'She has left the door open,' said he aloud; 'she will be expecting me. I must be off.'
He went out, and then came back and felt his clothes after the manner of a methodical man who is afraid of forgetting something, and finally he carefully closed the door behind him. He passed through the first court with an easy unconcerned gait as though he were merely taking a stroll. As he was entering the second one, he caught sight of a warder who seemed to be on the watch. He stopped and deliberated for a moment. But, the warder having disappeared, he crossed the court and reached another door, which led to the open country. He closed it behind him without any appearance of astonishment7 or haste.
'She is a good woman all the same,' he murmured. 'She must have heard me calling her. It must be getting late. I will go home at once for fear they should feel uneasy.'
He struck out along a path. It seemed quite natural to him to find himself among the open fields. When he had gone a hundred yards he had altogether forgotten that Les Tulettes was behind him, and imagined that he had just left a vine-grower from whom he had purchased fifty hogsheads of wine. When he reached a spot where five roads met, he recognised where he was, and began to laugh as he said to himself:
'What a goose I am! I was going up the hill towards Saint-Eutrope; it is to the left I must turn. I shall be at Plassans in a good hour and a half.'
Then he went merrily along the high-road, looking at each of the mile-stones as at an old acquaintance. He stopped for[Pg 306] a moment before certain fields and country-houses with an air of interest. The sky was of an ashy hue8, streaked9 with broad rosy10 bands that lighted up the night like dying embers. Heavy drops of rain began to fall; the wind was blowing from the east and was full of moisture.
'Hallo!' said Mouret, looking up at the sky uneasily, 'I mustn't stop loitering. The wind is in the east, and there's going to be a pretty downpour. I shall never be able to reach Plassans before it begins; and I'm not well wrapped up either.'
He gathered round his breast the thick grey woollen waistcoat which he had torn at Les Tulettes. He had a bad bruise11 on his jaw12, to which he raised his hand without heeding13 the sharp pain which it caused him. The high-road was quite deserted14, and he only met a cart going down a hill at a leisurely15 pace. The driver was dozing16, and made no response to his friendly good-night. The rain did not overtake him till he reached the bridge across the Viorne. It distressed17 him very much, and he went to take shelter under the bridge, grumbling18 that it was quite impossible to go on through such weather, that nothing ruined clothes so much as rain, and that if he had known what was coming he would have brought an umbrella. He waited patiently for a long half-hour, amusing himself by listening to the streaming of the downpour; then, when it was over, he returned to the high-road, and at last reached Plassans, ever taking the greatest care to keep himself from getting splashed with mud.
It was nearly midnight, though Mouret calculated that it could scarcely yet be eight o'clock. He passed through the deserted streets, feeling quite distressed that he had kept his wife waiting such a long time.
'She won't be able to understand it,' he thought. 'The dinner will be quite cold. Ah! I shall get a nice reception from Rose.'
At last he reached the Rue19 Balande and stood before his own door.
'Ah!' he said, 'I have not got my latchkey.'
He did not knock at the door, however. The kitchen window was quite dark, and the other windows in the front were equally void of all sign of life. A sense of deep suspicion then took possession of the madman; with an instinct that was quite animal-like, he scented20 danger. He stepped back into the shadow of the neighbouring houses, and again[Pg 307] examined the house-front; then he seemed to come to a decision, and went round into the Impasse21 des Chevillottes. But the little door that led into the garden was bolted. At this, impelled22 by sudden rage, he threw himself against it with tremendous force, and the door, rotted by damp, broke into two pieces. For a moment the violence of the shock almost stunned23 Mouret, and rendered him unconscious of why he had broken down the door, which he tried to mend again by joining the broken pieces.
'That's a nice thing to have done, when I might so easily have knocked,' he said with a sudden pang24 of regret. 'It will cost me at least thirty francs to get a new door.'
