The Two Stand Face to Face
The room had been arranged with a view to the dancing, the large oak table having been moved back till it stood as a breastwork to the fireplace. At each end, behind, and in the chimney-corner were grouped the guests, many of them being warm-faced and panting, among whom Eustacia cursorily1 recognized some well-to-do persons from beyond the heath. Thomasin, as she had expected, was not visible, and Eustacia recollected2 that a light had shone from an upper window when they were outside--the window, probably, of Thomasin's room. A nose, chin, hands, knees, and toes projected from the seat within the chimney opening, which members she found to unite in the person of Grandfer Cantle, Mrs. Yeobright's occasional assistant in the garden, and therefore one of the invited. The smoke went up from an Etna of peat in front of him, played round the notches3 of the chimney-crook, struck against the salt-box, and got lost among the flitches.
Another part of the room soon riveted4 her gaze. At the other side of the chimney stood the settle, which is the necessary supplement to a fire so open that nothing less than a strong breeze will carry up the smoke. It is, to the hearths5 of old-fashioned cavernous fireplaces, what the east belt of trees is to the exposed country estate, or the north wall to the garden. Outside the settle candles gutter6, locks of hair wave, young women shiver, and old men sneeze. Inside is Paradise. Not a symptom of a draught7 disturbs the air; the sitters' backs are as warm as their faces, and songs and old tales are drawn8 from the occupants by the comfortable heat, like fruit from melon plants in a frame.
It was, however, not with those who sat in the settle that Eustacia was concerned. A face showed itself with marked distinctness against the dark-tanned wood of the upper part. The owner, who was leaning against the settle's outer end, was Clement9 Yeobright, or Clym, as he was called here; she knew it could be nobody else. The spectacle constituted an area of two feet in Rembrandt's intensest manner. A strange power in the lounger's appearance lay in the fact that, though his whole figure was visible, the observer's eye was only aware of his face.
To one of middle age the countenance10 was that of a young man, though a youth might hardly have seen any necessity for the term of immaturity11. But it was really one of those faces which convey less the idea of so many years as its age than of so much experience as its store. The number of their years may have adequately summed up Jared, Mahalaleel, and the rest of the antediluvians, but the age of a modern man is to be measured by the intensity12 of his history.
The face was well shaped, even excellently. But the mind within was beginning to use it as a mere13 waste tablet whereon to trace its idiosyncrasies as they developed themselves. The beauty here visible would in no long time be ruthlessly over-run by its parasite14, thought, which might just as well have fed upon a plainer exterior15 where there was nothing it could harm. Had Heaven preserved Yeobright from a wearing habit of meditation16, people would have said, "A handsome man." Had his brain unfolded under sharper contours they would have said, "A thoughtful man." But an inner strenuousness17 was preying18 upon an outer symmetry, and they rated his look as singular.
Hence people who began by beholding19 him ended by perusing20 him. His countenance was overlaid with legible meanings. Without being thought-worn he yet had certain marks derived21 from a perception of his surroundings, such as are not unfrequently found on men at the end of the four or five years of endeavour which follow the close of placid22 pupilage. He already showed that thought is a disease of flesh, and indirectly23 bore evidence that ideal physical beauty is incompatible24 with emotional development and a full recognition of the coil of things. Mental luminousness25 must be fed with the oil of life, even though there is already a physical need for it; and the pitiful sight of two demands on one supply was just showing itself here.
When standing26 before certain men the philosopher regrets that thinkers are but perishable27 tissue, the artist that perishable tissue has to think. Thus to deplore28, each from his point of view, the mutually destructive interdependence of spirit and flesh would have been instinctive29 with these in critically observing Yeobright.
As for his look, it was a natural cheerfulness striving against depression from without, and not quite succeeding. The look suggested isolation30, but it revealed something more. As is usual with bright natures, the deity31 that lies ignominiously32 chained within an ephemeral human carcase shone out of him like a ray.
The effect upon Eustacia was palpable. The extraordinary pitch of excitement that she had reached beforehand would, indeed, have caused her to be influenced by the most commonplace man. She was troubled at Yeobright's presence.
