Some weeks later Dr Porho?t was sitting among his books in the quiet, low room that overlooked the Seine. He had given himself over to a pleasing melancholy1. The heat beat down upon the noisy streets of Paris, and the din2 of the great city penetrated3 even to his fastness in the ?le Saint Louis. He remembered the cloud-laden sky of the country where he was born, and the south-west wind that blew with a salt freshness. The long streets of Brest, present to his fancy always in a drizzle4 of rain, with the lights of cafés reflected on the wet pavements, had a familiar charm. Even in foul5 weather the sailor-men who trudged6 along them gave one a curious sense of comfort. There was delight in the smell of the sea and in the freedom of the great Atlantic. And then he thought of the green lanes and of the waste places with their scented7 heather, the fair broad roads that led from one old sweet town to another, of the _Pardons_ and their gentle, sad crowds. Dr Porho?t gave a sigh.
'It is good to be born in the land of Brittany,' he smiled.
But his _bonne_ showed Susie in, and he rose with a smile to greet her. She had been in Paris for some time, and they had seen much of one another. He basked8 in the gentle sympathy with which she interested herself in all the abstruse9, quaint10 matters on which he spent his time; and, divining her love for Arthur, he admired the courage with which she effaced11 herself. They had got into the habit of eating many of their meals together in a quiet house opposite the Cluny called La Reine Blanche, and here they had talked of so many things that their acquaintance was grown into a charming friendship.
'I'm ashamed to come here so often,' said Susie, as she entered. 'Matilde is beginning to look at me with a suspicious eye.'
'It is very good of you to entertain a tiresome12 old man,' he smiled, as he held her hand. 'But I should have been disappointed if you had forgotten your promise to come this afternoon, for I have much to tell you.'
'Tell me at once,' she said, sitting down.
'I have discovered an MS. at the library of the Arsenal13 this morning that no one knew anything about.'
He said this with an air of triumph, as though the achievement were of national importance. Susie had a tenderness for his innocent mania14; and, though she knew the work in question was occult and incomprehensible, congratulated him heartily15.
'It is the original version of a book by Paracelsus. I have not read it yet, for the writing is most difficult to decipher, but one point caught my eye on turning over the pages. That is the gruesome fact that Paracelsus fed the _homunculi_ he manufactured on human blood. One wonders how he came by it.'
Susie gave a little start, which Dr Porho?t noticed.
'What is the matter with you?'
'Nothing,' she said quickly.
He looked at her for a moment, then proceeded with the subject that strangely fascinated him.
'You must let me take you one day to the library of the Arsenal. There is no richer collection in the world of books dealing17 with the occult sciences. And of course you know that it was at the Arsenal that the tribunal sat, under the suggestive name of _chambre ardente_, to deal with cases of sorcery and magic?'
'I didn't,' smiled Susie.
'I always think that these manuscripts and queer old books, which are the pride of our library, served in many an old trial. There are volumes there of innocent appearance that have hanged wretched men and sent others to the stake. You would not believe how many persons of fortune, rank, and intelligence, during the great reign18 of Louis XIV, immersed themselves in these satanic undertakings19.'
Susie did not answer. She could not now deal with these matters in an indifferent spirit. Everything she heard might have some bearing on the circumstances which she had discussed with Dr Porho?t times out of number. She had never been able to pin him down to an affirmation of faith. Certain strange things had manifestly happened, but what the explanation of them was, no man could say. He offered analogies from his well-stored memory. He gave her books to read till she was saturated20 with occult science. At one moment, she was inclined to throw them all aside impatiently, and, at another, was ready to believe that everything was possible.
Dr Porho?t stood up and stretched out a meditative21 finger. He spoke22 in that agreeably academic manner which, at the beginning of their acquaintance, had always entertained Susie, because it contrasted so absurdly with his fantastic utterances23.
'It was a strange dream that these wizards cherished. They sought to make themselves beloved of those they cared for and to revenge themselves on those they hated; but, above all, they sought to become greater than the common run of men and to wield24 the power of the gods. They hesitated at nothing to gain their ends. But Nature with difficulty allows her secrets to be wrested25 from her. In vain they lit their furnaces, and in vain they studied their crabbed26 books, called up the dead, and conjured27 ghastly spirits. Their reward was disappointment and wretchedness, poverty, the scorn of men, torture, imprisonment28, and shameful29 death. And yet, perhaps after all, there may be some particle of truth hidden away in these dark places.'
