’s management.
“Gotcha,” Salander said in a low voice.
She switched off the desk lamp and left the newsletters in piles all over the desk—something for that slut Lindgren to take care of tomorrow.
She went out to the car park through a side door. As it closed behind her, she remembered that she had promised to tell the night watchman when she left. She stopped and let her eyes sweep over the car park. The watchman’s office was on the other side of the building. That meant that she would have to walk all the way round to the other side. Let sleeping dogs lie, she decided29.
Before she put on her helmet, she turned on her mobile and called Blomkvist’s number. She got a message saying that the subscriber31 could not be reached. But she also saw that he had tried to call her no fewer than thirteen times between 3:30 and 9:00. In the last two hours, no call.
Salander tried the cottage number, but there was no answer. She frowned, strapped32 on her computer, put on her helmet, and kick-started the motorcycle. The ride from the main office at the entrance to Hedestad’s industrial district out to Hedeby Island took ten minutes. A light was on in the kitchen.
Salander looked around. Her first thought was that Blomkvist had gone to see Frode, but from the bridge she had already noticed that the lights were off in Frode’s house on the other side of the water. She looked at her watch: 11:40.
She went into the cottage, opened the wardrobe, and took out the two PCs that she was using to store the surveillance pictures from the cameras she had installed. It took her a while to run up the sequence of events.
At 15:32 Blomkvist entered the cabin.
At 16:03 he took his coffee cup out to the garden. He had a folder35 with him, which he studied. He made three brief telephone calls during the hour he spent out in the garden. The three calls corresponded exactly to calls she had not answered.
At 17:21 Blomkvist left the cottage. He was back less than fifteen minutes later.
At 18:20 he went to the gate and looked in the direction of the bridge.
At 21:03 he went out. He had not come back.
Salander fast-forwarded through the pictures from the other PC, which photographed the gate and the road outside the front door. She could see who had gone past during the day.
At 19:12 Nilsson came home.
At 19:42 the Saab that belonged to ?sterg?rden drove towards Hedestad.
At 20:02 the Saab was on its way back.
At 21:00 Martin Vanger’s car went by. Three minutes later Blomkvist left the house.
At 21:50, Martin Vanger appeared in the camera’s viewfinder. He stood at the gate for over a minute, looking at the house, then peering through the kitchen window. He went up to the porch and tried the door, taking out a key. He must have discovered that they had put in a new lock. He stood still for a moment before he turned on his heel and left the house.
Salander felt an ice-cold fear in her gut.
Martin Vanger once again left Blomkvist alone. He was still in his uncomfortable position with his hands behind his back and his neck fastened by a thin chain to an eyelet in the floor. He fiddled36 with the handcuffs, but he knew that he would not be able to get them off. The cuffs37 were so tight that his hands were numb30.
He had no chance. He shut his eyes.
He did not know how much time had passed when he heard Martin’s footsteps again. He appeared in Blomkvist’s field of vision. He looked worried.
“Uncomfortable?” he said.
“Very,” said Blomkvist.
“You’ve only got yourself to blame. You should have gone back to Stockholm.”
“Why do you kill, Martin?”
“It’s a choice that I made. I could discuss the moral and intellectual aspects of what I do; we could talk all night, but it wouldn’t change anything. Try to look at it this way: a human being is a shell made of skin keeping the cells, blood, and chemical components38 in place. Very few end up in the history books. Most people succumb39 and disappear without a trace.”
“You kill women.”
“Those of us who murder for pleasure—I’m not the only one with this hobby—we live a complete life.”
“But why Harriet? Your own sister?”
In a second Martin grabbed him by the hair.
“What happened to her, you little bastard40? Tell me.”
“What do you mean?” Blomkvist gasped41. He tried to turn his head to lessen42 the pain in his scalp. The chain tightened43 round his neck.
“You and Salander. What have you come up with?”
“Let go, for heaven’s sake. We’re talking.”
Martin Vanger let go of his hair and sat cross-legged in front of Blomkvist. He took a knife from his jacket and opened it. He set the point against the skin just below Blomkvist’s eye. Blomkvist forced himself to meet Martin’s gaze.
“What the hell happened to her, bastard?”
“I don’t understand. I thought you killed her.”
Martin Vanger stared at Blomkvist for a long moment. Then he relaxed. He got up and wandered around the room, thinking. He threw the knife on the floor and laughed before he came back to face Blomkvist.
“Harriet, Harriet, always Harriet. We tried…to talk to her. Gottfried tried to teach her. We thought that she was one of us and that she would accept her duty, but she was just an ordinary…cunt. I had her under control, or so I thought, but she was planning to tell Henrik, and I realised that I couldn’t trust her. Sooner or later she was going to tell someone about me.”