The remainder of the play ended--the Saracen's head was cut off, and Saint George stood as victor. Nobody commented, any more than they would have commented on the fact of mushrooms coming in autumn or snowdrops in spring. They took the piece as phlegmatically33 as did the actors themselves. It was a phase of cheerfulness which was, as a matter of course, to be passed through every Christmas; and there was no more to be said.
They sang the plaintive34 chant which follows the play, during which all the dead men rise to their feet in a silent and awful manner, like the ghosts of Napoleon's soldiers in the Midnight Review. Afterwards the door opened, and Fairway appeared on the threshold, accompanied by Christian35 and another. They had been waiting outside for the conclusion of the play, as the players had waited for the conclusion of the dance.
"Come in, come in," said Mrs. Yeobright; and Clym went forward to welcome them. "How is it you are so late? Grandfer Cantle has been here ever so long, and we thought you'd have come with him, as you live so near one another."
"Well, I should have come earlier," Mr. Fairway said and paused to look along the beam of the ceiling for a nail to hang his hat on; but, finding his accustomed one to be occupied by the mistletoe, and all the nails in the walls to be burdened with bunches of holly36, he at last relieved himself of the hat by ticklishly37 balancing it between the candle-box and the head of the clock-case. "I should have come earlier, ma'am," he resumed, with a more composed air, "but I know what parties be, and how there's none too much room in folks' houses at such times, so I thought I wouldn't come till you'd got settled a bit."
"And I thought so too, Mrs. Yeobright," said Christian earnestly, "but Father there was so eager that he had no manners at all, and left home almost afore 'twas dark. I told him 'twas barely decent in a' old man to come so oversoon; but words be wind."
"Klk! I wasn't going to bide38 waiting about, till half the game was over! I'm as light as a kite when anything's going on!" crowed Grandfer Cantle from the chimneyseat.
Fairway had meanwhile concluded a critical gaze at Yeobright. "Now, you may not believe it," he said to the rest of the room, "but I should never have knowed this gentleman if I had met him anywhere off his own he'th--he's altered so much."
"You too have altered, and for the better, I think Timothy," said Yeobright, surveying the firm figure of Fairway.
"Master Yeobright, look me over too. I have altered for the better, haven't I, hey?" said Grandfer Cantle, rising and placing himself something above half a foot from Clym's eye, to induce the most searching criticism.
"To be sure we will," said Fairway, taking the candle and moving it over the surface of the Grandfer's countenance, the subject of his scrutiny39 irradiating himself with light and pleasant smiles, and giving himself jerks of juvenility40.
"You haven't changed much," said Yeobright.
"If there's any difference, Grandfer is younger," appended Fairway decisively.
"And yet not my own doing, and I feel no pride in it," said the pleased ancient. "But I can't be cured of my vagaries41; them I plead guilty to. Yes, Master Cantle always was that, as we know. But I am nothing by the side of you, Mister Clym."
"Nor any o' us," said Humphrey, in a low rich tone of admiration42, not intended to reach anybody's ears.
"Really, there would have been nobody here who could have stood as decent second to him, or even third, if I hadn't been a soldier in the Bang-up Locals (as we was called for our smartness)," said Grandfer Cantle. "And even as 'tis we all look a little scammish beside him. But in the year four 'twas said there wasn't a finer figure in the whole South Wessex than I, as I looked when dashing past the shop-winders with the rest of our company on the day we ran out o' Budmouth because it was thoughted that Boney had landed round the point. There was I, straight as a young poplar, wi' my firelock, and my bagnet, and my spatterdashes, and my stock sawing my jaws43 off, and my accoutrements sheening like the seven stars! Yes, neighbours, I was a pretty sight in my soldiering days. You ought to have seen me in four!"
"'Tis his mother's side where Master Clym's figure comes from, bless ye," said Timothy. "I know'd her brothers well. Longer coffins44 were never made in the whole country of South Wessex, and 'tis said that poor George's knees were crumpled46 up a little e'en as 'twas."