He was now in the garden. As he raised his head and saw the bedroom on the first floor brightly lighted, he came to the conclusion that his wife was going to bed. This caused him great astonishment, and he muttered that he must certainly have dropped off to sleep under the bridge while he was waiting for the rain to stop. It must be very late, he thought. The windows of the neighbouring houses, Monsieur Rastoil's as well as those of the Sub-Prefecture, were in darkness. Then he again fixed25 his eyes upon his own house as he caught sight of the glow of a lamp on the second floor behind Abbé Faujas's thick curtains. That glow was like a flaming eye, and seemed to scorch26 him. He pressed his brow with his burning hands, and his head grew dizzy, racked by some horrible recollection like a vague nightmare, in which nothing was clearly defined, but which seemed to apply to some long-standing danger to himself and his family—a danger which grew and increased in horror, and threatened to swallow up the house unless he could do something to save it.
'Marthe, Marthe, where are you?' he stammered27 in an undertone. 'Come and bring away the children.'
He looked about him for Marthe. He could no longer recognise the garden. It seemed to him to be larger; to be empty and grey and like a cemetery28. The big box-plants had vanished, the lettuces29 were no longer there, the fruit-trees had disappeared. He turned round again, came back, and knelt down to see if the slugs had eaten everything up. The disappearance30 of the box-plants, the death of their lofty greenery, caused him an especial pang, as though some of the actual life of the house had departed. Who was it that had killed them? What villain31 had been there uprooting32 everything and tearing away even the tufts of violets which[Pg 308] he had planted at the foot of the terrace? Indignation arose in him as he contemplated33 all this ruin.
'Marthe, Marthe, where are you?' he called again.
He looked for her in the little conservatory34 to the right of the terrace. It was littered with the dead dry corpses35 of the box-plants. They were piled up in bundles amidst the stumps36 of the fruit-trees. In one corner was Désirée's bird-cage, hanging from a nail, with the door broken off and the wire-work sadly torn. The madman stepped back, overwhelmed with fear as though he had opened the door of a vault37. Stammering38, his throat on fire, he went back to the terrace and paced up and down before the door and the shuttered windows. His increasing rage gave his limbs the suppleness39 of a wild beast's. He braced40 himself up and stepped along noiselessly, trying to find some opening. An air-hole into the cellar was sufficient for him. He squeezed himself together and glided41 inside with the nimbleness of a cat, scraping the wall with his nails as he went. At last he was in the house.
The cellar door was only latched42. He made his way through the darkness of the hall, groping past the walls with his hands, and pushing the kitchen door open. Some matches were on a shelf at the left. He went straight to this shelf, and struck a light to enable him to get a lamp which stood upon the mantelpiece without breaking anything. Then he looked about him. There appeared to have been a big meal there that evening. The kitchen was in a state of festive43 disorder44. The table was strewn with dirty plates and dishes and glasses. There was a litter of pans, still warm, on the sink and the chairs and the very floor. A coffee-pot that had been forgotten was also boiling away beside the stove, slightly tilted45 like a tipsy man. Mouret put it straight and then tidily arranged the pans. He smelt46 them, sniffed47 at the drops of liquor that remained in the glasses, and counted the dishes and plates with growing irritation48. This was no longer his quiet orderly kitchen; it seemed as if a hotelful of food had been wasted there. All this guzzling49 disorder reeked50 of indigestion.
'Marthe! Marthe!' he again repeated as he returned into the passage, carrying the lamp as he went; 'answer me, tell me where they have shut you up. We must be off, we must be off at once.'
He searched for her in the dining-room. The two cupboards to the right and left of the stove were open. From a[Pg 309] burst bag of grey paper on the edge of a shelf some lumps of sugar had fallen upon the floor. Higher up Mouret could see a bottle of brandy with the neck broken and plugged with a piece of rag. Then he got upon a chair to examine the cupboards. They were half empty. The jars of preserved fruits had been attacked, the jam-pots had been opened and the jam tasted, the fruit had been nibbled51, the provisions of all kinds had been gnawed52 and fouled53 as though a whole army of rats had been there. Not being able to find Marthe in the closets, Mouret searched all over the room, looking behind the curtains and even underneath54 the furniture. Fragments of bone and pieces of broken bread lay about the floor; there were marks on the table that had been left by sticky glasses. Then he crossed the hall and went to look for Marthe in the drawing-room. But, as soon as he opened the door, he stopped short. This could not really be his own drawing-room. The bright mauve paper, the red-flowered carpet, the new easy-chairs covered with cerise damask, filled him with amazement55. He was afraid to enter a room that did not belong to him, and he closed the door.