'You never go further than the cautious perhaps,' said Susie. 'You never give me any definite opinion.'
'In these matters it is discreet30 to have no definite opinion,' he smiled, with a shrug31 of the shoulders. 'If a wise man studies the science of the occult, his duty is not to laugh at everything, but to seek patiently, slowly, perseveringly32, the truth that may be concealed33 in the night of these illusions.'
The words were hardly spoken when Matilde, the ancient _bonne_, opened the door to let a visitor come in. It was Arthur Burdon. Susie gave a cry of surprise, for she had received a brief note from him two days before, and he had said nothing of crossing the Channel.
'I'm glad to find you both here,' said Arthur, as he shook hands with them.
'Has anything happened?' cried Susie.
His manner was curiously34 distressing35, and there was a nervousness about his movements that was very unexpected in so restrained a person.
'I've seen Margaret again,' he said.
'Well?'
He seemed unable to go on, and yet both knew that he had something important to tell them. He looked at them vacantly, as though all he had to say was suddenly gone out of his mind.
'I've come straight here,' he said, in a dull, bewildered fashion. 'I went to your hotel, Susie, in the hope of finding you; but when they told me you were out, I felt certain you would be here.'
'You seem worn out, _cher ami_,' said Dr Porho?t, looking at him. 'Will you let Matilde make you a cup of coffee?'
'I should like something,' he answered, with a look of utter weariness.
'Sit still for a minute or two, and you shall tell us what you want to when you are a little rested.'
Dr Porho?t had not seen Arthur since that afternoon in the previous year when, in answer to Haddo's telegram, he had gone to the studio in the Rue16 Campagne Première. He watched him anxiously while Arthur drank his coffee. The change in him was extraordinary; there was a cadaverous exhaustion36 about his face, and his eyes were sunken in their sockets37. But what alarmed the good doctor most was that Arthur's personality seemed thoroughly38 thrown out of gear. All that he had endured during these nine months had robbed him of the strength of purpose, the matter-of-fact sureness, which had distinguished39 him. He was now unbalanced and neurotic40.
Arthur did not speak. With his eyes fixed41 moodily42 on the ground, he wondered how much he could bring himself to tell them. It revolted him to disclose his inmost thoughts, yet he was come to the end of his tether and needed the doctor's advice. He found himself obliged to deal with circumstances that might have existed in a world of nightmare, and he was driven at last to take advantage of his friend's peculiar43 knowledge.
Returning to London after Margaret's flight, Arthur Burdon had thrown himself again into the work which for so long had been his only solace44. It had lost its savour; but he would not take this into account, and he slaved away mechanically, by perpetual toil45 seeking to deaden his anguish46. But as the time passed he was seized on a sudden with a curious feeling of foreboding, which he could in no way resist; it grew in strength till it had all the power of an obsession47, and he could not reason himself out of it. He was sure that a great danger threatened Margaret. He could not tell what it was, nor why the fear of it was so persistent48, but the idea was there always, night and day; it haunted him like a shadow and pursued him like remorse49. His anxiety increased continually, and the vagueness of his terror made it more tormenting50. He felt quite certain that Margaret was in imminent51 peril52, but he did not know how to help her. Arthur supposed that Haddo had taken her back to Skene; but, even if he went there, he had no chance of seeing her. What made it more difficult still, was that his chief at St Luke's was away, and he was obliged to be in London in case he should be suddenly called upon to do some operation. But he could think of nothing else. He felt it urgently needful to see Margaret. Night after night he dreamed that she was at the point of death, and heavy fetters53 prevented him from stretching out a hand to help her. At last he could stand it no more. He told a brother surgeon that private business forced him to leave London, and put the work into his hands. With no plan in his head, merely urged by an obscure impulse, he set out for the village of Venning, which was about three miles from Skene.
It was a tiny place, with one public-house serving as a hotel to the rare travellers who found it needful to stop there, and Arthur felt that some explanation of his presence was necessary. Having seen at the station an advertisement of a large farm to let, he told the inquisitive54 landlady55 that he had come to see it. He arrived late at night. Nothing could be done then, so he occupied the time by trying to find out something about the Haddos.
