April had been, as it too commonly is in this northern clime of ours, the merest travesty7 of spring, a bleak8, cold month of penetrating9 wind and sleet10, but now May had stolen upon the world almost unawares, opening with tender, insistent11 fingers the sticky brown buds fast curled against the nipping winds, and misting all the woods with a shimmer12 of translucent13 green.
Overhead arched a sky of veiled, opalescent14 blue, and Jean, staring up at it with dreamy eyes, was reminded of the “great city” of the Book of Revelation whose “third foundation” was of chalcedony. This soft English sky must be the third foundation, she decided15 whimsically.
But the occupation of sky-gazing did not combine well with that of steering17 a straight course down a stream whose width hardly entitled it to its local designation of “the river,” and a few minutes later the boat’s nose cannoned18 abruptly19 against the bank.
As, however, to tie up somewhere under the trees which edged the water had been Jean’s original intention, this did not trouble her overmuch, and discovering a gnarled stump20 convenient to her purpose, she looped the painter round it, collected the rug and a couple of cushions which she had brought with her, and established herself comfortably in the stern of the boat.
Everyone else at Staple having engagements of one sort or another, she had promised herself a lazy afternoon in company with the latest novel sent down from Mudie’s. But she was in no immediate21 hurry to begin its pages. The mellow22 warmth of the afternoon tempted23 her to the more restful occupation of mere6 day-dreaming, and as she lay tucked up snugly24 amongst her cushions, enjoying the sweet-scented airs that played among the trees and over the surface of the water, she allowed her thoughts to drift idly back across the two months she had spent at Staple.
The time had slipped by so quickly that it was hard to believe that rather more than eight weeks had elapsed since that grey February evening when she had alighted on the little, deserted25 platform at Coombe Eavie Station. They had been quiet, happy weeks, filled with the pleasant building up of new friendships, and Jean reflected that she had already grown to look upon Staple almost as “home.” She possessed26 in a large measure the capacity to adapt herself to her surroundings, and realising that Lady Anne had been perfectly27 sincere in her expressed desire to play at having a daughter, Jean had, at first a little tentatively, but afterwards, encouraged by Lady Anne’s obvious delight, with more assurance, gradually assumed the duties that would naturally fall to the daughter of the house.
Day by day she had discovered an increasing pleasure and significance in their performance. They were like so many tiny links knitting her life into the lives of those around her, and already Lady Anne had begun to turn to her instinctively28 in the small difficulties and necessities which, one way or another, most days bring in their train. Jean appreciated this as only a girl who had counted for very little in the lives of those nearest her could do. It seemed to make her “belong” in a way in which she had never “belonged” at Beirnfels. There, Glyn and Jacqueline had turned to each other for counsel in the little daily vicissitudes29 of life equally as in its larger concerns, and Jean had learned to regard herself as more or less outside their lives.
She had had one letter from Peterson since her arrival at Staple, a brief, characteristic note in which he expressed the hope that she liked England “better than her father ever could” but suggested that if she were bored she should return to Beirnfels, and ask some woman friend to stay with her; he warned her not to expect further letters from him for some time to come as, according to his present plans—of which he volunteered no particulars—he expected to spend the next few months “as far from civilisation30 as the restricted size of this world permits.”
With this letter it seemed to Jean as though the last link with her former life had snapped. She felt no regret. Beirnfels, and the unconventional, rather exotic life she had led there—dictated by her parents’ whims16 and the practically unlimited32 wealth to gratify them which Peterson’s flair33 for successful speculation34 had achieved—seemed very far away, and Staple, with its peaceful, even-flowing English life, very near and enfolding.
Her first visit to Charnwood had been a disappointment. Under changing ownerships, little now remained to remind her of the generations of Petersons who had lived there long ago. Such of the old pieces of furniture and china as Peterson had not considered worth transferring to Beirnfels at his father’s death had been bought by the next owners of the place, and had been taken away by them when they, in their turn, disposed of the property. Only a great square stone remained, sunk into one of the walls and bearing the Peterson coat of arms and the family motto: Omnia debeo Deo.
Sir Adrian Latimer had translated the words to Jean, with a cynical35 gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes and accompanying the translation by a caustic36 reference to her father. The drug had not so far dulled his intellect. On the contrary, it seemed to have had the opposite effect of endowing him with an almost uncanny insight into people’s minds, so that he could prick37 them on a sensitive spot with unerring accuracy and a diabolical38 enjoyment of the process.