'Marthe! Marthe!' he stammered again in accents of despair.
He went back to the middle of the hall, unable to quiet the hoarse56 panting which was swelling57 in his throat. Where had he got to, that he could not recognise a single spot? Who had been transforming his house in such a way? His recollections were quite confused. He could only recall some shadows gliding58 along the hall; two shadows, at first poverty-stricken, soft-spoken, self-suppressing, then tipsy and disreputable-looking; two shadows that leered and sniggered. He raised his lamp, the wick of which was burning smokily, and thereupon the shadows grew bigger, lengthened59 upon the walls, mounted aloft beside the staircase and filled and preyed60 upon the whole house. Some horrid61 filth62, some fermenting63 putrescence had found its way into the place and had rotted the woodwork, rusted64 the iron and split the walls. Then he seemed to hear the house crumbling65 like a ceiling from dampness, and to see it melting like a handful of salt thrown into a basin of hot water.
But up above there sounded peals66 of ringing laughter which made his hair stand on end. He put the lamp down and went upstairs to look for Marthe. He crept up noiselessly on his hands and knees with all the nimbleness and[Pg 310] stealth of a wolf. When he reached the landing of the first floor, he knelt down in front of the door of the bedroom. A ray of light streamed from underneath it. Marthe must be going to bed.
'What a jolly bed this is of theirs!' Olympe was just exclaiming; 'you can quite bury yourself in it, Honoré; I am right up to my eyes in feathers.'
She laughed and stretched herself and sprang about amidst the bed-clothes.
'Ever since I've been here,' she continued, 'I've been longing67 to sleep in this bed. It made me almost ill wishing for it. I could never see that lath of a landlady68 of ours get into it without feeling a furious desire to throw her on to the floor and put myself in her place. One gets quite warm directly. It's just as though I were wrapped in cotton-wool.'
Trouche, who had not yet gone to bed, was examining the bottles on the dressing-table.
'She has got all kinds of scents,' he said.
'Well, as she isn't here, we may just as well treat ourselves to the best room!' continued Olympe. 'There's no danger of her coming back and disturbing us. I have fastened the doors up. You will be getting cold, Honoré.'
But Trouche now opened the drawers and began groping about amongst the linen69.
'Put this on, it's smothered70 with lace,' he said, tossing a night-dress to Olympe. 'I shall wear this red handkerchief myself.'
Then, as Trouche was at last getting into bed, Olympe said to him:
'Put the grog on the night-table. We need not get up and go to the other end of the room for it. There, my dear, we are like real householders now!'
They lay down side by side, with the eider-down quilt drawn71 up to their chins.
'I ate a deuced lot this evening,' said Trouche after a short pause.
'And drank a lot, too!' added Olympe with a laugh. 'I feel very cosy72 and snug73. But the tiresome74 part is that my mother is always interfering75 with us. She has been quite awful to-day. I can't take a single step about the house without her being at me. There's really no advantage in our landlady going off if mother means to play the policeman. She has quite spoilt my day's enjoyment76.'
[Pg 311]
'Hasn't the Abbé some idea of going away?' asked Trouche after another short interval77 of silence. 'If he is made a bishop78, he will be obliged to leave the house to us.'
'One can't be sure of that,' Olympe petulantly80 replied. 'I dare say mother means to keep it. But how jolly we should be here, all by ourselves! I would make our landlady sleep upstairs in my brother's room; I'd persuade her that it was healthier than this. Pass me the glass, Honoré.'
They both took a drink and then covered themselves up afresh.
'Ah!' said Trouche, 'I'm afraid it won't be so easy to get rid of them, but we can try, at any rate. I believe the Abbé would have changed his quarters before if he had not been afraid that the landlady would have considered herself deserted and have made a rumpus. I think I'll try to talk the landlady over. I'll tell her a lot of tales to persuade her to turn them out.'
He took another drink.
