“Do not. There is danger enough, and its point would so be sharpened. Do not even speak aloud.”
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“What is it?”
“The Duke of Aggermans. His bravoes are let loose. No time. I only just now learned it from the Count.” Outside there was the soft sighing of rain.
“I am to go?”
“At once. Make your way south, to the Center of Sedad Mir. The contact is a wool-dealer named Stündert, in the second dock street. Can you remember? Change clothes with me quickly. Do not even take the door, which is watched, but go by the window, across the road, and south into the country.”
The serving-man began to undress in the dark; Rodvard recognized the sound. “Is there any money?” he asked.
The rustling3 stopped. “You to need money, who have the Blue Star?”
Even under the dark, Rodvard felt himself flush (did he dare tell what had happened? No.). “Still, I will need some small amount. I have nothing.”
Even under his breath Rodvard could catch the fury in the other’s tone; “Ah, you deserve to have your bones broken.”
“I know; but is there any money?” Rodvard fumbled4 for the unfamiliar5 lace-points.
The man snarled6, but pressed a few coins into his grasp. “You are to regard this as a loan. Cleudi sends it.”
“Oh. You did not tell me he was aiding this escape.”
“He wants you to go south to Tritulacca, and gave me a letter for you to carry—which I will transmit to the High Center.”
It might be a girl’s light tap at the door. “Go,” whispered Mathurin, fiercely.
The window swung wide; Rodvard felt rain on his face, and the mud of the flower-bed squished round Mathurin’s soft shoes as he took the leap down. A light flamed up in the room behind him; he began to run, stumbling up the terraces with branches snatching at his body, zigzagging7 to avoid the pennon of light. A voice shouted across the rain after him (and he thought Mathurin was a mighty8 bold fellow to face the Duke of Aggermans’ assassins back there). He came against a hedge; there was another shout and the sound of crashing footsteps from the left, in which direction the hedge ran, no way to turn, and he stumbled over a root, prone9, to roll beneath the lip of the shrubbery, thinking concealment10 might be a better resource than speed.
299
So it was; shout echoed shout with an accent of lost, footsteps went past, but apparently11 no one had a light and before one could be brought, Rodvard rolled out, and began to work cautiously toward the end of the hedge, bending double. The bushes turned back to enclose a square of garden, but there was a locked gate, low enough to be climbed. Over; the gravel12 path beyond, for a wonder, did not run circular like most, from which he deduced that it must be the one leading down from the main road. It offered the only real clue to direction, for the lights had winked13 out back there, the villa14’s mass and the trees cut off the night-shine from the bay, and the slope was no help at all with everything so gardened. Rodvard pushed forward cautiously; presently the feel of ruts under his feet told him his reasoning was sound, and he paused to consider whether along the road or across it. The second alternative won; if Aggermans were so in earnest, his people would not give up easily, and they would likely spread along the road.
There was no hedge at the opposite side, but a narrow ditch, in which Rodvard got one leg well wetted to the knee and almost fell. Beyond a slope pitched upward into what, as nearly as he could make out by feeling, would be a sapling grove15 with low underbrush. Having no cloak, he was by this time so wet that it did not matter when he stumbled against small trunks and the leaves just bursting above deluged16 him with big drops, but the sensation was so unpleasant that it tipped him into a despairing mood, where his fatigues17 of the night and day rolled in (and he began to ask himself whether all pleasures must end in an escape of some kind). So he followed the pent of the hill blindly, not thinking at all of where he was going (but only of how he was trapped by unfairnesses somewhere; and that it could not be altogether a matter of man’s justice, which was the plainder of the Sons of the New Day, since no justice of man’s would hold men from fiery18 passion).
Beyond an easy crest19 there was a dip, and Rodvard hurt his knee against a wall of piled stone. In the field beyond, he could sense under his feet the stumps20 of last year’s corn, he was sick with weariness and fear and had begun to sneeze; there was no light or life in the world. What direction? With no reason for any, he followed the line of the stone wall for a little time, and it brought him ultimately to a sodden21 straw-stack, whose hard surface yielded just enough to the persistence22 of his fingers so that he could get the upper half of his body in and slide down into unhappy sleep.
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II
He woke with a headache at the top of his spine23, which ran around inside his head to the place over his eyes; nose feeling as though driven with a wooden plug. Mathurin’s decent black clothes were horribly stained and scratched. Down the way he had come—not at all far from where he had crossed the wall, now that one could see by the light of morning—the footprints lay, a fingerlength deep into the soft ground. At once he was oppressed by the thought that only too easily could his path from the villa be traced, there was Tuolén’s witch behind as well, and fear mounting over the illness, he climbed to the wall itself and tried to walk along its top to hide his marks. After the rain, sky and air had become clear, and there were violets visible on the grove-side of the wall, not that they did him any joy in his misery24. The stones quickly tore a hole in shoes made for indoor walking, so he had to jump down again and consider.