“You killed her.”
“I wanted to kill her. I thought about it, but I arrived too late. I couldn’t get over to the island.”
Blomkvist’s brain was with difficulty trying to absorb this information, but it felt as if a message had popped up with the words INFORMATION OVERLOAD44. Martin Vanger did not know what had happened to his sister.
All of a sudden Martin pulled his mobile telephone out of his pocket, glanced at the display, and put it on the chair next to the pistol.
“It’s time to stop all this. I have to dispose of your anorexic bitch tonight too.”
He took out a narrow leather strap33 from a cupboard and slipped it around Blomkvist’s neck, like a noose45. He loosened the chain that held him shackled46 to the floor, hauled him to his feet, and shoved him towards the wall. He slipped the leather strap through a loop above Blomkvist’s head and then tightened it so that he was forced to stand on tiptoes.
“Is that too tight? Can you breathe?” He loosened it a notch47 and locked the other end of the strap in place, further down the wall. “I don’t want you to suffocate48 all at once.”
The noose was cutting so hard into Blomkvist’s throat that he was incapable49 of uttering a word. Martin looked at him attentively50.
Abruptly51 he unzipped Blomkvist’s trousers and tugged52 them down, along with his boxer53 shorts. As he pulled them off, Blomkvist lost his foothold and dangled54 for a second from the noose before his toes again made contact with the floor. Martin went over to a cupboard and took out a pair of scissors. He cut off Blomkvist’s T-shirt and tossed the bits on the floor. Then he took up a position some distance away from Mikael and regarded his victim.
“I’ve never had a boy in here,” Martin said in a serious voice. “I’ve never touched another man, as a matter of fact…except for my father. That was my duty.”
Blomkvist’s temples were pounding. He could not put his weight on his feet without being strangled. He tried to use his fingers to get a grip on the concrete wall behind him, but there was nothing to hold on to.
“It’s time,” Martin Vanger said.
He put his hand on the strap and pulled down. Blomkvist instantly felt the noose cutting into his neck.
“I’ve always wondered how a man tastes.”
He increased the pressure on the noose and leaned forward to kiss Blomkvist on the lips at the same time that a cold voice cut through the room.
“Hey, you fucking creep, in this shithole I’ve got a monopoly on that one.”
Blomkvist heard Salander’s voice through a red fog. He managed to focus his eyes enough to see her standing55 in the doorway56. She was looking at Martin Vanger without expression.
“No…run,” he croaked57.
He could not see the look on Martin’s face, but he could almost physically58 feel the shock when he turned around. For a second, time stood still. Then Martin reached for the pistol he had left on the chair.
Salander took three swift strides forward and swung a golf club she had hidden at her side. The iron flew in a wide arc and hit Martin on the collarbone near his shoulder. The blow had a terrible force, and Blomkvist heard something snap. Martin howled.
“Do you like pain, creep?” Salander said.
Her voice was as rough as sandpaper. As long as Blomkvist lived, he would never forget her face as she went on the attack. Her teeth were bared like a beast of prey. Her eyes were glittering, black as coal. She moved with the lightning speed of a tarantula and seemed totally focused on her prey as she swung the club again, striking Martin in the ribs.
He stumbled over the chair and fell. The pistol tumbled to the floor at Salander’s feet. She kicked it away.
Then she struck for the third time, just as Martin Vanger was trying to get to his feet. She hit him with a loud smack59 on the hip60. A horrible cry issued from Martin’s throat. The fourth blow struck him from behind, between the shoulder blades.
“Lis…uuth…” Blomkvist gasped.
He was about to pass out, and the pain in his temples was almost unbearable.
She turned to him and saw that his face was the colour of a tomato, his eyes were open wide, and his tongue was popping out of his mouth.
She looked about her and saw the knife on the floor. Then she spared a glance at Martin Vanger, who was trying to crawl away from her, one arm hanging. He would not be making any trouble for the next few seconds. She let go of the golf club and picked up the knife. It had a sharp point but a dull edge. She stood on her toes and frantically61 sawed at the leather strap to get it off. It took several seconds before Blomkvist sank to the floor. But the noose was pulled tighter round his neck.
Salander looked again at Martin Vanger. He was on his feet but doubled over. She tried to dig her fingers under the noose. At first she did not dare cut it, but finally she slipped the point of the knife underneath62, scoring Blomkvist’s neck as she tried to expand the noose. At last it loosened and Blomkvist took several shaky, wheezing63 breaths.
For a moment Blomkvist had a sensation of his body and soul uniting. He had perfect vision and could make out every speck64 of dust in the room. He had perfect hearing and registered every breath, every rustle65 of clothing, as if they were entering his ears through a headset, and he was aware of the odour of Salander’s sweat and the smell of leather from her jacket. Then the illusion burst as blood began streaming to his head.
