***** A mania40 for self-justification is common both to those whose consciences are uneasy and to those who seek a philosophic67 rationale for their actions: but in either case it leads to strange forms of thinking. The idea is not spontaneous, but voulue. In the case of Justine this mania led to a perpetual flow of ideas, speculations68 on past and present actions, which pressed upon her mind with the weight of a massive current pressing upon the walls of a dam. And for all the wretched expenditure69 of energy in this direction, for all the passionate70 contrivance in her self-examination, one could not help distrusting her conclusions, since they were always changing, were never at rest. She shed theories about herself like so many petals71. ‘Do you not believe that love consists wholly of paradoxes72?’ she once asked Arnauti. I remember her asking me much the same question in that turbid73 voice of hers which somehow gave the question tenderness as well as a sort of menace. ‘Supposing I were to tell you that I only allowed myself to approach you to save myself from the danger and ignominy of falling deeply in love with you? I felt I was saving Nessim with every kiss I gave you.’ How could this, for example, have constituted the true motive74 for that extraordinary scene on the beach? No rest from doubt, no rest from doubt. On another occasion she dealt with the problem from another angle, not perhaps less truthfully: ‘The moral is — what is the moral? We were not simply gluttons76, were we? And how completely this love-affair has repaid all the promises it held out for us — at least for me. We met and the worst befell us, but the best part of us, our lovers. Oh! please do not laugh at me.’ For my part I remained always stupefied and mumchance at all the avenues opened up by these thoughts; and afraid, so strange did it seem to talk about what we were actually experiencing in such obituary77 terms. At times I was almost provoked like Arnauti, on a similar occasion, to shout: ‘For the love of God, stop this mania for unhappiness or it will bring us to disaster. You are exhausting our lives before we have a chance to live them.’ I knew of course the uselessness of such an exhortation78. There are some characters in this world who are marked down for self-destruction, and to these no amount of rational argument can appeal. For my part Justine always reminded me of a somnambulist discovered treading the perilous79 leads of a high tower; any attempt to wake her with a shout might lead to disaster. One could only follow her silently in the hope of guiding her gradually away from the great shadowy drops which loomed80 up on every side. But by some curious paradox38 it was these very defects of character — these vulgarities of the psyche — which constituted for me the greatest attraction of this weird81 kinetic82 personage. I suppose in some way they corresponded to weaknesses in my own character which I was lucky to be able to master more thoroughly83 than she could. I know that for us love-making was only a small part of the total picture projected by a mental intimacy84 which proliferated85 and ramified daily around us. How we talked! Night after night in shabby sea-front cafés (trying ineffectually to conceal86 from Nessim and other common friends an attachment87 for which we felt guilty). As we talked we insensibly drew nearer and nearer to each other until we were holding hands, or all but in each other’s arms: not from the customary sensuality which afflicts88 lovers but as if the physical contact could ease the pain of self-exploration. Of course this is the unhappiest love-relationship of which a human being is capable — weighed down by something as heartbreaking as the post-coital sadness which clings to every endearment89, which lingers like a sediment90 in the clear waters of a kiss. ‘It is easy to write of kisses’ says Arnauti, ‘but where passion should have been full of clues and keys it served only to slake91 our thoughts. It did not convey information as it usually does. There was so much else going on.’ And indeed in making love to her I too began to understand fully75 what he meant in describing the Check as ‘the parching92 sense of lying with some lovely statue which was unable to return the kisses of the common flesh which it touches. There was something exhausting and perverting93 about loving so well and yet loving so little.’ The bedroom for example with its bronze phosphorous light, the pastels burning in the green Tibetan urn20 diffusing95 a smell of roses to the whole room. By the bed the rich poignant96 scent29 of her powder hanging heavy in the bed-curtains. A dressing-table with its stoppered cream and salves. Over the bed the Universe of Ptolemy! She has had it drawn upon parchment and handsomely framed. It will hang forever over her bed, over the ikons in their leather cases, over the martial97 array of philosophers. Kant in his nightcap feeling his way upstairs. Jupiter Tonans. There is somehow a heavy futility98 in this array of great ones — among whom she has permitted Pursewarden an appearance. Four of his novels are to be seen though whether she has put them there specially99 for the occasion (we are all dining together) I cannot say. Justine surrounded by her philosophers is like an invalid100 surrounded by medicines — empty capsules, bottles and syringes. ‘Kiss her’ says Arnauti ‘and you are aware that her eyes do not close but open more widely, with an increasing doubt and madness. The mind is so awake that it makes any gift of the body partial — a panic which will respond to nothing less than a curette. At night you can hear her brain ticking like a cheap alarm-clock.’ On the far wall there is an idol101 the eyes of which are lit from within by electricity, and it is to this graven mentor103 that Justine acts her private role. Imagine a torch thrust through the throat of a skeleton to light up the vault104 of the skull105 from which the eyeless sockets106 ponder. Shadows thrown on the arch of the cranium flap there in imprisonment107. When the electricity is out of order a stump108 of candle is soldered109 to the bracket: Justine then, standing110 naked on tip-toes to push a lighted match into the eyeball of the God. Immediately the furrows111 of the jaw112 spring into relief, the shaven frontal bone, the straight rod of the nose. She has never been tranquil113 unless this visitant from distant mythology114 is watching over her nightmares. Under it he a few small inexpensive toys, a celluloid doll, a sailor, about which I have never had the courage to question her. It is to this idol that her most marvellous dialogues are composed. It is possible, she says, to talk in her sleep and be overheard by the wise and sympathetic mask which has come to represent what she calls her Noble Self — adding sadly, with a smile of misgiving115, ‘It does exist you know.’ The pages of Arnauti run through my mind as I watch her and talk to her. ‘A face famished116 by the inward light of her terrors. In the darkness long after I am asleep she wakes to ponder on something I have said about our relationship. I am always waking to find her busy with something, preoccupied117; sitting before the mirror naked, smoking a cigarette, and tapping with her bare foot on the expensive carpet.’ It is strange that I should always see Justine in the context of this bedroom which she could never have known before Nessim gave it to her. It is always here that I see her undergoing those dreadful intimacies118 of which he writes. ‘There is no pain compared to that of loving a woman who makes her body accessible to one and yet who is incapable119 of delivering her true self — because she does not know where to find it.’ How often, lying beside her, I have debated these observations which, to the ordinary reader, might pass unnoticed in the general flux120 and reflux of ideas in Moeurs. She does not slide from kisses into sleep — a door into a private garden — as Melissa does. In the warm bronze light her pale skin looks paler — the red eatable flowers growing in the cheeks where the light sinks and is held fast. She will throw back her dress to unroll her stocking and show you the dark cicatrice above the knee, lodged121 between the twin dimples of the suspender. It is indescribable the feeling I have when I see this wound — like a character out of the book — and recall its singular origin. In the mirror the dark head, younger and more graceful now than the original it has outlived, gives back a vestigial image of a young Justine — like the calcimined imprint122 of a fern in chalk: the youth she believes she has lost. I cannot believe that she existed so thoroughly in some other room; that the idol hung elsewhere, in another setting. Somehow I always see her walking up the long staircase, crossing the gallery with its putti and ferns, and then entering the low doorway123 into this most private of rooms. Fatma, the black Ethiopian maid, follows her. Invariably Justine sinks on to the bed and holds out her ringed fingers as with an air of mild hallucination the negress draws them off the long fingers and places them in a small casket on the dressing-table. The night on which Pursewarden and I dined alone with her we were invited back to the great house, and after examining the great cold reception rooms Justine suddenly turned and led the way upstairs, in search of an ambience which might persuade my friend whom she greatly admired and feared, to relax. Pursewarden had been surly all evening, as he often was, and had busied himself with the drinks to the exclusion124 of anything else. The little ritual with Fatma seemed to free Justine from constraint125 ; she was free to be natural, to move about with ‘that insolent126 unbalanced air, cursing her frock for catching127 in the cupboard door’, or pausing to apostrophize herself in the great spade-shaped mirror. She told us of the mask, adding sadly: ‘It sounds cheap and rather theatrical128, I know. I turn my face to the wall and talk to it. I forgive myself my trespasses130 as I forgive those who trespass129 against me. Sometimes I rave102 a little and beat on the wall when I remember the follies131 which must seem insignificant132 to others or to God — if there is a God. I speak to the person I always imagine inhabiting a green and quiet place like the 23rd Psalm133.’ Then coming to rest her head upon my shoulder and put her arms round me, ‘That is why so often I ask you to be a little tender with me. The edifice134 feels as if it had cracked up here. I need little strokes and endearments135 like you give Melissa; I know it is she you love. Who could love me?’ Pursewarden was not, I think, proof against the naturalness and charm of the tones in which she said this, for he went to the corner of the room and gazed at her bookshelf. The sight of his own books made him first pale and then red, though whether with shame or anger I could not tell. Turning back he seemed at first about to say something, but changed his mind. He turned back once more with an air of guilty chagrin136 to confront that tremendous shelf. Justine said: ‘If you wouldn’t consider it an impertinence I should so like you to autograph one for me’ but he did not reply. He stayed quite still, staring at the shelf, with his glass in his hand. Then he wheeled about and all of a sudden he appeared to have become completely drunk; he said in a fierce ringing tone: ‘The modern novel! The grumus merdae left behind by criminals upon the scene of their misdeeds.’ And quietly falling sideways, but taking care to place his glass upright on the floor he passed immediately into a profound sleep. The whole of the long colloquy137 which ensued took place over this prostrate138 body. I took him to be asleep, but in fact he must have been awake for he subsequently reproduced much of Justine’s conversation in a cruel satirical short story, which for some reason amused Justine though it caused me great pain. He described her black eyes shining with unshed tears as she said (sitting at the mirror, the comb travelling through her hair, crackling and sputtering139 like her voice). ‘When I first met Nessim and knew that I was falling in love with him I tried to save us both. I deliberately140 took a lover — a dull brute141 of a Swede, hoping to wound him and force him to detach himself from his feeling for me. The Swede’s wife had left him and I said (anything to stop him snivelling): “Tell me how she behaves and I will imitate her. In the dark we are all meat and treacherous142 however our hair kinks or skin smells. Tell me, and I will give you the wedding-smile and fall into your arms like a mountain of silk.” And all the time I was thinking over and over again: “Nessim. Nessim.” ’ I remember in this context, too, a remark of Pursewarden’s which summed up his attitude to our friends. ‘Alexandria!’ he said (it was on one of those long moonlit walks). ‘Jews with their cafeteria mysticism! How could one deal with it in words? Place and people?’ Perhaps then he was meditating143 this cruel short story and casting about for ways and means to deal with us. ‘Justine and her city are alike in that they both have a strong flavour without having any real character.’ I am recalling now how during that last spring (forever) we walked together at full moon, overcome by the soft dazed air of the city, the quiet ablutions of water and moonlight that polished it like a great casket. An aerial lunacy among the deserted144 trees of the dark squares, and the long dusty roads reaching away from midnight to midnight, bluer than oxygen. The passing faces had become gem-like, tranced — the baker145 at his machine making the staff of tomorrow’s life, the lover hurrying back to his lodging146, nailed into a silver helmet of panic, the six-foot cinema posters borrowing a ghastly magnificence from the moon which seemed laid across the nerves like a bow. We turn a corner and the world becomes a pattern of arteries147, splashed with silver and deckle-edged with shadow. At this far end of Kom El Dick not a soul abroad save an occasional obsessive148 policeman, lurking149 like a guilty wish in the city’s mind. Our footsteps run punctually as metronomes along the deserted pavements: two men, in their own time and city, remote from the world, walking as if they were treading one of the lugubrious150 canals of the moon. Pursewarden is speaking of the book which he has always wanted to write, and of the difficulty which besets151 a city-man when he faces a work or art. ‘If you think of yourself as a sleeping city for example … what? You can sit quiet and hear the processes going on, going about their business; volition152, desire, will, cognition, passion, conation. I mean like the million legs of a centipede carrying on with the body powerless to do anything about it. One gets exhausted153 trying to circumnavigate these huge fields of experience. We are never free, we writers. I could explain it much more clearly if it was dawn. I long to be musical in body and mind. I want style, consort154. Not the little mental squirts as if through the ticker-tape of the mind. It is the age’s disease, is it not? It explains the huge waves of occultism lapping round us. The Cabal155, now, and Balthazar. He will never understand that it is with God we must be the most careful; for He makes such a powerful appeal to what is lowest in human nature — our feeling of insufficiency, fear of the unknown, personal