Jean’s sympathy for his wife was boundless39. A great affection had sprung up between the two girls, and bit by bit Claire had drawn40 aside the veil of reticence41, letting the other see into the arid42, bitter places of her life.
Jean could understand, now, of what Claire had been thinking on the occasion of their first meeting, when she had spoken of the influences of the people who inhabit a house. The whole atmosphere of Charnwood seemed permeated44 with the influence of Adrian Latimer—a grey, sinister45, unwholesome influence, like the miasma46 which rises from some poisonous swamp.
The hell upon earth which he contrived47 to make of life for his young wife had been a revelation to Jean, accustomed as she had been to the exquisite love and tenderness with which her father had surrounded Jacqueline.
Sir Adrian’s chief pleasure in life seemed to be to thwart48 and humiliate49 his wife in every possible way, and once, in an access of indignation over some small refinement50 of cruelty of which he had been guilty, Jean had declared her intention of giving him her frank opinion of his behaviour. She had never forgotten the look of bitter amusement with which Claire had greeted the suggestion.
“Do you know what would happen? He would listen to you with the utmost politeness, and very likely let you think you had impressed him. But afterwards he would make me pay—for a day, or a week, or a month. Till his revenge was satisfied. And he would put an end to our friendship——”
“He couldn’t!” Jean had interrupted impulsively51.
“Couldn’t he? You don’t know Adrian.... And I can’t afford to lose you, Jean. You’re one of my few comforts in life. Promise me”—she caught Jean’s hands in hers and held them tightly—“promise me that you will do nothing—that you won’t try to interfere52? I can generally manage; him—more or less. And when I can’t, why, I have to put up with the consequences of my own bad management”—with a smile that was more sad than tears.
With an effort of will Jean tried to banish53 the recollection of Sir Adrian from her thoughts. The picture of his thin, leaden-hued face, with its cruel mouth and furtive55, suspicious eyes, was out of harmony with this soft day of spring. She wished she had not let the thought of him intrude56 upon her pleasant reverie at all. His sinister figure seemed to cast a shadow over the sunlit river, a shadow which grew bigger and bigger, blurring57 the green of the trees and the sky’s faint blue, and even silencing the comfortable little chirrups of the birds, busy with their spring housekeeping. At least, Jean couldn’t hear them any longer, and she took no notice even when one enterprising young cock-bird hopped58 near enough to filch59 a feather that was sticking out invitingly60 from the corner of the cushion behind her head.
The next thing she was conscious of was of sitting up with great suddenness, under the impression that she had overslept and that the housemaid was calling to her very loudly to waken her.
Someone was calling—shouting lustily, in fact, and collecting her sleep-bemused faculties61, she realised that instead of being securely moored62 against the bank her boat was rocking gently in mid-stream, and that the occupant of another boat, coming from the opposite direction, was doing his indignant best to attract her attention, since just at that point the river was too narrow for them to pass one another unless each pulled well in towards the bank.
Jean reached hastily for her sculls, only to find, to her intense astonishment63, that they had vanished as completely as though they had never existed. She cast a rapid glance of dismay around her, scanning the surface of the water in her vicinity for any trace of them. But there was none. She was floating serenely64 down the middle of the stream, perfectly helpless to pull out of the way of the oncoming boat.
Meanwhile its occupant was calling out instructions—tempering his wrath65 with an irritable66 kind of politeness as he perceived that the fool whose craft blocked the way was of the feminine persuasion67.
“Pull in a bit, please. We can’t pass here if you don’t.... Pull in!” he yelled rather more irately68 as Jean’s boat still remained in the middle of the river, drifting placidly69 towards him.
She flung up her hand.
“ I cant70!” she shouted back. “I’ve lost my sculls!”
“Lost your sculls?” The man’s tones sufficiently71 implied what he thought of the proceeding72.
A couple of strokes, and, gripping the gunwale of her boat as he drew level, he steadied it to a standstill alongside his own.
