BY TEN THE following morning my phone was still silent.
Either my Brooklyn Pizza lens work had paled in comparison to some new lead Milo was chasing or, given the benefit of a good night's sleep, he'd decided1 the snapshots were a waste of time. Still, it was unlike him not to call.
Robin2 was smiling again, and we'd made love this morning—though I'd felt some distance. Probably my imagination.
When in doubt, torment3 your body. I put on running clothes, stepped out into a cold, wet morning, and struggled clumsily up the canyon4. Shoes squeaking5 on still-dewy vegetation, stumbling along the earthen patchwork6 laid down by a fast-shifting sky.
When I returned the house was echoing hollowly, silent but for the whine7 of the circular saw from Robin's studio. I changed into a sweatshirt, old jeans, and grubby shoes, stuck a Dodgers8 cap on my head, and left.
The air had chilled even further, and the sun hid behind a big, iron saucer of the same sooty hue9 as yesterday's cloud bank. A tongue of wind whipped past me, rattling10 trees, twanging shrubs11. The earth smelled of loam12 and iron. Not winter in any real sense, but in L.A. you learn to live with pretense13.
On days like this, the ocean was still beautiful. I took Sunset to the coast highway, encountered no obstruction14, and was speeding past Tony Duke's copper16 octopus17 by twelve-thirty. No cars were parked on the shoulder, and all the gated estates looked forbidding. Continuing to the Paradise Cove18 intersection19, I turned onto the speed-bumped asphalt that dips down past Ramirez Canyon and ends at the beachfront clearing where the Sand Dollar sits. As I passed the restaurant's plastic sign, I noticed a rectangle of whitewashed22 plywood staked a few feet in, painted crudely in red.
The Dollar's Renovation23 Continues.
Sorry, Folks. Please Remember Us
When We Re-open This Summer
I bumped my way past the oleander-planted berms that nearly concealed24 the trailer park on the north side of the cove. No chain had been slung25 across the blacktop, and the splintered placard warning that beach parking was twenty bucks26 a day if you weren't eating at the restaurant appeared in its usual spot, bottomed by the halfhearted announcement
BOOGIE BOARD, SNORKEL27, AND KAYAK RENTALS28. So far, so good.
West of Spring Street, renovation usually means extinction30. The Dollar was going the way of all L.A. landmarks31, and I didn't know how I felt about that.
It had been nearly three years since I'd tackled a fisherman's breakfast from the red-vinyl cradle of a Sand Dollar window booth. Back in the days when Robin and I had rented a drafty beach house ten miles up the coast, as we waited out the reconstruction32 of our burned-out home. Then a patient's childhood nightmares drew me into a long-unsolved abduction and murder, and the victim turned out to be a waitress at the Dollar. The questions I'd asked had overridden33 six months of generous tips. Some time later I'd dropped in for breakfast again, hoping all had been forgotten. It hadn't, and I never returned.
I drove fifty more yards, and the shack34 that serves as the Paradise Cove guardhouse came into view. The lowered gate was more symbolic35 than functional—I could've lifted it by hand, squeezed the Seville through. I wondered if it would come to that. Then I saw movement through the shack's window, and the attendant was ready for me when I drove up, shaking his head and pointing at yet another sign that reiterated36 thetwenty-dollar tariff37. Older man—seventy-five or so—with blue eyes and a beef-jerky face shielded by a battered38 canvas hat. Big band music played from a tape deck in the shack.
"Closed," he said.
Down below, through the twisting branches of giant sycamores, I could see ocean and what remained of the restaurant: The redwood facade39 and half of the shingle40 roof were in place, but empty holes gaped41 ulcerously where the windows had been, and through the wounds was a clear view of walls stripped to the studs and snarls42 of severed43 electrical conduit. What had once been the parking lot was now a table of raked brown dirt filled with backhoes, tractors, and trucks, sheets of plywood, stacks of two-by-fours. No workers in sight, no construction noise.