failings; above all our monstrous156 egotism which sees in the martyr’s crown an athletic157 prize which is really hard to attain158. God’s real and subtle nature must be clear of distinctions: a glass of spring-water, tasteless, odourless, merely refreshing159: and surely its appeal would be to the few, the very few, real contemplatives? ‘As for the many it is already included in the part of their nature which they least wish to admit or examine. I do not believe that there is any system which can do more than pervert94 the essential idea. And then, all these attempts to circumscribe160 God in words or ideas…. No one thing can explain everything: though everything can illuminate161 something. God, I must be still drunk. If God were anything he would be an art. Sculpture or medicine. But the immense extension of knowledge in this our age, the growth of new sciences, makes it almost impossible for us to digest the available flavours and put them to use. ‘Holding a candle in your hand, I mean, you can throw the shadow of the retinal blood-vessels on the wall. It isn’t silent enough. It’s never dead still in there: never quiet enough for the trismegistus to be fed. All night long you can hear the rush of blood in the cerebral162 arteries. The loins of thinking. It starts you going back along the cogs of historical action, cause and effect. You can’t rest ever, you can’t give over and begin to scry. You climb through the physical body, softly parting the muscle-schemes to admit you — muscle striped and unstriped; you examine the coil ignition of the guts163 in the abdomen49, the sweetbreads, the liver choked with refuse like a sink-filter, the bag of urine, the red unbuckled belt of the intestines164, the soft horny corridor of the oesophagus, the glottis with its mucilage softer than the pouch165 of a kangaroo. What do I mean? You are searching for a co-ordinating scheme, the syntax of a Will which might stabilize166 everything and take the tragedy out of it. The sweat breaks out on your face, a cold panic as you feel the soft contraction167 and expansion of the viscera busy about their job, regardless of the man watching them who is yourself. A whole city of processes, a factory for the production of excrement168, my goodness, a daily sacrifice. An offering to the toilet for every one you make to the altar. Where do they meet? Where is the correspondence? Outside in the darkness by the railway bridge the lover of this man waits for him with the same indescribable maggotry going on in her body and blood; wine swilling169 the conduits, the pylorus disgorging like a sucker, the incommensurable bacteriological world multiplying in every drop of semen, spittle, sputum, musk170. He takes a spinal171 column in his arms, the ducts flooded with ammonia, the meninges exuding172 their pollen173, the cornea glowing in its little crucible….’ He begins now that shocking boyish laughter, throwing back his head until the moonlight plays upon his perfect white teeth under the trimmed moustache. It was on such a night that our footsteps led us to Balthazar’s door, and seeing his light on, we knocked. The same night, on the old horn gramophone (with an emotion so deep that it was almost horror) I heard some amateur’s recording of the old poet reciting the lines which begin: Ideal voices and much beloved Of those who died, of those who are Now lost for us like the very dead; Sometimes within a dream they speak Or in the ticking brain a thought revives them…. These fugitive174 memories explain nothing, illuminate nothing: yet they return again and again when I think of my friends as if the very circumstances of our habits had become impregnated with what we then felt, the parts we then acted. The slither of tyres across the waves of the desert under a sky blue and frost-bound in winter; or in summer a fearful lunar bombardment which turned the sea to phosphorus — bodies shining like tin, crushed in electric bubbles; or walking to the last spit of sand near Montaza, sneaking175 through the dense176 green darkness of the King’s gardens, past the drowsy177 sentry178, to where the force of the sea was suddenly crippled and the waves hobbled over the sand-bar. Or walking arm-in-arm down the long gallery, already gloomy with an unusual yellow winter fog. Her hand is cold so she has slipped it in my pocket. Today because she has no emotion whatsoever179 she tells me that she is in love with me — something she has always refused to do. At the long windows the rain hisses180 down suddenly. The dark eyes are cool and amused. A centre of blackness in things which trembles and changes shape. ‘I am afraid of Nessim these days. He has changed.’ We are standing before the Chinese paintings from the Louvre. ‘The meaning of space’ she says with disgust. There is no form, no pigment42, no lens any more — simply a gaping181 hole into which the infinite drains slowly into the room: a blue gulf182 where the tiger’s body was, emptying itself into the preoccupied atmosphere of the studios. Afterwards we walk up the dark staircase to the top floor to see Sveva, to put on the gramophone and dance. The little model pretends that she is heartbroken because Pombal has cast her off after a ‘whirlwind romance’ lasting nearly a month. My friend himself is a little surprised at the force of an attachment which could make him think of one woman for so long a time. He has cut himself while shaving and his face looks grotesque183 with a moustache of surgical184 tape stuck to it. ‘It is a city of aberrations’ he repeats angrily. ‘I very nearly married her. It is infuriating. Thank God that the veil lifted when it did. It was seeing her naked in front of the mirror. All of a sudden I was disgusted — though I mentally admitted a sort of Renaissance185 dignity in the fallen breasts, the waxy186 skin, the sunken belly187 and the little peasant paws. All of a sudden I sat up in bed and said to myself “My God! She is an elephant in need of a coat of whitewash188!” ’ Now Sveva is quietly sniffing189 into her handkerchief as she recounts the extravagant190 promises which Pombal has made her, and which will never be fulfilled. ‘It was a curious and dangerous attachment for an easy-going man’ (hear Pombal’s voice explaining). ‘It felt as if her cool murderous charity had eaten away my locomotive centres, paralysed my nervous system. Thank God I am free to concentrate on my work once more.’ He is troubled about his work. Rumours191 of his habits and general outlook have begun to get back to the Consulate192. Lying in bed he plans a campaign which will get him crucified and promoted to a post with more scope. ‘I have decided193 that I simply must get my cross. I am going to give several skilfully194 graded parties. I shall count on you: I shall need a few shabby people at first in order to give my boss the feeling that he can patronize me socially. He is a complete parvenu195 of course and rose on his wife’s fortune and judicious196 smarming of powerful people. Worst of all he has a distinct inferiority complex about my own birth and family background. He has still not quite decided whether to do me down or not; but he has been taking soundings at the Quai D’Orsay to see how well padded I am there. Since my uncle died, of course, and my godfather the bishop197 was involved in that huge scandal over the brothel in Reims, I find myself rather less steady on my feet. I shall have to make the brute feel protective, feel that I need encouraging and bringing out. Pouagh! First a rather shabby party with one celebrity198 only. Oh, why did I join the service? Why have I not a small fortune of my own?’ Hearing all this in Sveva’s artificial tears and then walking down the draughty staircase again arm in arm thinking not of Sveva, not of Pombal, but of the passage in Arnauti where he says of Justine: ‘Like women who think by biological precept199 and without the help of reason. To such women how fatal an error it is to give oneself; there is simply a small chewing noise, as when the cat reaches the backbone200 of the mouse.’ The wet pavements are slick underfoot from the rain, and the air has become dense with the moisture so ardently201 longed for by the trees in the public gardens, the statues and other visitants. Justine is away upon another tack202, walking slowly in her glorious silk frock with the dark lined cape203, head hanging. She stops in front of a lighted shop-window and takes my arms so that I face her, looking into my eyes: ‘I am thinking about going away’ she says in a quiet puzzled voice. ‘Something is happening to Nessim and I don’t know what it is as yet.’ Then suddenly the tears come into her eyes and she says: ‘For the first time I am afraid, and I don’t know why.’
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1