Oliver was the local magnate, and his wealth would have made him an easy topic of conversation even without his eccentricity56. The landlady roundly called him insane, and as an instance of his queerness told Arthur, to his great dismay, that Haddo would have no servants to sleep in the house: after dinner everyone was sent away to the various cottages in the park, and he remained alone with his wife. It was an awful thought that Margaret might be in the hands of a raving57 madman, with not a soul to protect her. But if he learnt no more than this of solid fact, Arthur heard much that was significant. To his amazement58 the old fear of the wizard had grown up again in that lonely place, and the garrulous59 woman gravely told him of Haddo's evil influence on the crops and cattle of farmers who had aroused his anger. He had had an altercation60 with his bailiff, and the man had died within a year. A small freeholder in the neighbourhood had refused to sell the land which would have rounded off the estate of Skene, and a disease had attacked every animal on his farm so that he was ruined. Arthur was impressed because, though she reported these rumours62 with mock scepticism as the stories of ignorant yokels63 and old women, the innkeeper had evidently a terrified belief in their truth. No one could deny that Haddo had got possession of the land he wanted; for, when it was put up to auction64, no one would bid against him, and he bought it for a song.
As soon as he could do so naturally, Arthur asked after Margaret. The woman shrugged65 her shoulders. No one knew anything about her. She never came out of the park gates, but sometimes you could see her wandering about inside by herself. She saw no one. Haddo had long since quarrelled with the surrounding gentry66; and though one old lady, the mother of a neighbouring landowner, had called when Margaret first came, she had not been admitted, and the visit was never returned.
'She'll come to no good, poor lady,' said the hostess of the inn. 'And they do say she's a perfect picture to look at.'
Arthur went to his room. He longed for the day to come. There was no certain means of seeing Margaret. It was useless to go to the park gates, since even the tradesmen were obliged to leave their goods at the lodge67; but it appeared that she walked alone, morning and afternoon, and it might be possible to see her then. He decided68 to climb into the park and wait till he came upon her in some spot where they were not likely to be observed.
Next day the great heat of the last week was gone, and the melancholy sky was dark with lowering clouds. Arthur inquired for the road which led to Skene, and set out to walk the three miles which separated him from it. The country was grey and barren. There was a broad waste of heath, with gigantic boulders69 strewn as though in pre-historic times Titans had waged there a mighty70 battle. Here and there were trees, but they seemed hardly to withstand the fierce winds of winter; they were old and bowed before the storm. One of them attracted his attention. It had been struck by lightning and was riven asunder71, leafless; but the maimed branches were curiously set on the trunk so that they gave it the appearance of a human being writhing72 in the torture of infernal agony. The wind whistled strangely. Arthur's heart sank as he walked on. He had never seen a country so desolate73.
He came to the park gates at last and stood for some time in front of them. At the end of a long avenue, among the trees, he could see part of a splendid house. He walked along the wooden palisade that surrounded the park. Suddenly he came to a spot where a board had been broken down. He looked up and down the road. No one was in sight. He climbed up the low, steep bank, wrenched74 down a piece more of the fence, and slipped in.
He found himself in a dense75 wood. There was no sign of a path, and he advanced cautiously. The bracken was so thick and high that it easily concealed him. Dead owners had plainly spent much care upon the place, for here alone in the neighbourhood were trees in abundance; but of late it had been utterly76 neglected. It had run so wild that there were no traces now of its early formal arrangement; and it was so hard to make one's way, the vegetation was so thick, that it might almost have been some remnant of primeval forest. But at last he came to a grassy77 path and walked along it slowly. He stopped on a sudden, for he heard a sound. But it was only a pheasant that flew heavily through the low trees. He wondered what he should do if he came face to face with Oliver. The innkeeper had assured him that the squire78 seldom came out, but spent his days locked in the great attics79 at the top of the house. Smoke came from the chimneys of them, even in the hottest days of summer, and weird80 tales were told of the devilries there committed.
Arthur went on, hoping in the end to catch sight of Margaret, but he saw no one. In that grey, chilly81 day the woods, notwithstanding their greenery, were desolate and sad. A sombre mystery seemed to hang over them. At last he came to a stone bench at a cross-way among the trees, and, since it was the only resting-place he had seen, it struck him that Margaret might come there to sit down. He hid himself in the bracken. He had forgotten his watch and did not know how the time passed; he seemed to be there for hours.