Right across his direction, at a little distance, there jutted25 out from the stone wall a hedge which lack of care had let grow into a screen of low, sprawling26 trees. It slanted27 down leftward to where a gap would mark a field entrance; beyond, a slow trickle28 of smoke ran up the blue to signal breakfast. Rodvard, deciding what he would do if he were hunter instead of hunted, found more than good the argument against harborage so near the villa. He climbed over the wall again to wipe his streaming nose with a burdock leaf, whose bitter juice stung his lips, and perceiving that he left less marked traces in the ground on that side, stayed. The overgrown hedge proved to line a deep-cut track that in one direction wound down toward the main road past the villa. Beyond that track was true forest of old trunks and heavy underbrush. It was surely a good place to seek concealment, but Rodvard was ignorant of how far it might run or what it led to, and with illness galloping29 through his veins30, felt he must have shelter early, so murmuring half aloud to himself that he might as well die in hot blood as in cold rheum, he turned up the track toward the cottage-smoke.
The building was more prosperous than most in the country, with a barn outside, and two complete windows under the thatch-edge. No one answered his knock; as he pushed open the door, a child’s squall was sounding with irritable31 monotony from a trundle-bed on the right, and a woman who had been doing something at a table before the fireplace on the left turned to face him. She was bent32 and dirty; her face was older than her figure. “What do you want?” she demanded.
“A place to rest, if I can,” said Rodvard, “and perhaps something to eat.” He crossed the room and came down weak-kneed on a stool by the fireplace corner.
301
The lined face held no sympathy as her eyes swept down the detail of his torn, mudstained clothes and lingered for a tick at the servant’s badge on his breast. “This is not an inn,” she said sourly.
“Madame, I am unwell. I can pay.” He fumbled at the waist-pouch.
“This is not an inn,” she repeated, then spun33 on her heel, took rapid steps to where the child in its bed still bawled34, and administered it a severe clout35 on the side of the head. “Will you be quiet?” The cries sank to whimpers. She came to stand looking down at Rodvard.
“I know about your kind,” she said. “You’re too lazy to work, so you run away from a good master down there at the villa and probably rob him, too, on festival day when he’s drunk, and then expect honest country-people like us, who have to labor36 for everything we get, to hide you from the provosts. My husband and me, we have to get up at dawn and work all day as hard as we can, and we’re never through till the sun goes down, winter or summer, while you servant-people are drinking and stealing behind your master’s back.” All this was delivered in a torrent37 as though it were a single sentence, ending as she uplifted one arm to brandish38 an imaginary weapon. “Now you leave here.”
Too weary and ill for a reply, a trickle he did not try to disguise running from his nostril39, Rodvard did so, out into the bright spring day and along the track. Where it turned round a boss of hill that thrust in from the westward40, a sense of being watched made him look back. The farm-wife had come out to the end of the house to look after him, and the sound of the child’s petulant41 wail42 was on the air. (Rodvard felt a surge of bitter anger; there was an unfairness in life, every pennyweight of pleasure is paid with double its measure in pain, and only those who grubbed at the ground were entitled to call themselves honest. Why, if this be so, then joy must be wrong, and God himself must be evil, in spite of what the priests say.) But his head was too muzzy to follow any rabbit of reasoning to its hole, so he trudged43 along for a while without thinking anything at all, until he heard the creak of a cart, and here was a mule44 coming out from the Sedad Vix direction. The driver somewhat surlily gave him the time of the day.
302
Rodvard asked to go with him, and when the man said he was bound for Kazmerga, declared that was his destination, though he had never heard of the place and possessed45 not the least idea in what direction it lay. The fellow grunted46 and let him climb in; sat silent for a while as Rodvard sneezed and drizzled48, then was moved to remark that this was a heavy case of the phlegm, but it could be cured by an infusion49 of dandelion root with certain drugs, such as his old woman made, and so well that they often accused her of being a witch. “—But the drugs are costly50 now.” He evidently wanted conversation in payment for his favor, and when this beginning failed on Rodvard’s merely remarking that he would pay for any quantity of drugs to get rid of this rheum, fell silent for a couple of minutes; then leaned over, touched the servant’s badge, and struck out again with:
“Running away, ey? What happened, ey? Lying with wrong woman on festival night, perhaps? Ah, there’s many and many a high family has daughters born nine months from festival night that shouldn’t rightly inherit, but lord, young man, don’t you run away because of that. I say to you that ladies can forgive and be forgive for everything they do that night, when all’s free, and I say to you, you ought to go back to your master.”