'Oh! leave the matter to me,' replied Olympe; 'I'll get mother and Ovide turned out, as they've treated us so badly.'
'Well, if you don't succeed,' said Trouche, 'I can easily concoct81 some scandal about the Abbé and Madame Mouret; and then he will be absolutely obliged to shift his quarters.'
Olympe sat up in bed.
'That's a splendid idea,' she said, 'that is! We must set about it to-morrow. Before a month is over, this room will be ours. I must really give you a kiss for the idea.'
They then both grew very merry, and began to plan how they would arrange the room. They would change the place of the chest of drawers, they said; and they would bring up a couple of easy-chairs from the drawing-room. However, their speech was gradually growing huskier, and at last they became silent.
'There! you're off now!' murmured Olympe, after a time. 'You're snoring with your eyes open! Well, let me come to the other side, so that, at any rate, I can finish my novel. I'm not sleepy, if you are.'
She got up and rolled him like a mere6 lump towards the wall, and then began to read. But, before she had finished a page, she turned her head uneasily towards the door. She fancied she could hear a strange noise on the landing. At this she cried petulantly to her husband, giving him a dig in the ribs82 with her elbow:
[Pg 312]
'You know very well that I don't like that sort of joke. Don't play the wolf; anyone would fancy that there was somebody at the door. Well, go on if it pleases you; you are very irritating.'
Then she angrily absorbed herself in her book again, after sucking a slice of lemon left in her glass.
With the same stealthy movements as before, Mouret now quitted the door of the bedroom, where he had remained crouching83. He climbed to the second floor and knelt before Abbé Faujas's door, squeezing himself close to the key-hole. He choked down Marthe's name, that again rose in his throat, and examined with glistening84 eye the corners of the priest's room, to satisfy himself that nobody was shut up there. The big bare room was in deep shadow; a small lamp which stood upon the table cast just a circular patch of light upon the floor, and the Abbé himself, who was writing, seemed like a big black stain in the midst of that yellow glare. After he had scrutinised the curtains and the chest of drawers, Mouret's gaze fell upon the iron bedstead, upon which lay the priest's hat, looking like the locks of a woman's hair. There was no doubt that Marthe was there, thought Mouret. Hadn't the Trouches said that she was to have that room? But as he continued gazing he saw that the bed was undisturbed, and looked, with its cold, white coverings, like a tombstone. His eyes were getting accustomed to the gloom. However, Abbé Faujas appeared to hear some sound, for he glanced at the door. When the maniac85 saw the priest's calm face his eyes reddened, a slight foam86 appeared at the corner of his lips, and it was with difficulty that he suppressed a shout. At last he went away on his hands and knees again, down the stairs and along the passages, still repeating in low tones:
'Marthe! Marthe!'
He searched for her through the whole house; in Rose's room, which he found empty; in the Trouches' apartments, which were filled with the spoils of the other rooms; in the children's old rooms, where he burst into tears as his hands came across a pair of worn-out boots which had belonged to Désirée. He went up and down the stairs, clinging on to the banisters, and gliding along the walls, stealthily exploring every apartment with the extraordinary dexterity87 of a scheming maniac. Soon there was not a single corner of the place from the cellar to the attic88 which he had not investigated.[Pg 313] Marthe was nowhere in the house; nor were the children there, nor Rose. The house was empty; the house might crumble89 to pieces.
Mouret sat down upon the stairs. He choked down the panting which, in spite of himself, continued to distend90 his throat. With his back against the banisters, and his eyes wide open in the darkness, he sat waiting, absorbed in a scheme which he was patiently thinking out. His senses became so acute that he could hear the slightest sounds that arose in the house. Down below him snored Trouche, while Olympe turned over the pages of her book with a slight rubbing of her fingers against the paper. On the second floor Abbé Faujas's pen made a scratching sound like the crawling of an insect, while, in the adjoining room, Madame Faujas's heavy breathing seemed like an accompaniment to that shrill91 music. Mouret sat for an hour with his ears sharply strained. Olympe was the first of the wakeful ones to succumb92 to sleep. He could hear her novel fall upon the floor. Then Abbé Faujas laid down his pen and undressed himself, quietly gliding about his room in his slippers93. He slipped off his clothes in silence, and did not even make the bed creak as he got into it. Ah! the house had gone to rest at last. But the madman could tell from the sound of the Abbé's breathing that he was yet awake. Gradually that breathing grew fuller, and at last the whole house slept.