"Coffins, where?" inquired Christian, drawing nearer. "Have the ghost of one appeared to anybody, Master Fairway?"
"No, no. Don't let your mind so mislead your ears, Christian; and be a man," said Timothy reproachfully.
"I will." said Christian. "But now I think o't my shadder last night seemed just the shape of a coffin45. What is it a sign of when your shade's like a coffin, neighbours? It can't be nothing to be afeared of, I suppose?"
"Afeared, no!" said the Grandfer. "Faith, I was never afeard of nothing except Boney, or I shouldn't ha' been the soldier I was. Yes, 'tis a thousand pities you didn't see me in four!"
By this time the mummers were preparing to leave; but Mrs. Yeobright stopped them by asking them to sit down and have a little supper. To this invitation Father Christmas, in the name of them all, readily agreed.
Eustacia was happy in the opportunity of staying a little longer. The cold and frosty night without was doubly frigid47 to her. But the lingering was not without its difficulties. Mrs. Yeobright, for want of room in the larger apartment, placed a bench for the mummers halfway48 through the pantry door, which opened from the sitting-room49. Here they seated themselves in a row, the door being left open--thus they were still virtually in the same apartment. Mrs. Yeobright now murmured a few words to her son, who crossed the room to the pantry door, striking his head against the mistletoe as he passed, and brought the mummers beef and bread, cake pastry50, mead51, and elder-wine, the waiting being done by him and his mother, that the little maid-servant might sit as guest. The mummers doffed52 their helmets, and began to eat and drink.
"But you will surely have some?" said Clym to the Turkish Knight53, as he stood before that warrior54, tray in hand. She had refused, and still sat covered, only the sparkle of her eyes being visible between the ribbons which covered her face.
"None, thank you," replied Eustacia.
"He's quite a youngster," said the Saracen apologetically, "and you must excuse him. He's not one of the old set, but have jined us because t'other couldn't come."
"But he will take something?" persisted Yeobright. "Try a glass of mead or elder-wine."
"Yes, you had better try that," said the Saracen. "It will keep the cold out going home-along."
Though Eustacia could not eat without uncovering her face she could drink easily enough beneath her disguise. The elder-wine was accordingly accepted, and the glass vanished inside the ribbons.
At moments during this performance Eustacia was half in doubt about the security of her position; yet it had a fearful joy. A series of attentions paid to her, and yet not to her but to some imaginary person, by the first man she had ever been inclined to adore, complicated her emotions indescribably. She had loved him partly because he was exceptional in this scene, partly because she had determined56 to love him, chiefly because she was in desperate need of loving somebody after wearying of Wildeve. Believing that she must love him in spite of herself, she had been influenced after the fashion of the second Lord Lyttleton and other persons, who have dreamed that they were to die on a certain day, and by stress of a morbid57 imagination have actually brought about that event. Once let a maiden58 admit the possibility of her being stricken with love for someone at a certain hour and place, and the thing is as good as done.
Did anything at this moment suggest to Yeobright the sex of the creature whom that fantastic guise55 inclosed, how extended was her scope both in feeling and in making others feel, and how far her compass transcended59 that of her companions in the band? When the disguised Queen of Love appeared before Aeneas a preternatural perfume accompanied her presence and betrayed her quality. If such a mysterious emanation ever was projected by the emotions of an earthly woman upon their object, it must have signified Eustacia's presence to Yeobright now. He looked at her wistfully, then seemed to fall into a reverie, as if he were forgetting what he observed. The momentary60 situation ended, he passed on, and Eustacia sipped61 her wine without knowing what she drank. The man for whom she had pre-determined to nourish a passion went into the small room, and across it to the further extremity62.
The mummers, as has been stated, were seated on a bench, one end of which extended into the small apartment, or pantry, for want of space in the outer room. Eustacia, partly from shyness, had chosen the midmost seat, which thus commanded a view of the interior of the pantry as well as the room containing the guests. When Clym passed down the pantry her eyes followed him in the gloom which prevailed there. At the remote end was a door which, just as he was about to open it for himself, was opened by somebody within; and light streamed forth63.