He chuckled51 and waved his mule-goad52. “I do recall, I do, when I was a sprout53 no older than yourself how one night I went all the way to Masjon for spring festival and at the dancing in the square there, I found a little cat as hot as ever could be, so we slipped away for some conversation, ey? And when I got back to where I was staying with a friend, what do you think I found? Why, in my bed there was his sister—Phidera, that was her name—and she was saying she had thought the bed her own, and no more clothes on her than a fish. So there were two of them in one night, all I could do, he, he, he, and that’s the way it always is at spring festival, and maybe it would be with you.”
He looked at Rodvard, and the latter was glad for once that the Blue Star had gone dumb over his heart, for there was a drop of moisture on the lip above the ill-shaven chin, which the gaffer did not bother to suck in or to wipe away.
“It was nothing like that,” said he (and to keep from being drawn54 deeper into the morass55 of the old fellow’s thinking); “Have you heard that Baron56 Brunivar is like to be decreed in accusation57?”
“Ey, ey. Those westerners, half Mayerns they are. It will be a sad day when the snow melts from Her Majesty’s head, with only the regents between that crazy Pavinius and the throne, and no female heirs. Ey, ey. Here we are in the Marquis of Deschera’s seignory. For you servant-class it is no matter; you lay out the plates on the table and you have a scuderius in your hand, but for us farm-people with all the taxes . . .”
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(“I am not a servant,” Rodvard wanted to cry, “but a clerk who makes his gain as hard as you; and it is you we most wish to help.” But he forebore), saying only; “Is there an inn at Kazmerga? I need something to eat, being without breakfast, and a place to lie down for the cure of my fluxions.”
“No tavern—” the man stopped, and the expression above the uncut whisker became crafty58 (so that now Rodvard longed for the Blue Star); “Would you pay an innkeeper?”
“Why, yes. I have a little money.”
“You be letting me take you to my home. The old woman will arrange your fluxions in less than a minute with her specific if you pay for it, and give all else you need for less than half what an innkeeper would ask, and no questions if the provosts come nosing, ey. Go, Mironelle.” He leaned forward and rammed59 the goad into the mule’s rump, which shook its ears, danced a little with the hind1 feet, and began to trot60, so that Rodvard’s aching head jounced agonizingly. There was a turn, the track was broadening, fields showed, pigs rooted contentedly61 in a ditch, and the trees gave back to show a church with its half-moon symbol at the peak, and around it, like the spoke62 of a wheel, houses.
“Kazmerga,” said the mule-man. “I live on the other side.”
III
She was fat and one eye looked off at the wrong angle, but Rodvard was in a state not to care if she had worn on her brow the mark of evil. He flopped63 on the straw-bed. There was only one window, at the other end; the couple whispered under it, after which the housewife set a pot on the fire. Rodvard saw a big striped cat that marched back and forth64, back and forth, beside the straw-bed, and it gave him a sense of nameless unease. The woman paid no attention, only stirring the pot as she cast in an herb or two, and muttering to herself.
Curtains came down his eyes, though not that precisely65, neither; he lay in a kind of suspension of life, while the steam of the pot seemed to spread toward filling the room. Time hung; then the potion must be ready, for through half-closed lids Rodvard could see her lurch66 toward him in a manner somewhat odd. Yet it was not till she reached the very side of the bed and lifted his head in the crook67 of one arm, while pressing toward his lips the small earthen bowl, that a tired mind realized he should not from his position have been able to see her at all. A mystery; the pendulous68 face opened on gapped teeth; “Take it now my prettyboy, take it.”
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The liquid was hot and very bitter on the lips, but as the first drops touched Rodvard’s tongue, the cat in the background emitted a scream that cut like a rusty69 saw. The woman jerked violently, spilling the stuff so it scalded him all down chin and chest as she let go. She swung round, squawking something that sounded like “Pozekshus!” at the animal. Rodvard struggled desperately70 as in a nightmare, unable to move a muscle no more than if he had been carved out of stone, realizing horribly that he had been bewitched. He wanted to vomit71 and could not; the cottage-wife turned back toward him with an expression little beautiful.
Her grubby hands were shaking a little. She grumbled72 under her breath as he felt her detach the belt-pouch with all his money and then slip off his shoes. The jacket came next; but as she undid73 the laces at the top, grunting74 and puffing75, her hand touched the chain that held the Blue Star, and she jerked out the jewel. In all his immobility Rodvard’s every perception had become as painfully sharp as an edge of broken ice. He thought she was going to have a fit, her features seemed to twist and melt into each other, her hand came away from the stone as though it had been a red coal. “Oh, nonononono,” she squealed76, backing away. “No. No. No. Ah, you were right, Tigrette; you were right to stop me.”