Jean’s eyes travelled swiftly from the squarish, muscular-looking hand that gripped the boat’s side to the face of its owner. He was decidedly an ugly man as far as features were concerned, with a dogged-looking chin and a conquering beak73 of a nose that jutted74 out arrogantly75 from his hatchet76 face. The sunlight glinted on a crop of reddish-brown hair, springing crisply from the scalp in a way that suggested immense vitality77; Jean had an idea that it would give out tiny crackling sounds if it were brushed hard. His eyebrows78, frowning in defence against the sun, were of the same warm hue54 as his hair and very thick; in later life they would probably develop into the bristling79, pent-house variety. The eyes themselves, as Jean described them on a later occasion, were “too red to be brown”; an artist would have had to make extensive use of burnt sienna pigment80 in portraying81 them. Altogether, he was not a particularly attractive-looking individual—and just now the red-brown eyes were fixed82 on Jean in a rather uncompromising glare.
“How on earth did you lose your oars83?” he demanded—as indignantly as though she had done it on purpose, she commented inwardly.
Her lips twitched84 in the endeavour to suppress a smile.
“I haven’t the least idea,” she confessed. “I tied up under some trees further up and—and I suppose I must have fallen asleep. But still that doesn’t explain how I came to be adrift like this.”
“A woman’s knot, I expect,” he vouchsafed85 rather scornfully. “A woman never ties up properly. Probably you just looped the painter round any old thing and trusted to Providence86 that it would stay looped.”
She gave vent31 to a low laugh.
“I believe you’ve described the process quite accurately,” she admitted. “But I’ve done the same thing before without any evil consequences. There’s hardly any current here, you know. I don’t believe”—with conviction—“that my loop could have unlooped itself. And anyway”—triumphantly—“the sculls couldn’t have jumped out of the boat without assistance.”
The man smiled, revealing strong white teeth.
“No, I suppose not. I fancy”—the smile broadening—“some small boy must have spotted87 you asleep in the boat and, finding the opportunity too good to be resisted, removed your tackle and set you adrift.”
There was a sympathetic twinkle in his eyes, and Jean, suddenly sensing the “little boy” in him which lurks88 in every grown-up man, flashed back:
“I believe that’s exactly what you would have done yourself in your urchin89 days!”
“I believe it is,” he acknowledged, laughing outright90. “Well, the only thing to do now is for me to tow you back. Where do you want to go—up or down the river?”
“Up, please. I want to get back to Staple.”
He threw a quick glance at her.
“Surely you must be Miss Peterson?”
She nodded.
“Yes. How did you guess?”
“My sister, Mrs. Craig, told me a Miss Peterson was staying at Staple. It wasn’t very difficult, after that, to put two and two together.”
“Then you must be Geoffrey Burke?” returned Jean.
He nodded.
“That’s right. So now that we know each other, will you come into my parlour?”—smiling. “If I’m going to take you back, there seems no reason why we shouldn’t accomplish the journey together and tow your boat behind.”
He held out his hand to steady her as she stepped lightly from one boat to the other, and soon they were gliding91 smoothly92 upstream, the empty craft tailing along in their wake.
For a while Burke sculled in silence, and Jean leant back, idly watching the effortless, rhythmic93 swing of his body as he bent94 to his oars. His shirt was open at the throat, revealing the strong, broad-based neck, and she noticed in a detached fashion that small, fine hairs covered his bared arms with a golden down, even encroaching on to the backs of the brown, muscular hands.
She found herself femininely conscious that the most dominant95 quality about the man was his sheer virility96. Nor was it just a matter of appearances. It lay in something more fundamental than merely externals. She had known men of great physical strength to be not infrequently gifted with an almost feminine gentleness of nature, yet she was sure this latter element played but a small part in the make-up of Geoffrey Burke.
The absolute ease with which he sent the boat shearing97 through the water seemed to her in some way typical. It conveyed a sense of mastery that was unquestionable, even a little overpowering.
She felt certain that he was, above and before all other things, primeval male, forceful and conquering, of the type who in a different age would have cheerfully bludgeoned his way through any and every obstacle that stood between him and the woman he had chosen as his mate—and, afterwards, if necessary, bludgeoned the lady herself into submission98.
“Here’s where you tied up, then?”
Burke’s voice broke suddenly across her thoughts, and she looked round, recognising the place where she had moored her boat earlier in the afternoon.
“How did you divine that?” she asked.