Salander turned her head just as Martin Vanger disappeared out the door. She got up, grabbed the pistol, checked the magazine and flicked66 off the safety. She looked around and focused on the keys to the handcuffs, which lay in plain sight on the table.
“I’m going to take him,” she said, running for the door. She grabbed the keys as she passed the table and tossed them backhanded to the floor next to Blomkvist.
He tried to shout to her to wait, but he managed only a rasping sound and by then she had vanished.
Salander had not forgotten that Martin Vanger had a rifle somewhere, and she stopped, holding the pistol ready to fire in front of her, as she came upstairs to the passageway between the garage and the kitchen. She listened, but she could hear no sound telling her where her prey was. She moved stealthily towards the kitchen, and she was almost there when she heard a car starting up in the courtyard.
From the drive she saw a pair of tail lights passing Henrik Vanger’s house and turning down to the bridge, and she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She stuffed the pistol in her jacket pocket and did not bother with the helmet as she started her motorcycle. Seconds later she was crossing the bridge.
He had maybe a ninety-second start when she came into the roundabout at the entrance to the E4. She could not see his car. She braked and turned off the motor to listen.
The sky was filled with heavy clouds. On the horizon she saw a hint of the dawn. Then she heard the sound of an engine and caught a glimpse of tail lights on the E4, going south. Salander kicked the motorcycle, put it into gear, and raced under the viaduct. She was doing 40 miles per hour as she took the curve of the entrance ramp67. She saw no traffic and accelerated to full speed and flew forward. When the road began to curve along a ridge34, she was doing 90 mph, which was about the fastest her souped-up lightweight bike could manage going downhill. After two minutes she saw the lights about 650 yards ahead.
Analyse consequences. What do I do now?
She decelerated to a more reasonable seventy-five and kept pace with him. She lost sight of him for several seconds when they took several bends. Then they came on to a long straight; she was only two hundred yards behind him.
He must have seen the headlight from her motorcycle, and he sped up when they took a long curve. She accelerated again but lost ground on the bends.
She saw the headlights of a truck approaching. Martin Vanger did too. He increased his speed again and drove straight into the oncoming lane. Salander saw the truck swerve68 and flash its lights, but the collision was unavoidable. Martin Vanger drove straight into the truck and the sound of the crash was terrible.
Salander braked. She saw the trailer start to jackknife across her lane. At the speed she was going, it took two seconds for her to cover the distance up to the accident site. She accelerated and steered69 on to the hard shoulder, avoiding the hurtling back of the truck by two yards as she flew past. Out of the corner of her eye she saw flames coming from the front of the truck.
She rode on, braking and thinking, for another 150 yards before she stopped and turned around. She saw the driver of the truck climb out of his cab on the passenger side. Then she accelerated again. At ?kerby, about a mile south, she turned left and took the old road back north, parallel to the E4. She went up a hill past the scene of the crash. Two cars had stopped. Big flames were boiling out of the wreckage70 of Martin’s car, which was wedged underneath the truck. A man was spraying the flames with a small fire extinguisher.
She was soon rolling across the bridge at a low speed. She parked outside the cottage and walked back to Martin Vanger’s house.
Mikael was still fumbling71 with the handcuffs. His hands were so numb that he could not get a grip on the key. Salander unlocked the cuffs for him and held him tight as the blood began to circulate in his hands again.
“Martin?” he said in a hoarse72 voice.
“Dead. He drove slap into the front of a truck a couple of miles south on the E4.”
Blomkvist stared at her. She had only been gone a few minutes.
“We have to…call the police,” he whispered. He began coughing hard.
“Why?” Salander said.
For ten minutes Blomkvist was incapable of standing up. He was still on the floor, naked, leaning against the wall. He massaged73 his neck and lifted the water bottle with clumsy fingers. Salander waited patiently until his sense of touch started to return. She spent the time thinking.
“Put your trousers on.”
She used Blomkvist’s cut-up T-shirt to wipe fingerprints74 from the handcuffs, the knife, and the golf club. She picked up her PET bottle.
“What are you doing?”
“Get dressed and hurry up. It’s getting light outside.”
Blomkvist stood on shaky legs and managed to pull on his boxers75 and jeans. He slipped on his trainers. Salander stuffed his socks into her jacket pocket and then stopped him.
“What exactly did you touch down here?”
Blomkvist looked around. He tried to remember. At last he said that he had touched nothing except the door and the keys. Salander found the keys in Martin Vanger’s jacket, which he had hung over the chair. She wiped the door handle and the switch and turned off the light. She helped Blomkvist up the basement stairs and told him to wait in the passageway while she put the golf club back in its proper place. When she came back she was carrying a dark T-shirt that belonged to Martin Vanger.