Mouret waited on for another half-hour. He still listened with strained ears, as though he could hear the four sleepers94 descending95 into deeper and deeper slumber96. The house lay wrapped in darkness and unconsciousness. Then the maniac rose up and slowly made his way into the passage.
'Marthe isn't here any longer; the house isn't here; nothing is here,' he murmured.
He opened the door that led into the garden, and went down to the little conservatory. When he got there he methodically removed the big dry box-plants, and carried them upstairs in enormous armfuls, piling them in front of the doors of the Trouches and the Faujases. He felt, too, a craving97 for a bright light, and he went into the kitchen and lighted all the lamps, which he placed upon the tables in the various rooms and on the landings, and along the passages. Then he brought up the rest of the box-plants. They were soon piled higher than the doors. As he was making his last journey with them he raised his eyes and[Pg 314] noticed the windows. Next he went out into the garden again, took the trunks of the fruit-trees and stacked them up under the windows, skilfully98 arranging for little currents of air which should make them blaze freely. The stack seemed to him but a small one, however.
'There is nothing left,' he murmured: 'there must be nothing left.'
Then, as a thought struck him, he went down into the cellar, and recommenced his journeying backwards99 and forwards. He was now carrying up the supply of fuel for the winter, the coal, the vine-branches, and the wood. The pile under the windows gradually grew bigger. As he carefully arranged each bundle of vine-branches, he was thrilled with livelier satisfaction. He next proceeded to distribute the fuel through the rooms on the ground-floor, and left a heap of it in the entrance-hall, and another heap in the kitchen. Then he piled the furniture atop of the different heaps. An hour sufficed him to get his work finished. He had taken his boots off, and had glided about all over the house, with heavily laden100 arms, so dexterously101 that he had not let a single piece of wood fall roughly to the floor. He seemed endowed with new life, with extraordinary nimbleness of motion. As far as this one firmly fixed idea of his went, he was perfectly in possession of his senses.
When all was ready, he lingered for a moment to enjoy the sight of his work. He went from pile to pile, took pleasure in viewing the square-set pyres, and gently rubbed his hands together with an appearance of extreme satisfaction. As a few fragments of coal had fallen on the stairs, he ran off to get a brush, and carefully swept the black dust from the steps. Then he completed his inspection102 with the careful precision of a man who means to do things as they ought to be done. He gradually became quite excited with satisfaction, and dropped on to his hands and knees again, and began to hop79 about, panting more heavily in his savage103 joy.
At last he took a vine-branch and set fire to the heaps. First of all he lighted the pile on the terrace underneath the windows. Then he leapt back into the house and set fire to the heaps in the drawing-room and dining-room, and then to those in the kitchen and the hall. Next he sprang up the stairs and flung the remains104 of his blazing brand upon the piles that lay against the doors of the Trouches and Faujases. An ever-increasing rage was thrilling him, and the lurid[Pg 315] blaze of the fire brought his madness to a climax105. He twice came down the stairs with terrific leaps, bounded about through the thick smoke, fanning the flames with his breath, and casting handfuls of coal upon them. At the sight of the flames, already mounting to the ceilings of the rooms, he sat down every now and then and laughed and clapped his hands with all his strength.
The house was now roaring like an over-crammed stove. The flames burst out at all points, at once, with a violence that split the floors. But the maniac made his way upstairs again through the sheets of fire, singeing106 his hair and blackening his clothes as he went. And he posted himself on the second-floor, crouching down on his hands and knees with his growling108, beast-like head thrown forward. He was keeping guard over the landing, and his eyes never quitted the priest's door.
'Ovide! Ovide!' shrieked110 a panic-stricken voice.