monologues
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| n.（戏剧）长篇独白( monologue的名词复数 )；滔滔不绝的讲话；独角戏 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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subliminal
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| adj.下意识的，潜意识的；太弱或太快以至于难以觉察的 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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candid
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| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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muse
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| n.缪斯（希腊神话中的女神），创作灵感 | |
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deftness
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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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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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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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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calamitous
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| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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infinity
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| n.无限，无穷，大量 | |
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psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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narcissism
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| n.自我陶醉，自恋 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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quarried
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| v.从采石场采得( quarry的过去式和过去分词 )；从（书本等中）努力发掘（资料等）；在采石场采石 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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39
confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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40
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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41
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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42
pigment
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| n.天然色素，干粉颜料 | |
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43
ravages
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| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
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44
lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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45
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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46
utilitarian
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| adj.实用的，功利的 | |
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47
benighted
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| adj.蒙昧的 | |
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48
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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49
abdomen
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| n.腹，下腹(胸部到腿部的部分) | |
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50
abdomens
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| n.腹（部）( abdomen的名词复数 ) | |
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51
membranes
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| n.（动物或植物体内的）薄膜( membrane的名词复数 )；隔膜；（可起防水、防风等作用的）膜状物 | |
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52
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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53
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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54
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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55
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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56
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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57
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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58
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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59
inversion
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| n.反向，倒转，倒置 | |
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60
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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61
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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62
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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63
unearthed
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| 出土的（考古） | |
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64
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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65
incisive
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| adj.敏锐的，机敏的，锋利的，切入的 | |
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66
formulated
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| v.构想出( formulate的过去式和过去分词 )；规划；确切地阐述；用公式表示 | |
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67
philosophic
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| adj.哲学的，贤明的 | |
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68
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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69
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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70
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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71
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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72
paradoxes
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| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
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73
turbid
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| adj.混浊的，泥水的，浓的 | |
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74
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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75
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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76
gluttons
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| 贪食者( glutton的名词复数 )； 贪图者； 酷爱…的人； 狼獾 | |
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77
obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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78
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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79
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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80
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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81
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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82
kinetic
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| adj.运动的；动力学的 | |
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83
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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84
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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85
proliferated
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| 激增( proliferate的过去式和过去分词 )； （迅速）繁殖； 增生； 扩散 | |
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86
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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87
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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88
afflicts
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的名词复数 ) | |
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89
endearment
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| n.表示亲爱的行为 | |
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90
sediment
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| n.沉淀，沉渣，沉积(物) | |
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91
slake
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| v.解渴，使平息 | |
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92
parching
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| adj.烘烤似的，焦干似的v.（使）焦干， （使）干透( parch的现在分词 )；使（某人）极口渴 | |
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93
perverting
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| v.滥用( pervert的现在分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
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94
pervert
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| n.堕落者，反常者；vt.误用，滥用；使人堕落，使入邪路 | |
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95
diffusing
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| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的现在分词 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
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96
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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97
martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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98
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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99
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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100
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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101
idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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102
rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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103
mentor
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| n.指导者，良师益友；v.指导 | |
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104
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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105
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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106
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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107
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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108
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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109
soldered
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| v.（使）焊接，焊合( solder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
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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111
furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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112
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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113
tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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114
mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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115
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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116
famished
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| adj.饥饿的 | |
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117
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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118
intimacies
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| 亲密( intimacy的名词复数 )； 密切； 亲昵的言行； 性行为 | |
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119
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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120
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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121
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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122
imprint
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| n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记 | |
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123
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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124
exclusion
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| n.拒绝，排除，排斥，远足，远途旅行 | |
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125
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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126
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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127
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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128
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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129
trespass
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| n./v.侵犯，闯入私人领地 | |
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130
trespasses
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| 罪过( trespass的名词复数 )； 非法进入 | |
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131
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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132
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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133
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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134
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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135
endearments
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| n.表示爱慕的话语，亲热的表示( endearment的名词复数 ) | |
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136
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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137
colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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138
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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139
sputtering
