My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking. He was a medical student working for an imminent1 examination, and he heard nothing of the arrival until Saturday morning. The morning papers on Caturday contained, in addition to lengthy2 special articles on the planet Mars, on life in the planets, and so forth3, a brief and vaguely4 worded telegram, all the more striking for its brevity.
The Martians, alarmed by the approach of a crowd, had killed a number of people with a quick-firing gun, so the story ran. The telegram concluded with the words: "Formidable as they seem to be, the Martians have not moved from the pit into which they have fallen, and, indeed, seem incapable5 of doing so. Probably this is due to the relative strength of the earth's gravitational energy." On that last text their leader-writer expanded very comfortingly.
Of course all the students in the crammer's biology class, to which my brother went that day, were intensely interested, but there were no signs of any unusual excitement in the streets. The afternoon papers puffed6 scraps7 of news under big headlines. They had nothing to tell beyond the movements of troops about the common, and the burning of the pine woods between Woking and Weybridge, until eight. Then the ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact of the interruption of telegraphic communication. This was thought to be due to the falling of burning pine trees across the line. Nothing more of the fighting was known that night, the night of my drive to Leatherhead and back.
My brother felt no anxiety about us, as he knew from the description in the papers that the cylinder8 was a good two miles from my house. He made up his mind to run down that night to me, in order, as he says, to see the Things before they were killed. He despatched a telegram, which never reached me, about four o'clock, and spent the evening at a music hall.
In London, also, on Saturday night there was a thunderstorm, and my brother reached Waterloo in a cab. On the platform from which the midnight train usually starts he learned, after some waiting, that an accident prevented trains from reaching Woking that night. The nature of the accident he could not ascertain10; indeed, the railway authorities did not clearly know at that time. There was very little excitement in the station, as the officials, failing to realise that anything further than a breakdown11 between Byfleet and Woking junction12 had occurred, were running the theatre trains which usually passed through Woking round by Virginia Water or Guildford. They were busy making the necessary arrangements to alter the route of the Southampton and Portsmouth Sunday League excursions. A nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistaking my brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance, waylaid13 and tried to interview him. Few people, excepting the railway officials, connected the breakdown with the Martians.
I have read, in another account of these events, that on Sunday morning "all London was electrified14 by the news from Woking." As a matter of fact, there was nothing to justify15 that very extravagant16 phrase. Plenty of Londoners did not hear of the Martians until the panic of Monday morning. Those who did took some time to realise all that the hastily worded telegrams in the Sunday papers conveyed. The majority of people in London do not read Sunday papers.
The habit of personal security, moreover, is so deeply fixed17 in the Londoner's mind, and startling intelligence so much a matter of course in the papers, that they could read without any personal tremors18: "About seven o'clock last night the Martians came out of the cylinder, and, moving about under an armour19 of metallic20 shields, have completely wrecked21 Woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an entire battalion22 of the Cardigan Regiment23. No details are known. Maxims24 have been absolutely useless against their armour; the field guns have been disabled by them. Flying hussars have been galloping25 into Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or Windsor. Great anxiety prevails in West Surrey, and earthworks are being thrown up to check the advance Londonward." That was how the Sunday SUN put it, and a clever and remarkably26 prompt "handbook" article in the REFEREE27 compared the affair to a menagerie suddenly let loose in a village.
No one in London knew positively28 of the nature of the armoured Martians, and there was still a fixed idea that these monsters must be sluggish29: "crawling," "creeping painfully" --such expressions occurred in almost all the earlier reports. None of the telegrams could have been written by an eyewitness30 of their advance. The Sunday papers printed separate editions as further news came to hand, some even in default of it. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until late in the afternoon, when the authorities gave the press agencies the news in their possession. It was stated that the people of Walton and Weybridge, and all the district were pouring along the roads Londonward, and that was all.
My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital in the morning, still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night. There he heard allusions31 made to the invasion, and a special prayer for peace. Coming out, he bought a REFEREE. He became alarmed at the news in this, and went again to Waterloo station to find out if communication were restored. The omnibuses, carriages, cyclists, and innumerable people walking in their best clothes seemed scarcely affected32 by the strange intelligence that the news venders were disseminating34. People were interested, or, if alarmed, alarmed only on account of the local residents. At the station he heard for the first time that the Windsor and Chertsey lines were now interrupted. The porters told him that several remarkable35 telegrams had been received in the morning from Byfleet and Chertsey stations, but that these had abruptly36 ceased. My brother could get very little precise detail out of them.
"There's fighting going on about Weybridge" was the extent of their information.