The person was Thomasin, with a candle, looking anxious, pale, and interesting. Yeobright appeared glad to see her, and pressed her hand. "That's right, Tamsie," he said heartily64, as though recalled to himself by the sight of her, "you have decided65 to come down. I am glad of it."
"Hush--no, no," she said quickly. "I only came to speak to you."
"But why not join us?"
"I cannot. At least I would rather not. I am not well enough, and we shall have plenty of time together now you are going to be home a good long holiday."
"It isn't nearly so pleasant without you. Are you really ill?"
"Just a little, my old cousin--here," she said, playfully sweeping66 her hand across her heart.
"Ah, Mother should have asked somebody else to be present tonight, perhaps?"
"O no, indeed. I merely stepped down, Clym, to ask you--" Here he followed her through the doorway67 into the private room beyond, and, the door closing, Eustacia and the mummer who sat next to her, the only other witness of the performance, saw and heard no more.
The heat flew to Eustacia's head and cheeks. She instantly guessed that Clym, having been home only these two or three days, had not as yet been made acquainted with Thomasin's painful situation with regard to Wildeve; and seeing her living there just as she had been living before he left home, he naturally suspected nothing. Eustacia felt a wild jealousy68 of Thomasin on the instant. Though Thomasin might possibly have tender sentiments towards another man as yet, how long could they be expected to last when she was shut up here with this interesting and travelled cousin of hers? There was no knowing what affection might not soon break out between the two, so constantly in each other's society, and not a distracting object near. Clym's boyish love for her might have languished69, but it might easily be revived again.
Eustacia was nettled71 by her own contrivances. What a sheer waste of herself to be dressed thus while another was shining to advantage! Had she known the full effect of the encounter she would have moved heaven and earth to get here in a natural manner. The power of her face all lost, the charm of her emotions all disguised, the fascinations72 of her coquetry denied existence, nothing but a voice left to her; she had a sense of the doom73 of Echo. "Nobody here respects me," she said. She had overlooked the fact that, in coming as a boy among other boys, she would be treated as a boy. The slight, though of her own causing, and self-explanatory, she was unable to dismiss as unwittingly shown, so sensitive had the situation made her.
Women have done much for themselves in histrionic dress. To look far below those who, like a certain fair personator of Polly Peachum early in the last century, and another of Lydia Languish70 early in this, [1] have won not only love but ducal coronets into the bargain, whole shoals of them have reached to the initial satisfaction of getting love almost whence they would. But the Turkish Knight was denied even the chance of achieving this by the fluttering ribbons which she dared not brush aside.
[1] Written in 1877.
Yeobright returned to the room without his cousin. When within two or three feet of Eustacia he stopped, as if again arrested by a thought. He was gazing at her. She looked another way, disconcerted, and wondered how long this purgatory74 was to last. After lingering a few seconds he passed on again.
To court their own discomfiture75 by love is a common instinct with certain perfervid women. Conflicting sensations of love, fear, and shame reduced Eustacia to a state of the utmost uneasiness. To escape was her great and immediate76 desire. The other mummers appeared to be in no hurry to leave; and murmuring to the lad who sat next to her that she preferred waiting for them outside the house, she moved to the door as imperceptibly as possible, opened it, and slipped out.
The calm, lone77 scene reassured78 her. She went forward to the palings and leant over them, looking at the moon. She had stood thus but a little time when the door again opened. Expecting to see the remainder of the band Eustacia turned; but no--Clym Yeobright came out as softly as she had done, and closed the door behind him.
He advanced and stood beside her. "I have an odd opinion," he said, "and should like to ask you a question. Are you a woman--or am I wrong?"
"I am a woman."
His eyes lingered on her with great interest. "Do girls often play as mummers now? They never used to."
"They don't now."
"Why did you?"
"To get excitement and shake off depression," she said in low tones.
"Life."
"That's a cause of depression a good many have to put up with."
"Yes."
A long silence. "And do you find excitement?" asked Clym at last.
"At this moment, perhaps."