"Big project," I said.
"Oh, yeah," said the old man, stepping out of the shack. He wore a khaki shirt and gray twill pants cinched tight by a skinny maroon44 vinyl belt. "Didn't see the sign, huh? They should stick it right out front on the highway, so folks don't bother to turn. I'll raise the yardarm and you can swing a U-ey."
"I saw the sign," I said, and held out a twenty.
He stared at the bill. "There's nothing to do down there, amigo."
"There's still the beach."
"Not much of it. They got wood and cement blocks and all kinds of garbage piled all over the place. Haven't even had a decent film shoot in months—only thing they could film right now would be a disaster movie. They might be hotshots, but someone's not making money."
"They?"
"How long's it been going on?"
"Months. Almost a year." He looked back at the site. "Owner died, kids inherited, squabbled, sold out to some chain seafood46 outfit47, and they sold to some holding company. They say they're gonna preserve it, make it even better. Mostly, I see guys in suits driving in and out. Every so often they bring in a squad48 of Mexicans and there's some hammering and nailing for a few days, then weeks of nothing. But they keep paying me, and they don't bother the rest of us who live up there." His thumb hooked toward the mobile homes. "Be nice, though, to have somewhere to eat out without driving to Malibu Road."
"Yeah," I said, waving the twenty. "Gonna take a look, anyway. For old times' sake."
"You're sure? I don't even think the Porta Potties are working."
"I can handle it."
"Wait till you're my age— Nice car. Take much maintenance?"
"Just a bit. It's old but it works."
He smiled. "Like me." He started to take the money, shook his head. "Aw, hell, forget it—someone asks you, though, you paid."
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me, just change the oil every two thousand miles and keep that thing alive."
I parked south of the construction zone, well away from the heavy machinery49. Gulls50 picked and pecked in the dirt, and a dozen more birds perched noisily atop what was left of the roof. The shingles51 that remained were wind-warped and salt-grayed and shit-specked. The birds looked happy enough, squawking and jockeying for space.
I got out, righted my baseball cap, and ambled53 south along the cove, veering54 diagonally toward the waterline. Medium tide. No beach chairs like in the old days, just plenty of open, creamy sand. The ocean was even lazier than yesterday, oozing55 in slowly like a giant glue spill, its retreat discernible only as the gradually deepening stain of water-saturated silica. Off at the southern edge was anothe'r shack, white-frame like the guardhouse and not much larger. The blackboard bolted above the door was crowded with sloppy56 script in that same bright red, proclaiming, KAYAKS! SNORKELS57! WET SUITS! COLD DRINKS! Rusty58 hasp, bolted. I kept walking. Walls of bluff59 rose behind me. Against the dirt stood a bank of five bright blue plastic Andy Gumps—three of the latrines marked HIMS, two, HERS. Next to the male loos was a large pile of something under layers of bright blue tarp.
I headed toward what was left of the Paradise Cove pier60. A few storm seasons ago the gangly structure had been wind-sheared in two, the jut-tying face washed out to sea and never replaced. Now the remains61, condemned62 and blockaded by count}' chain link, were a listing, bleached63 skeleton, the vantage point for yet more noisy gulls and a big, solitary64, dignified-looking pelican65 who'd distanced himself from the din15.
A squirt of light hit me full-face as I walked across splotches of yel-low sand. The glare made me squint66 and lower the brim of my cap. False dawn in the afternoon. The flying saucer cloud bank had reversed direction—gliding out toward Japan and leaving behind a pink-pearl residue67 through which sun struggled to leak. The light that made it through was glossy68, almost liquid—squibs of golden ointment69.
Even in this ruinous state, the cove was a glorious bit of geography. Thinking of what Tony Duke and his neighbors owned, I sighted down the coast, aiming for a glimpse of the beach estates that claimed the bluffs70. But the shoreline curved sharply, and the only home I spotted71 was a single glass-and-wood thing on stilts72, squat73 and aggressive, ovoid as the cloud bank.