Madame Faujas's door at the end of the landing was suddenly opened and the flames swept into her room with the roar of a tempest. The old woman appeared in the midst of the fire. Stretching out her arms, she hurled111 aside the blazing brands and sprang on to the landing, pulling and pushing away with her hands and feet the burning heap that blocked up her son's door, and calling all the while to the priest despairingly. The maniac crouched112 still lower down, his eyes gleaming while he continued to growl107.
'Wait for me! Don't get out of the window!' cried Madame Faujas, striking at her son's door.
She threw her weight against it, and the charred113 door yielded easily. She reappeared holding her son in her arms. He had taken time to put on his cassock, and was choking, half suffocated114 by the smoke.
'I am going to carry you, Ovide,' she cried, with energetic determination; 'Hold well on to my shoulders, and clutch hold of my hair if you feel you are slipping. Don't trouble, I'll carry you through it all.'
She hoisted115 him upon her shoulders as though he were a child, and this sublime116 mother, this old peasant woman, carrying her devotion to death itself, did not so much as totter117 beneath the crushing weight of that big swooning, unresisting body. She extinguished the burning brands with her naked feet and made a free passage through the flames by brushing them aside with her open hand so that her son[Pg 316] might not even be touched by them. But just as she was about to go downstairs, the maniac, whom she had not observed, sprang upon the Abbé Faujas and tore him from off her shoulders. His muttered growl turned into a wild shriek109, while he writhed118 in a fit at the head of the stairs. He belaboured the priest, tore him with his nails and strangled him.
'Marthe! Marthe!' he bellowed119.
Then he rolled down the blazing stairs, still with the priest in his grasp; while Madame Faujas, who had driven her teeth into his throat, drained his blood. The Trouches perished in their drunken stupor without a groan120; and the house, gutted121 and undermined, collapsed122 in the midst of a cloud of sparks.
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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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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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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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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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heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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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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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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dozing
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distressed
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grumbling
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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impelled
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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pang
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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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scorch
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| v.烧焦，烤焦；高速疾驶；n.烧焦处，焦痕 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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lettuces
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| n.莴苣，生菜（ lettuce的名词复数 ）；生菜叶 | |
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30
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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31
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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32
uprooting
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| n.倒根，挖除伐根v.把（某物）连根拔起( uproot的现在分词 )；根除；赶走；把…赶出家园 | |
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33
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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34
conservatory
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| n.温室，音乐学院；adj.保存性的，有保存力的 | |
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35
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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36
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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37
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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38
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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39
suppleness
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| 柔软； 灵活； 易弯曲； 顺从 | |
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40
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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41
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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42
latched
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| v.理解( latch的过去式和过去分词 )；纠缠；用碰锁锁上（门等）；附着（在某物上） | |
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43
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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44
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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45
tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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46
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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47
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；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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48
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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49
guzzling
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| v.狂吃暴饮，大吃大喝( guzzle的现在分词 ) | |
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50
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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51
nibbled
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的过去式和过去分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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52
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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53
fouled
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| v.使污秽( foul的过去式和过去分词 )；弄脏；击球出界；（通常用废物）弄脏 | |
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54
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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55
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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56
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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57
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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58
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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59
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
preyed
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| v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 )；掠食；折磨；（人）靠欺诈为生 | |
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61
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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62
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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63
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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64
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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66
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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68
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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69
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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70
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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71
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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72
cosy
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| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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73
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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74
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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75
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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76
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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77
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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78
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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79
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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80
petulantly
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81
concoct
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| v.调合，制造 | |
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82
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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83
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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84
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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85
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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86
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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87
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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88
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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89
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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90
distend
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| vt./vi.（使）扩大，（使）扩张 | |
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91
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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92
succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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93
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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94
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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95
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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96
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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97
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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98
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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99
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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100
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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101
dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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102
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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103
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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104
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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105
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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106
singeing
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| v.浅表烧焦( singe的现在分词 )；（毛发）燎，烧焦尖端[边儿]；烧毛 | |
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107
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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108
growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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109
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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110
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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112
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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114
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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115
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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117
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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118
writhed
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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120
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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121
gutted
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| adj.容易消化的v.毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 )；取出…的内脏 | |
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122
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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