The train service was now very much disorganised. Quite a number of people who had been expecting friends from places on the South-Western network were standing37 about the station. One grey-headed old gentleman came and abused the South-Western Company bitterly to my brother. "It wants showing up," he said.
One or two trains came in from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston, containing people who had gone out for a day's boating and found the locks closed and a feeling of panic in the air. A man in a blue and white blazer addressed my brother, full of strange tidings.
"There's hosts of people driving into Kingston in traps and carts and things, with boxes of valuables and all that," he said. "They come from Molesey and Weybridge and Walton, and they say there's been guns heard at Chertsey, heavy firing, and that mounted soldiers have told them to get off at once because the Martians are coming. We heard guns firing at Hampton Court station, but we thought it was thunder. What the dickens does it all mean? The Martians can't get out of their pit, can they?"
My brother could not tell him.
Afterwards he found that the vague feeling of alarm had spread to the clients of the underground railway, and that the Sunday excursionists began to return from all over the South-Western "lung"--Barnes, Wimbledon, Richmond Park, Kew, and so forth--at unnaturally38 early hours; but not a soul had anything more than vague hearsay39 to tell of. Everyone connected with the terminus seemed ill-tempered.
About five o'clock the gathering40 crowd in the station was immensely excited by the opening of the line of communication, which is almost invariably closed, between the SouthEastern and the South-Western stations, and the passage of carriage trucks bearing huge guns and carriages crammed41 with soldiers. These were the guns that were brought up from Woolwich and Chatham to cover Kingston. There was an exchange of pleasantries: "You'll get eaten!" "We're the beast-tamers!" and so forth. A little while after that a squad42 of police came into the station and began to clear the public off the platforms, and my brother went out into the street again.
The church bells were ringing for evensong, and a squad of Salvation43 Army lassies came singing down Waterloo Road. On the bridge a number of loafers were watching a curious brown scum that came drifting down the stream in patches. The sun was just setting, and the Clock Tower and the Houses of Parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies it is possible to imagine, a sky of gold, barred with long transverse stripes of reddish-purple cloud. There was talk of a floating body. One of the men there, a reservist he said he was, told my brother he had seen the heliograph flickering44 in the west.
In Wellington Street my brother met a couple of sturdy roughs who had just been rushed out of Fleet Street with stillwet newspapers and staring placards. "Dreadful catastrophe45!" they bawled46 one to the other down Wellington Street. "Fight ing at Weybridge! Full description! Repulse47 of the Martians! London in Danger!" He had to give threepence for a copy of that paper.
Then it was, and then only, that he realised something of the full power and terror of these monsters. He learned that they were not merely a handful of small sluggish creatures, but that they were minds swaying vast mechanical bodies; and that they could move swiftly and smite48 with such power that even the mightiest49 guns could not stand against them.
They were described as "vast spiderlike machines, nearly a hundred feet high, capable of the speed of an express train, and able to shoot out a beam of intense heat." Masked batteries, chiefly of field guns, had been planted in the country about Horsell Common, and especially between the Woking district and London. Five of the machines had been seen moving towards the Thames, and one, by a happy chance, had been destroyed. In the other cases the shells had missed, and the batteries had been at once annihilated50 by the HeatRays. Heavy losses of soldiers were mentioned, but the tone of the despatch9 was optimistic.
The Martians had been repulsed51; they were not invulnerable. They had retreated to their triangle of cylinders52 again, in the circle about Woking. Signallers with heliographs were pushing forward upon them from all sides. Guns were in rapid transit53 from Windsor, Portsmouth, Aldershot, Woolwich-even from the north; among others, long wire-guns of ninetyfive tons from Woolwich. Altogether one hundred and sixteen were in position or being hastily placed, chiefly covering London. Never before in England had there been such a vast or rapid concentration of military material.
Any further cylinders that fell, it was hoped, could be destroyed at once by high explosives, which were being rapidly manufactured and distributed. No doubt, ran the report, the situation was of the strangest and gravest description, but the public was exhorted54 to avoid and discourage panic. No doubt the Martians were strange and terrible in the extreme, but at the outside there could not be more than twenty of them against our millions.
The authorities had reason to suppose, from the size of the cylinders, that at the outside there could not be more than five in each cylinder--fifteen altogether. And one at least was disposed of--perhaps more. The public would be fairly warned of the approach of danger, and elaborate measures were being taken for the protection of the people in the threatened southwestern suburbs. And so, with reiterated55 assurances of the safety of London and the ability of the authorities to cope with the difficulty, this quasi-proclamation closed.