But at length his heart gave a great beat against his ribs83, for all at once, so silently that he had not heard her approach, Margaret came into view. She sat on the stone bench. For a moment he dared not move in case the sound frightened her. He could not tell how to make his presence known. But it was necessary to do something to attract her attention, and he could only hope that she would not cry out.
'Margaret,' he called softly.
She did not move, and he repeated her name more loudly. But still she made no sign that she had heard. He came forward and stood in front of her.
'Margaret.'
She looked at him quietly. He might have been someone she had never set eyes on, and yet from her composure she might have expected him to be standing82 there.
'Margaret, don't you know me?'
'What do you want?' she answered placidly84.
He was so taken aback that he did not know what to say. She kept gazing at him steadfastly85. On a sudden her calmness vanished, and she sprang to her feet.
'Is it you really?' she cried, terribly agitated86. 'I thought it was only a shape that mimicked87 you.'
'Margaret, what do you mean? What has come over you?'
She stretched out her hand and touched him.
'I'm flesh and blood all right,' he said, trying to smile.
She shut her eyes for a moment, as though in an effort to collect herself.
'I've had hallucinations lately,' she muttered. 'I thought it was some trick played upon me.'
Suddenly she shook herself.
'But what are you doing here? You must go. How did you come? Oh, why won't you leave me alone?'
'I've been haunted by a feeling that something horrible was going to happen to you. I was obliged to come.'
'For God's sake, go. You can do me no good. If he finds out you've been here--'
She stopped, and her eyes were dilated88 with terror. Arthur seized her hands.
'Margaret, I can't go--I can't leave you like this. For Heaven's sake, tell me what is the matter. I'm so dreadfully frightened.'
He was aghast at the difference wrought89 in her during the two months since he had seen her last. Her colour was gone, and her face had the greyness of the dead. There were strange lines on her forehead, and her eyes had an unnatural90 glitter. Her youth had suddenly left her. She looked as if she were struck down by mortal illness.
'What is that matter with you?' he asked.
'Nothing.' She looked about her anxiously. 'Oh, why don't you go? How can you be so cruel?'
'I must do something for you,' he insisted.
She shook her head.
'It's too late. Nothing can help me now.' She paused; and when she spoke again it was with a voice so ghastly that it might have come from the lips of a corpse91. 'I've found out at last what he's going to do with me He wants me for his great experiment, and the time is growing shorter.'
'What do you mean by saying he wants you?'
'He wants--my life.'
Arthur gave a cry of dismay, but she put up her hand.
'It's no use resisting. It can't do any good--I think I shall be glad when the moment comes. I shall at least cease to suffer.'
'But you must be mad.'
'I don't know. I know that he is.'
'But if your life is in danger, come away for God's sake. After all, you're free. He can't stop you.'
'I should have to go back to him, as I did last time,' she answered, shaking her head. 'I thought I was free then, but gradually I knew that he was calling me. I tried to resist, but I couldn't. I simply had to go to him.'
'But it's awful to think that you are alone with a man who's practically raving mad.'
'I'm safe for today,' she said quietly. 'It can only be done in the very hot weather. If there's no more this year, I shall live till next summer.'
'Oh, Margaret, for God's sake don't talk like that. I love you--I want to have you with me always. Won't you come away with me and let me take care of you? I promise you that no harm shall come to you.'
'You don't love me any more; you're only sorry for me now.'
'It's not true.'
'Oh yes it is. I saw it when we were in the country. Oh, I don't blame you. I'm a different woman from the one you loved. I'm not the Margaret you knew.'
'I can never care for anyone but you.'
She put her hand on his arm.
'If you loved me, I implore92 you to go. You don't know what you expose me to. And when I'm dead you must marry Susie. She loves you with all her heart, and she deserves your love.'
'Margaret, don't go. Come with me.'
'And take care. He will never forgive you for what you did. If he can, he will kill you.'
She started violently, as though she heard a sound. Her face was convulsed with sudden fear.
'For God's sake go, go!'
She turned from him quickly, and, before he could prevent her, had vanished. With heavy heart he plunged93 again into the bracken.