“It didn’t require much divination99! There are your sculls”—pointing—“stuck up against the trunk of a tree—and looking as though they might topple over at any moment. I fancy”—with a smile—“that my ‘small boy’ theory was correct. I believe I could even put a name to the particular limb of Satan responsible,” he went on. “You moored your boat on the Willow Perry side of the stream, and our lodge-keeper’s kids are a troop of young demons100. They want a thorough good thrashing, and I’ll see that they get it before they are much older.”
He pulled in to the shore and rescuing the sculls from their precarious101 position, restored them to the empty boat.
“All the same,” he added, as, a few minutes later, he helped Jean out on to the little wooden landing-place at Staple, “I think I’m rather grateful to the small boy—whoever he may be!”
She laughed and retorted impertinently:
“I’m sure I’m very grateful to the bigger boy who came to the rescue.”
There was something quite unconsciously provocative102 about her as she stood there with one foot poised103 on the planking, her head thrown back a trifle to meet his glance, and a hint of gentle raillery tilting104 the corners of her mouth.
The cave-man woke suddenly in him. He was conscious of an almost irresistible105 impulse to take her in his arms and kiss her. But the conventions of the centuries held, and all Jean knew of that swift flare106-up of desire in the man beside her was that the grip of his hand on hers suddenly tightened107 so that the pain of it almost made her cry out.
And because she was not given to regarding every unmarried man she met in the light of a potential lover—as some women are prone108 to do—and because, perhaps, her thoughts were subconsciously109 preoccupied110 by a lean, dark face, rather stern and weary-looking as though from some past discipline of pain, Jean never ascribed that fierce pressure of the hand to its rightful origin, but merely rubbed her bruised111 fingers surreptitously and wished ruefully that men were not quite so muscular.
“I’ll go with you up to the house,” remarked Burke, without any elaboration of “by your leave.”
She was privately112 of the opinion that her leave would have little or nothing to do with the matter. If this exceedingly autocratic and masculine individual had decided to accompany her through the park, accompany her he would, and she might as well make the best of it.
He was extraordinarily113 unlike his sister, she thought. Where Judith Craig would probably seek to attain114 her ends in a somewhat stealthy, cat-like fashion, Burke would employ the methods of the club and battering-ram. Of the two, perhaps these last were preferable, since they at least left you knowing what you were up against.
“Will you come in?” asked Jean, pausing as they reached the house. “Though I’m afraid everyone is out.”
“So much the better,” he replied promptly115. “I’d much rather have tea alone with you.”
“That’s not very polite to the others”—smiling a little. “I thought the Staple people were old friends of yours?”
“So they are. That’s exactly it. I feel the mood of the explorer on me this afternoon.”
“You’re one of the people with a penchant116 for new acquaintances, then?” she said indifferently, leading the way into the hall, where, in place of the great log fire of chillier117 days, a hank of growing tulips made a glory of gold and orange and red in the wide hearth118.
“No, I’m not,” he returned bluntly. “But I’ve every intention of making your acquaintance right now.”
Jean rang the bell and ordered tea.
“I think perhaps I might be consulted in the matter,” she returned lightly when Baines had left the room. “The settling of questions of that kind is usually considered a woman’s prerogative119. Supposing”—smiling—“I don’t ask you to tea, after all?”
There was a smouldering fire in the glance he bestowed120 upon her vivid face.
“It wouldn’t make a bit of difference—in the long run,” he replied deliberately121. “If a man makes up his mind he can usually get his own way—over most things.”
“You can’t force friendship,” she said quickly. It was as though she were defying something that threatened.
Again that queer gleam showed for a moment in his eyes.
“Friendship? No, perhaps not,” he conceded.
He said no more and an uncomfortable silence fell between them. Jean was suddenly conscious that it might be possible to be a little afraid of this man. She did not like that side of him—the self-willed, masterful side—of which, almost deliberately, he had just given her a glimpse.
With the appearance of tea the slight sense of tension vanished, and the conversation dropped into more ordinary channels. She discovered that he had travelled considerably122 and was familiar with many of the places to which, at different times, she had accompanied her father and mother, and over the interchange of recollections the little hint of discord—of challenge, almost—was forgotten.
They were still chatting amicably123 together half an hour later when Blaise returned. The latter’s face darkened as he entered the hall and found them together, nor did it lighten when Jean recounted the afternoon’s adventure.
“I suppose Miss Peterson has your lodge-keeper’s boys to thank for this?” he demanded stormily of Burke.