This was printed in enormous type on paper so fresh that it was still wet, and there had been no time to add a word of comment. It was curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked56 and taken out to give this place.
All down Wellington Street people could be seen fluttering out the pink sheets and reading, and the Strand57 was suddenly noisy with the voices of an army of hawkers following these pioneers. Men came scrambling58 off buses to secure copies. Certainly this news excited people intensely, whatever their previous apathy59. The shutters60 of a map shop in the Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his Sunday raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible inside the window hastily fastening maps of Surrey to the glass.
Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives61 from West Surrey. There was a man with his wife and two boys and some articles of furniture in a cart such as greengrocers use. He was driving from the direction of Westminster Bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon62 with five or six respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles. The faces of these people were haggard, and their entire appearance contrasted conspicuously63 with the Sabbath-best appearance of the people on the omnibuses. People in fashionable clothing peeped at them out of cabs. They stopped at the Square as if undecided which way to take, and finally turned eastward64 along the Strand. Some way behind these came a man in workday clothes, riding one of those oldfashioned tricycles with a small front wheel. He was dirty and white in the face.
My brother turned down towards Victoria, and met a num ber of such people. He had a vague idea that he might see something of me. He noticed an unusual number of police regulating the traffic. Some of the refugees were exchanging news with the people on the omnibuses. One was professing65 to have seen the Martians. "Boilers66 on stilts67, I tell you, striding along like men." Most of them were excited and animated68 by their strange experience.
Beyond Victoria the public-houses were doing a lively trade with these arrivals. At all the street corners groups of people were reading papers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual Sunday visitors. They seemed to increase as night drew on, until at last the roads, my brother said, were like Epsom High Street on a Derby Day. My brother addressed several of these fugitives and got unsatisfactory answers from most.
None of them could tell him any news of Woking except one man, who assured him that Woking had been entirely69 destroyed on the previous night.
"I come from Byfleet," he said; "man on a bicycle came through the place in the early morning, and ran from door to door warning us to come away. Then came soldiers. We went out to look, and there were clouds of smoke to the south-nothing but smoke, and not a soul coming that way. Then we heard the guns at Chertsey, and folks coming from Weybridge. So I've locked up my house and come on."
At the time there was a strong feeling in the streets that the authorities were to blame for their incapacity to dispose of the invaders70 without all this inconvenience.
About eight o'clock a noise of heavy firing was distinctly audible all over the south of London. My brother could not hear it for the traffic in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back streets to the river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly.
He walked from Westminster to his apartments near Regent's Park, about two. He was now very anxious on my account, and disturbed at the evident magnitude of the trouble. His mind was inclined to run, even as mine had run on Saturday, on military details. He thought of all those silent, expectant guns, of the suddenly nomadic71 countryside; he tried to imagine "boilers on stilts" a hundred feet high.
There were one or two cartloads of refugees passing along Oxford72 Street, and several in the Marylebone Road, but so slowly was the news spreading that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their usual Sunday-night promenaders, albeit73 they talked in groups, and along the edge of Regent's Park there were as many silent couples "walking out" together under the scattered74 gas lamps as ever there had been. The night was warm and still, and a little oppressive; the sound of guns continued intermittently75, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet lightning in the south.
He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened76 from lurid77 dreams in the small hours of Monday by the sound of door knockers, feet running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay astonished, wondering whether day had come or the world gone mad. Then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window.
His room was an attic78 and as he thrust his head out, up and down the street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his window sash, and heads in every kind of night disarray79 appeared. Enquiries were being shouted. "They are coming!" bawled a policeman, hammering at the door; "the Martians are coming!" and hurried to the next door.
The sound of drumming and trumpeting80 came from the Albany Street Barracks, and every church within earshot was hard at work killing81 sleep with a vehement82 disorderly tocsin. There was a noise of doors opening, and window after window in the houses opposite flashed from darkness into yellow illumination.
Up the street came galloping a closed carriage, bursting abruptly into noise at the corner, rising to a clattering83 climax84 under the window, and dying away slowly in the distance. Close on the rear of this came a couple of cabs, the forerunners85 of a long procession of flying vehicles, going for the most part to Chalk Farm station, where the North-Western special trains were loading up, instead of coming down the gradient into Euston.
For a long time my brother stared out of the window in blank astonishment86, watching the policemen hammering at door after door, and delivering their incomprehensible message. Then the door behind him opened, and the man who lodged87 across the landing came in, dressed only in shirt, trousers, and slippers88, his braces89 loose about his waist, his hair disordered from his pillow.