“Put this on. I don’t want anyone to see you scampering76 about with a bare chest tonight.”
Blomkvist realised that he was in a state of shock. Salander had taken charge, and passively he obeyed her instructions. She led him out of Martin’s house. She held on to him the whole time. As soon as they stepped inside the cottage, she stopped him.
“If anyone sees us and asks what we were doing outside tonight, you and I went out to the point for a nighttime walk, and we had sex out there.”
“Lisbeth, I can’t…”
“Get in the shower. Now.”
She helped him off with his clothes and propelled him to the bathroom. Then she put on water for coffee and made half a dozen thick sandwiches on rye bread with cheese and liver sausage and dill pickles77. She sat down at the kitchen table and was thinking hard when he came limping back into the room. She studied the bruises78 and scrapes on his body. The noose had been so tight that he had a dark red mark around his neck, and the knife had made a bloody79 gash80 in his skin on the left side.
“Get into bed,” she said.
She improvised81 bandages and covered the wound with a makeshift compress. Then she poured the coffee and handed him a sandwich.
“I’m really not hungry,” he said.
“I don’t give a damn if you’re hungry. Just eat,” Salander commanded, taking a big bite of her own cheese sandwich.
Blomkvist closed his eyes for a moment, then he sat up and took a bite. His throat hurt so much that he could scarcely swallow.
Salander took off her leather jacket and from the bathroom brought a jar of Tiger Balm from her sponge bag.
“Let the coffee cool for a while. Lie face down.”
She spent five minutes massaging82 his back and rubbing him with the liniment. Then she turned him over and gave him the same treatment on the front.
“You’re going to have some serious bruises for a while.”
“Lisbeth, we have to call the police.”
“No,” she replied with such vehemence83 that Blomkvist opened his eyes in surprise. “If you call the police, I’m leaving. I don’t want to have anything to do with them. Martin Vanger is dead. He died in a car accident. He was alone in the car. There are witnesses. Let the police or someone else discover that fucking torture chamber84. You and I are just as ignorant about its existence as everyone else in this village.”
“Why?”
She ignored him and started massaging his aching thighs85.
“Lisbeth, we can’t just…”
“If you go on nagging86, I’ll drag you back to Martin’s grotto87 and chain you up again.”
As she said this, Blomkvist fell asleep, as suddenly as if he had fainted.
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收听单词发音
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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babbling
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| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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dangle
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| v.(使)悬荡，(使)悬垂 | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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initiated
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| n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始，创始，启蒙，介绍加入 | |
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bragging
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| v.自夸，吹嘘( brag的现在分词 )；大话 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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kidnapper
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| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
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camaraderie
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| n.同志之爱，友情 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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kidnappers
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| n.拐子，绑匪( kidnapper的名词复数 ) | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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captions
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| n.标题，说明文字，字幕( caption的名词复数 )v.给（图片、照片等）加说明文字( caption的第三人称单数 ) | |
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caption
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| n.说明，字幕，标题；v.加上标题，加上说明 | |
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26
hoisting
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| 起重，提升 | |
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27
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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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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subscriber
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| n.用户，订户；（慈善机关等的）定期捐款者；预约者；签署者 | |
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strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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strap
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| n.皮带，带子；v.用带扣住，束牢；用绷带包扎 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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36
fiddled
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| v.伪造( fiddle的过去式和过去分词 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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41
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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42
lessen
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| vt.减少，减轻；缩小 | |
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43
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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overload
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| vt.使超载；n.超载 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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46
shackled
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| 给（某人）带上手铐或脚镣( shackle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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suffocate
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| vt.使窒息，使缺氧，阻碍；vi.窒息，窒息而亡，阻碍发展 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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boxer
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| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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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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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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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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ramp
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| n.暴怒，斜坡，坡道；vi.作恐吓姿势，暴怒，加速；vt.加速 | |
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68
swerve
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| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
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69
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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70
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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71
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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72
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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73
massaged
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
fingerprints
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| n.指纹( fingerprint的名词复数 )v.指纹( fingerprint的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
boxers
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| n.拳击短裤；（尤指职业）拳击手( boxer的名词复数 )；拳师狗 | |
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76
scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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77
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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79
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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80
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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81
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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82
massaging
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| 按摩，推拿( massage的现在分词 ) | |
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83
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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84
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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85
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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86
nagging
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| adj.唠叨的，挑剔的；使人不得安宁的v.不断地挑剔或批评（某人）( nag的现在分词 )；不断地烦扰或伤害（某人）；无休止地抱怨；不断指责 | |
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87
grotto
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| n.洞穴 | |
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