The cat arched against her. As though the small act had released some spring in herself, the woman bustled77 to the invisible end of the room, where Rodvard could hear wood click on earthenware78, then some kind of a dumb low-toned chant she raised, then became aware of a different and aromatic79 odor. He was wide awake now and hardly sick at all any more; could see how the mist in the room was clearing a little, then heard the door creak open and the mule-driver’s voice, saying:
“Did you get it done, ey?”
“Not I, you old fool, you rat-pudding, you dog-bait.”
“Old fool yourself.” Rodvard heard the sound of a slap. “Call me old fool. You weren’t so dainty with the last one. Taken with the pretty lad, are you? Now go do it, or I’ll slice his throat myself and never mind mess. What’s one runaway80 servant more or less, ey? This is real money, hard money, more nor you ever seen.”
Now she was whimpering. “I tell you you’re a fool. He has a Blue Star, a Blue Star, and his witch will know what’s put on him and recoil81 it back to us, double, triple. Worms that never die crawling under your skin till you perish of it. All the hard money there is is not worth it.”
A sound of steps. The scratchy face looked down at Rodvard, he felt the man palm the jewel. “Blue Star, ey? Ah, fritzess, this is some piece of glass.” But the tone was little sure.
“It is a Blue Star and nothing else, the second one I see. They are wedded82 with the great wedding.”
305
The man turned, and though his own head did not, Rodvard could see how the expression of craftiness83 had come on back to him. “Blue Star? Now you witch it for him, wife, witch it for him, so it will be no longer good. You can witch anything. Then I’ll take him away from here.”
The whimper became a sniffle. “I’ll witch, ah, I’ll witch, mumble84, mumble, mumble.” Rodvard heard her tottering85 shuffle86 go and come, the fat face was over his again, all filled now with oily kinks that held little beads87 of sweat. She looked at him closely and then flung over her shoulder; “Go out, old man, and leave us. There’s something not healthy for you to see,” and began plucking at her garments to undo88 them, at the last moment pausing to throw an edge of stinking89 blanket over Rodvard’s face. His heightened senses caught the stiff rustle90 of clothes sinking to the floor; the aromatic smell declared itself over all others, her fingers sought his burned chin beneath the blanket and applied91 a relieving unguent92.
“Mumble, mumble,” came her voice, and he understanding not a word. “Meowrrr-row!” shouted the cat, as it raced through the narrow cot from end to end. He could have melted with relief as the fingers soothed93 his chest, but then his mind went off on a picture of Lalette become old in the manner of this one and he would have shuddered94 if he could have stirred. The crooning mumble ended, the witch-wife’s ministrations at the same time. There was a silence set with small sounds, over which the continued mewling of the cat. He heard the woman at the door summon her husband, then the two of them speaking in voiceless sibilants, a contention95 going on, which terminated with the man’s strong arms around Rodvard, heaving him up like a sack of meal.
Exterior96 air came through the edge of the blanket; step, step, he was borne, and with a grunt47, dumped in what must be the mule-cart. A pause; the blanket was twitched97 from his face and he was looking up into the disparate eyes of the woman.
“Nice boy, nice boy,” said her voice. “You tell your witch now how I do good. You tell her I respect the great wedding. Not him; he keeps your hard money.”
She patted his still unmoving cheek, a touch that made his senses creep; and the Blue Star was suddenly, shockingly cold over his heart, (he could see beyond any question that there was in the woman’s mind a great fear, but also the great longing98 kindness of two joined against an armèd world).
From where he was leading the mule to hitching99, the man’s voice came; “Wife, get that badge we took from the last one, the mechanician. I say to you, you hurry now.”
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收听单词发音
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1
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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fatigues
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| n.疲劳( fatigue的名词复数 )；杂役；厌倦；（士兵穿的）工作服 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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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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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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jutted
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| v.（使）突出( jut的过去式和过去分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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clout
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| n.用手猛击；权力，影响力 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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brandish
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| v.挥舞，挥动；n.挥动，挥舞 | |
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nostril
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| n.鼻孔 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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41
petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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42
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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43
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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44
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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45
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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46
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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47
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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48
drizzled
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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50
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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51
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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53
sprout
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| n.芽，萌芽；vt.使发芽，摘去芽；vi.长芽，抽条 | |
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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
morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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56
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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57
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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crafty
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| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
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rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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60
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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62
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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63
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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67
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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pendulous
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| adj.下垂的；摆动的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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71
vomit
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| v.呕吐，作呕；n.呕吐物，吐出物 | |
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72
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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Undid
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| v. 解开, 复原 | |
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74
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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78
earthenware
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| n.土器，陶器 | |
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aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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80
runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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81
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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82
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
craftiness
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| 狡猾，狡诈 | |
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84
mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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85
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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86
shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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87
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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89
stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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90
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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91
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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92
unguent
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| n.（药）膏；润滑剂；滑油 | |
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93
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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94
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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95
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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96
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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97
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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98
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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99
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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