When Arthur had given his friends some account of this meeting, he stopped and looked at Dr Porho?t. The doctor went thoughtfully to his bookcase.
'What is it you want me to tell you?' he asked.
'I think the man is mad,' said Arthur. 'I found out at what asylum94 his mother was, and by good luck was able to see the superintendent95 on my way through London. He told me that he had grave doubts about Haddo's sanity96, but it was impossible at present to take any steps. I came straight here because I wanted your advice. Granting that the man is out of his mind, is it possible that he may be trying some experiment that entails97 a sacrifice of human life?'
'Nothing is more probable,' said Dr Porho?t gravely.
Susie shuddered98. She remembered the rumour61 that had reached her ears in Monte Carlo.
'They said there that he was attempting to make living creatures by a magical operation.' She glanced at the doctor, but spoke to Arthur. 'Just before you came in, our friend was talking of that book of Paracelsus in which he speaks of feeding the monsters he has made on human blood.'
Arthur gave a horrified99 cry.
'The most significant thing to my mind is that fact about Margaret which we are certain of,' said Dr Porho?t. 'All works that deal with the Black Arts are unanimous upon the supreme100 efficacy of the virginal condition.'
'But what is to be done?' asked Arthur is desperation. 'We can't leave her in the hands of a raving madman.' He turned on a sudden deathly white. 'For all we know she may be dead now.'
'Have you ever heard of Gilles de Rais?' said Dr Porho?t, continuing his reflections. 'That is the classic instance of human sacrifice. I know the country in which he lived; and the peasants to this day dare not pass at night in the neighbourhood of the ruined castle which was the scene of his horrible crimes.'
'It's awful to know that this dreadful danger hangs over her, and to be able to do nothing.'
'We can only wait,' said Dr Porho?t.
'And if we wait too long, we may be faced by a terrible catastrophe101.'
'Fortunately we live in a civilized102 age. Haddo has a great care of his neck. I hope we are frightened unduly103.'
It seemed to Susie that the chief thing was to distract Arthur, and she turned over in her mind some means of directing his attention to other matters.
'I was thinking of going down to Chartres for two days with Mrs Bloomfield,' she said. 'Won't you come with me? It is the most lovely cathedral in the world, and I think you will find it restful to wander about it for a little while. You can do no good, here or in London. Perhaps when you are calm, you will be able to think of something practical.'
Dr Porho?t saw what her plan was, and joined his entreaties104 to hers that Arthur should spend a day or two in a place that had no associations for him. Arthur was too exhausted105 to argue, and from sheer weariness consented. Next day Susie took him to Chartres. Mrs Bloomfield was no trouble to them, and Susie induced him to linger for a week in that pleasant, quiet town. They passed many hours in the stately cathedral, and they wandered about the surrounding country. Arthur was obliged to confess that the change had done him good, and a certain apathy106 succeeded the agitation107 from which he had suffered so long. Finally Susie persuaded him to spend three or four weeks in Brittany with Dr Porho?t, who was proposing to revisit the scenes of his childhood. They returned to Paris. When Arthur left her at the station, promising108 to meet her again in an hour at the restaurant where they were going to dine with Dr Porho?t, he thanked her for all she had done.
'I was in an absurdly hysterical109 condition,' he said, holding her hand. 'You've been quite angelic. I knew that nothing could be done, and yet I was tormented110 with the desire to do something. Now I've got myself in hand once more. I think my common sense was deserting me, and I was on the point of believing in the farrago of nonsense which they call magic. After all, it's absurd to think that Haddo is going to do any harm to Margaret. As soon at I get back to London, I'll see my lawyers, and I daresay something can be done. If he's really mad, we'll have to put him under restraint, and Margaret will be free. I shall never forget your kindness.'
Susie smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
She was convinced that he would forget everything if Margaret came back to him. But she chid111 herself for the bitterness of the thought. She loved him, and she was glad to be able to do anything for him.
She returned to the hotel, changed her frock, and walked slowly to the Chien Noir. It always exhilarated her to come back to Paris; and she looked with happy, affectionate eyes at the plane trees, the yellow trams that rumbled112 along incessantly113, and the lounging people. When she arrived, Dr Porho?t was waiting, and his delight at seeing her again was flattering and pleasant. They talked of Arthur. They wondered why he was late.