“I’m afraid that’s so,” admitted the other.
“If you had any consideration for your neighbours, you’d sack the lot of them,” returned Blaise sharply. “Or else see that they’re kept under proper control. They’ve given trouble before, but it is a little too much of a good thing when they dare to play practical jokes of that description on a guest of ours.”
Jean stared at him in astonishment. She had told the story as rather a good joke and in explanation of Burke’s presence, and, instead of laughing at her dilemma124, Tormarin appeared to be thoroughly125 angry over the matter.
Burke remained coolly unprovoked.
“I can’t say I’ve any quarrel with the young ruffians,” he said. “They afforded me a charming afternoon.”
“Doubtless,” retorted Blaise. “But that’s hardly the point. Anyway”—heatedly—“I’ll thank you to see that those lads are kept in hand for the future.”
Jean glanced across at Burke with some apprehension126, half fearing a responsive explosion of wrath on his part, but to her relief he was smiling—a twinkling, mirthful smile that redeemed127 the ugliness of his features.
“’Fraid I can’t truthfully declare I’m sorry, Tormarin,” he said good-humouredly. “You wouldn’t, in my place.”
The man was keeping his temper in the face of considerable provocation128, and Jean liked him better at that moment than she had done throughout the entire afternoon. Tormarin’s own attitude she quite failed to understand, and after Burke’s departure she took him to task for his churlishness.
“It was really absurd of you, Blaise,” she scolded, half-smiling, half in genuine vexation. “As if Mr. Burke could possibly be held responsible for the actions of a mischievous129 schoolboy! At least he did all he could to repair the damage; he brought me back, and recovered the missing pair of oars for me. You hadn’t the least reason to flare up like that.”
Blaise listened to her quietly. The anger had died out of his face and his eyes were somewhat sad.
“You’re right,” he said at last, “absolutely right. But there rarely is any reason for a Tormarin’s temper. Do you know—it sounds ridiculous, but it’s perfectly true—it was all I could do not to knock Burke down.”
“My dear Blaise, you fill me with alarm! I’d no idea you were such a bloodthirsty individual! But seriously, what had the poor man done to incur130 your wrath? He’s been most helpful.”
There was an element of self-mockery in the brief smile which crossed his face.
“Perhaps that was just it. I’ve rather grown to look upon it as my own particular prerogative to help you out of difficulties.”
“Well, naturally I’d rather it had been you,” she allowed, twinkling.
“Do you mean that?”—swiftly.
“Of course I do”—lightly. She had failed to notice the eagerness of demand in his quick question. “I’m more used to it! Besides, I believe Mr. Burke rather frightens me. He’s a trifle—overwhelming. Still”—shaking her head reprovingly—“I don’t think that excuses you. You must have a shocking temper.”
He laughed shortly.
“Most of the Tormarins have ruined their lives by their temper. I’m no exception to the rule.”
Jean’s thought flew back to the description she had overheard when in London: “A Tormarin in a temper is like a devil with the bit between his teeth.”
“Then it’s true, escaped her lips.
“What’s true?”—with some surprise. “That the Tormarins are a vile-tempered lot? Quite. If you want to know more about it, ask my mother. She’ll tell you how I came by this white lock of hair—the mark of the beast.”
Jean was trying to make the comments of the woman at the hotel and Blaise’s own confession131 tally132 with her recollection of the latter’s complete self-control on several occasions when he, or any other man, might have been pardoned for yielding to momentary133 anger.
“I believe you’re exaggerating absurdly,” she said at last. “As a matter of fact, I’ve often been surprised at your self-control, seeing that I know you have a temper concealed134 about you somewhere. I think that is why your anger this afternoon took me so aback. It seemed unlike you to be so fearfully annoyed over practically nothing at all. I don’t believe”—half smiling—“that really you’re anything like bad-tempered135 as a Tormarin ought to be—to support the family tradition!”
He was looking, not at her but beyond her, as she spoke43, as though his thoughts dwelt with some past memory. His expression was inscrutable; she could not interpret it. Presently he turned back to her, and though he smiled there was a deep, unfathomable sadness in his eyes.
“I’ve had one unforgettable lesson,” he said quietly. “The Tormarin temper—the cursed inheritance of every one of us—has ruined my life just as it has ruined others before me.”