"Then you are vexed80 at being discovered?"
"Yes; though I thought I might be."
"I would gladly have asked you to our party had I known you wished to come. Have I ever been acquainted with you in my youth?"
"Never."
"Won't you come in again, and stay as long as you like?"
"No. I wish not to be further recognized."
"Well, you are safe with me." After remaining in thought a minute he added gently, "I will not intrude81 upon you longer. It is a strange way of meeting, and I will not ask why I find a cultivated woman playing such a part as this." She did not volunteer the reason which he seemed to hope for, and he wished her good night, going thence round to the back of the house, where he walked up and down by himself for some time before re-entering.
Eustacia, warmed with an inner fire, could not wait for her companions after this. She flung back the ribbons from her face, opened the gate, and at once struck into the heath. She did not hasten along. Her grandfather was in bed at this hour, for she so frequently walked upon the hills on moonlight nights that he took no notice of her comings and goings, and, enjoying himself in his own way, left her to do likewise. A more important subject than that of getting indoors now engrossed82 her. Yeobright, if he had the least curiosity, would infallibly discover her name. What then? She first felt a sort of exultation83 at the way in which the adventure had terminated, even though at moments between her exultations she was abashed84 and blushful. Then this consideration recurred85 to chill her: What was the use of her exploit? She was at present a total stranger to the Yeobright family. The unreasonable86 nimbus of romance with which she had encircled that man might be her misery87. How could she allow herself to become so infatuated with a stranger? And to fill the cup of her sorrow there would be Thomasin, living day after day in inflammable proximity88 to him; for she had just learnt that, contrary to her first belief, he was going to stay at home some considerable time.
She reached the wicket at Mistover Knap, but before opening it she turned and faced the heath once more. The form of Rainbarrow stood above the hills, and the moon stood above Rainbarrow. The air was charged with silence and frost. The scene reminded Eustacia of a circumstance which till that moment she had totally forgotten. She had promised to meet Wildeve by the Barrow this very night at eight, to give a final answer to his pleading for an elopement.
She herself had fixed89 the evening and the hour. He had probably come to the spot, waited there in the cold, and been greatly disappointed.
"Well, so much the better--it did not hurt him," she said serenely90. Wildeve had at present the rayless outline of the sun through smoked glass, and she could say such things as that with the greatest facility.
She remained deeply pondering; and Thomasin's winning manner towards her cousin arose again upon Eustacia's mind.
"O that she had been married to Damon before this!" she said. "And she would if it hadn't been for me! If I had only known--if I had only known!"
Eustacia once more lifted her deep stormy eyes to the moonlight, and, sighing that tragic91 sigh of hers which was so much like a shudder92, entered the shadow of the roof. She threw off her trappings in the outhouse, rolled them up, and went indoors to her chamber93.
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cursorily
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| adv.粗糙地，疏忽地，马虎地 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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notches
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| n.（边缘或表面上的）V型痕迹( notch的名词复数 )；刻痕；水平；等级 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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hearths
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| 壁炉前的地板，炉床，壁炉边( hearth的名词复数 ) | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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immaturity
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| n.不成熟；未充分成长；未成熟；粗糙 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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parasite
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| n.寄生虫；寄生菌；食客 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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strenuousness
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preying
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| v.掠食( prey的现在分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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beholding
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| v.看，注视( behold的现在分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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perusing
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| v.读（某篇文字）( peruse的现在分词 )；（尤指）细阅；审阅；匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览（某篇文字） | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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luminousness
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| 透光率 | |
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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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perishable
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| adj.（尤指食物）易腐的，易坏的 | |
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deplore
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| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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phlegmatically
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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ticklishly
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| adv.怕痒地 | |
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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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juvenility
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| n.年轻，不成熟 | |
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vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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43
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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44
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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45
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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49
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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50
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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51
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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52
doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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53
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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54
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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55
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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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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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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languished
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| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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nettled
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| v.拿荨麻打，拿荨麻刺（nettle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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fascinations
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| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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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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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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81
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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84
abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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recurred
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| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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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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serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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92
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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