"What the devil is it?" he asked. "A fire? What a devil of a row!"
They both craned their heads out of the window, straining to hear what the policemen were shouting. People were coming out of the side streets, and standing in groups at the corners talking.
"What the devil is it all about?" said my brother's fellow lodger90.
My brother answered him vaguely and began to dress, running with each garment to the window in order to miss nothing of the growing excitement. And presently men selling unnaturally early newspapers came bawling91 into the street:
"London in danger of suffocation92! The Kingston and Rich mond defences forced! Fearful massacres93 in the Thames Valley!"
And all about him--in the rooms below, in the houses on each side and across the road, and behind in the Park Terraces and in the hundred other streets of that part of Marylebone, and the Westbourne Park district and St. Pancras, and westward94 and northward95 in Kilburn and St. John's Wood and Hampstead, and eastward in Shoreditch and Highbury and Haggerston and Hoxton, and, indeed, through all the vastness of London from Ealing to East Ham--people were rubbing their eyes, and opening windows to stare out and ask aimless questions, dressing96 hastily as the first breath of the coming storm of Fear blew through the streets. It was the dawn of the great panic. London, which had gone to bed on Sunday night oblivious97 and inert98, was awakened, in the small hours of Monday morning, to a vivid sense of danger.
Unable from his window to learn what was happening, my brother went down and out into the street, just as the sky between the parapets of the houses grew pink with the early dawn. The flying people on foot and in vehicles grew more numerous every moment. "Black Smoke!" he heard people crying, and again "Black Smoke!" The contagion99 of such a unanimous fear was inevitable100. As my brother hesitated on the door-step, he saw another news vender33 approaching, and got a paper forthwith. The man was running away with the rest, and selling his papers for a shilling each as he ran--a grotesque101 mingling102 of profit and panic.
And from this paper my brother read that catastrophic despatch of the Commander-in-Chief:
"The Martians are able to discharge enormous clouds of a black and poisonous vapour by means of rockets. They have smothered103 our batteries, destroyed Richmond, Kingston, and Wimbledon, and are advancing slowly towards London, destroying everything on the way. It is impossible to stop them. There is no safety from the Black Smoke but in instant flight."
That was all, but it was enough. The whole population of the great six-million city was stirring, slipping, running; presently it would be pouring EN MASSE northward.
"Black Smoke!" the voices cried. "Fire!"
The bells of the neighbouring church made a jangling tumult104, a cart carelessly driven smashed, amid shrieks105 and curses, against the water trough up the street. Sickly yellow lights went to and fro in the houses, and some of the passing cabs flaunted106 unextinguished lamps. And overhead the dawn was growing brighter, clear and steady and calm.
He heard footsteps running to and fro in the rooms, and up and down stairs behind him. His landlady107 came to the door, loosely wrapped in dressing gown and shawl; her husband followed ejaculating.
As my brother began to realise the import of all these things, he turned hastily to his own room, put all his available money--some ten pounds altogether--into his pockets, and went out again into the streets.
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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despatch
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| n./v.(dispatch)派遣；发送；n.急件；新闻报道 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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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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tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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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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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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eyewitness
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| n.目击者，见证人 | |
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allusions
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| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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vender
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| n.小贩 | |
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disseminating
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| 散布，传播( disseminate的现在分词 ) | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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unnaturally
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| adv.违反习俗地；不自然地；勉强地；不近人情地 | |
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hearsay
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| n.谣传，风闻 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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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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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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smite
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| v.重击；彻底击败；n.打；尝试；一点儿 | |
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mightiest
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| adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 )；巨大的；强有力的；浩瀚的 | |
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annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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waggon
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| n.运货马车，运货车；敞篷车箱 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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professing
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| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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stilts
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| n.（支撑建筑物高出地面或水面的）桩子，支柱( stilt的名词复数 )；高跷 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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invaders
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| 入侵者，侵略者，侵入物( invader的名词复数 ) | |
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nomadic
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| adj.流浪的；游牧的 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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intermittently
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| adv.间歇地；断断续续 | |
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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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lurid
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| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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disarray
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| n.混乱，紊乱，凌乱 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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forerunners
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| n.先驱( forerunner的名词复数 )；开路人；先兆；前兆 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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braces
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| n.吊带，背带；托架( brace的名词复数 )；箍子；括弧；（儿童）牙箍v.支住( brace的第三人称单数 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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bawling
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的现在分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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massacres
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| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
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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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northward
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| adv.向北；n.北方的地区 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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99
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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100
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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101
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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102
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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103
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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104
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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105
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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flaunted
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| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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107
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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