The words seemed to fall on Jean’s ears with a numbing136 sense of calamity137, not alone in that past to which they primarily had reference, but as though thrusting forward in some mysterious way into the future—her future.
She was conscious of a vague foreboding that that “cursed inheritance” of the Tormarins was destined138, sooner or later, to impinge upon her own life.
At night, when she went to bed, her mind was still groping blindly in the dark places of dim premonition. Single sentences from the afternoon’s conversation kept flitting through her brain, and when at last she slept it was to dream that she had lost her way and was wandering alone in a wild and desolate139 region. Presently she came to a solitary140 dwelling141, set lonely in the midst of the interminable plain. Three wretched-looking scrubby little fir trees grew to one side of the house, all three of them bent in the same direction as though beaten and bowed forward by ceaseless winds. While she stood wondering whether she should venture to knock at the door of the house and ask her way, it opened and Geoffrey Burke came out.
“Ah! There you are!” he exclaimed, as though he had been expecting her. “I’ve been waiting for you. Will you come into my parlour?”
He smiled at her as he spoke—she could see the even flash of his white teeth—but there was something in the quality of the smile which terrified her, and without answering a word she turned to escape.
But he overtook her in a couple of strides, catching142 her by the hand in a grip so fierce that it seemed as though the bones of her fingers must crack under it.
“Come into my parlour,” he repeated. “If you don’t, you’ll be stamped forever with the mark of the beast. It’s too late to try and run away.”
Jean woke in a cold perspiration143 of terror. The dream had been of such vividness that it was a full minute before she could realise that, actually, she was safely tucked up in her own bed at Staple. When she did, the relief was so immeasurable that she almost cried.
The next morning, with the May sunshine streaming in through the open window, it was easier to laugh at her nocturnal fears, and to trace the odd phrases which, snatched from the previous day’s conversation with Burke and Tormarin and jumbled144 up together, had supplied the nightmare horror of her dream.
But, even so, it was many days before she could altogether shake off the disagreeable impression it had made on her.
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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travesty
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| n.歪曲，嘲弄，滑稽化 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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sleet
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| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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shimmer
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| v./n.发微光，发闪光；微光 | |
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translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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opalescent
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| adj.乳色的，乳白的 | |
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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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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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steering
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cannoned
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| vi.与…猛撞（cannon的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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28
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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29
vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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30
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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31
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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32
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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33
flair
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| n.天赋，本领，才华；洞察力 | |
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34
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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35
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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36
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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37
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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38
diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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39
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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40
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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41
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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42
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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43
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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44
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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45
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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46
miasma
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| n.毒气；不良气氛 | |
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47
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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48
thwart
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| v.阻挠，妨碍，反对；adj.横(断的) | |
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49
humiliate
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| v.使羞辱，使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
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50
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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51
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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52
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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53
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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54
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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55
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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56
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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57
blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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58
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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59
filch
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| v.偷窃 | |
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60
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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61
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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62
moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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63
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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64
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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65
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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66
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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67
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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68
irately
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69
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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70
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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71
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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72
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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73
beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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74
jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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75
arrogantly
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| adv.傲慢地 | |
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76
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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77
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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78
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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79
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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80
pigment
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| n.天然色素，干粉颜料 | |
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81
portraying
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| v.画像( portray的现在分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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82
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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83
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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84
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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85
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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86
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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87
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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88
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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89
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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90
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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91
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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92
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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93
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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94
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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95
dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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96
virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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97
shearing
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| n.剪羊毛，剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 )；切断；剪切 | |
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98
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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99
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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100
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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101
precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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102
provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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103
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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104
tilting
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| 倾斜，倾卸 | |
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105
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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106
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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107
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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108
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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109
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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110
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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111
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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112
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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113
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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114
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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115
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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116
penchant
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| n.爱好，嗜好；（强烈的）倾向 | |
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117
chillier
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| adj.寒冷的，冷得难受的( chilly的比较级 ) | |
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118
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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119
prerogative
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| n.特权 | |
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120
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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121
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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122
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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123
amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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124
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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125
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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126
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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127
redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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128
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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129
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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130
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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131
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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132
tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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133
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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134
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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135
bad-tempered
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| adj.脾气坏的 | |
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136
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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137
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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138
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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139
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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140
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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141
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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142
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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143
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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144
jumbled
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| adj.混乱的；杂乱的 | |
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