In a moment he came in. They saw at once that something quite extraordinary had taken place.
'Thank God, I've found you at last!' he cried.
His face was moving strangely. They had never seen him so discomposed.
'I've been round to your hotel, but I just missed you. Oh, why did you insist on my going away?'
'What on earth's the matter?' cried Susie.
'Something awful has happened to Margaret.'
Susie started to her feet with a sudden cry of dismay.
'How do you know?' she asked quickly.
He looked at them for a moment and flushed. He kept his eyes upon them, as though actually to force his listeners into believing what he was about to say.
'I feel it,' he answered hoarsely114.
'What do you mean?'
'It came upon me quite suddenly, I can't explain why or how. I only know that something has happened.'
He began again to walk up and down, prey115 to an agitation that was frightful116 to behold117. Susie and Dr Porho?t stared at him helplessly. They tried to think of something to say that would calm him.
'Surely if anything had occurred, we should have been informed.'
He turned to Susie angrily.
'How do you suppose we could know anything? She was quite helpless. She was imprisoned118 like a rat in a trap.'
'But, my dear friend, you mustn't give way in this fashion,' said the doctor. 'What would you say of a patient who came to you with such a story?'
Arthur answered the question with a shrug of the shoulders.
'I should say he was absurdly hysterical.'
'Well?'
'I can't help it, the feeling's there. If you try all night you'll never be able to argue me out of it. I feel it in every bone of my body. I couldn't be more certain if I saw Margaret lying dead in front of me.'
Susie saw that it was indeed useless to reason with him. The only course was to accept his conviction and make the best of it.
'What do you want us to do?' she asked.
'I want you both to come to England with me at once. If we start now we can catch the evening train.'
Susie did not answer, but she got up. She touched the doctor on the arm.
'Please come,' she whispered.
He nodded and untucked the napkin he had already arranged over his waistcoat.
'I've got a cab at the door,' said Arthur.
'And what about clothes for Miss Susie?' said the doctor.
'Oh, we can't wait for that,' cried Arthur. 'For God's sake, come quickly.'
Susie knew that there was plenty of time to fetch a few necessary things before the train started, but Arthur's impatience119 was too great to be withstood.
'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'I can get all I want in England.'
He hurried them to the door and told the cabman to drive to the station as quickly as ever he could.
'For Heaven's sake, calm down a little,' said Susie. 'You'll be no good to anyone in that state.'
'I feel certain we're too late.'
'Nonsense! I'm convinced that you'll find Margaret safe and sound.'
He did not answer. He gave a sigh of relief as they drove into the courtyard of the station.
收听单词发音 |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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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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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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basked
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的过去式和过去分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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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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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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undertakings
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| 企业( undertaking的名词复数 )； 保证； 殡仪业； 任务 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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21
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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22
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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utterances
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| n.发声( utterance的名词复数 )；说话方式；语调；言论 | |
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24
wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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wrested
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| （用力）拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 )； 费力取得； （从…）攫取； （ 从… ） 强行取去… | |
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26
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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28
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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29
shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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30
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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31
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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32
perseveringly
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| 坚定地 | |
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33
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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34
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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35
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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36
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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37
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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38
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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39
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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40
neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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41
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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42
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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43
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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44
solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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45
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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46
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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47
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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48
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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49
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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50
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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51
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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52
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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53
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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54
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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56
eccentricity
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| n.古怪，反常，怪癖 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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58
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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59
garrulous
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| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
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60
altercation
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| n.争吵，争论 | |
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61
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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62
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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63
yokels
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| n.乡下佬，土包子( yokel的名词复数 ) | |
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64
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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65
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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66
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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67
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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68
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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69
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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70
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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71
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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72
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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73
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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74
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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75
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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76
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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77
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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78
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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79
attics
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| n. 阁楼 | |
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80
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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81
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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82
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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83
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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84
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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85
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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86
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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87
mimicked
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| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的过去式和过去分词 )；酷似 | |
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88
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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90
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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91
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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92
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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93
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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94
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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95
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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96
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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97
entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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98
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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99
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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100
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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101
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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102
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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103
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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104
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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105
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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106
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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107
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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108
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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109
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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110
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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111
chid
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| v.责骂，责备( chide的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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113
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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114
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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115
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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116
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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117
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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118
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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