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| n.反应溅射法；飞溅；阴极真空喷镀；喷射v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的现在分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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140
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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141
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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142
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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143
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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144
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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145
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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146
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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147
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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148
obsessive
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| adj. 着迷的, 强迫性的, 分神的 | |
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149
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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150
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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151
besets
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| v.困扰( beset的第三人称单数 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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152
volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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153
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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154
consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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155
cabal
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| n.政治阴谋小集团 | |
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156
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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157
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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158
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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159
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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160
circumscribe
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| v.在...周围划线，限制，约束 | |
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161
illuminate
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| vt.照亮，照明；用灯光装饰；说明，阐释 | |
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162
cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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163
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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164
intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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165
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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166
stabilize
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| vt.（使）稳定，使稳固，使稳定平衡；vi.稳定 | |
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167
contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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168
excrement
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| n.排泄物，粪便 | |
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169
swilling
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| v.冲洗( swill的现在分词 )；猛喝；大口喝；（使）液体流动 | |
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170
musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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172
exuding
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| v.缓慢流出，渗出，分泌出( exude的现在分词 )；流露出对（某物）的神态或感情 | |
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173
pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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174
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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175
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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176
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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177
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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178
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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179
whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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180
hisses
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| 嘶嘶声( hiss的名词复数 ) | |
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181
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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182
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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183
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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184
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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185
renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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186
waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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187
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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188
whitewash
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| v.粉刷，掩饰；n.石灰水，粉刷，掩饰 | |
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189
sniffing
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| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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190
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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191
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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192
consulate
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| n.领事馆 | |
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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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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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195
parvenu
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| n.暴发户，新贵 | |
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196
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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197
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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198
celebrity
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| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
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199
precept
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| n.戒律；格言 | |
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200
backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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201
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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202
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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203
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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