A door slamming from the direction of the latrines made me turn, as a voice behind me said, "Cool, huh?"
I completed the swivel, focused on a red-tan stubbled face. A wiry, midsized man wearing only baggy74 red swim shorts, standing75 a few feet away, swinging a key chain. Fat-free torso, corded arms, knees deformed76 by calcium77 knots. Coarse peroxided hair with black roots was a crown of thorns above his narrow face. His sharp nose was crooked78 and zinc79-whitened, and a puka shell necklace circled a gullet starting to sag80. The stubble on his chin was white as the zinc. Forty, maybe older.
"You were checking out that Starship Enterprise deal, right?" he said, eyeing the house on the sand. "Know who owns it?"
"Who?"
"Dave Dell."
"The game-show host?"
"The game-show host and mega-gazillionaire—guy started out as an AM disc jockey, bought up Malibu land back when Lincoln was president, got himself a sweet chunk81 of bluff, man. He's partnering with the dudes who're doing that." Cocking his head at the restaurant renovation. "Downtown dudes."
"Nice investment," I said.
"That's what they live for—more and more and more. Borrowing someone else's money." He laughed. "Thing is, except for that house of his—Dell's—all those humongoid things are on bluffs and most of them got no beach at all. They got their views to China, but they don't have serious sand because of the way Paradise is shaped. Even the ones that dogot some, and even at low tide, it ain't much—little squares where you can sit and watch your money wash away. 'Cause the whole damn beach is disappearing."
"Really?"
"You bet, man. Inches each year, maybe more—you never heard about it?"
"Sounds familiar," I said. "Global warming or something. I wasn't sure it was true."
"Oh, it's true all right. Global warming, El Nino, La Nina, La Cu-caracha, the ozone82 layer, all that shit. One of these days, we're gonna have this conversation from La Brea."
He laughed again and shook his head. The yellow thatch83 was salt-stiff, and it didn't vibrate. "Meanwhile, a bum20 like me's got all this sand for free, and they got their little private patches of nothing— You actually pay twenty bucks to come down here? Didn't Carleton tell you everything's closed up?"
"He did, but I wanted to see it anyway." I pointed84 down the coast. "Still beautiful."
"Yeah." Another grin. Sly. "You're bullshitting me, man. Carleton don't charge no one no more. He and the other trailer folk are pissed about what they done to the Dollar, and I can't say I blame them, so they let anyone in free who wants to. Which isn't too many." He shrugged85, and the puka necklace rattled86; "Used to be, you couldn't find a parking space and they were filming commercials all the time. Now it's El Quieto, which is fine with me. Things change and then you die. Bye, man. Enjoy."
As he walked away from me, I said, "I heard Tony Duke lives in one of those bluff houses."
He stopped, turned. "Hell, yeah. It's nothing but his type and Hollywood assholes up there." He rubbed his chin, looked up into the sun. In the full light I saw a canker sore sprouting87 under his lower lip. Raw spots on his forehead glistened88 precancerously. "Duke's place is about five properties down. I swam by a few times, seeing if I could maybe catch a look at some of those girls he keeps there. No luck."
"Too bad."
Snort. "Like I'd know what to do if I found something."
"How'd you know which place is his?"
"Easy. You can't see the house—it's set far back, like most of them. But Duke's got this wooden cable-car doohickey running along the side of his bluff. Little box on tracks that goes up and down. Everyone else has steps, but he's got that. Guess the guy's serious about leisure, like he says—wants to waste his calories on pussy89, not climbing stairs. It's a cool little deal, that car, but I never seen anyone actually using it."
"A funicular," I said.
"If you say so. Other of the guys have gone by there too—swimming, kayaking. Especially when Duke's got a party going. Everyone wanting an eyeful of pussy, maybe catch some looker sucking dick—something you could take a picture of and send home to Mom." He laughed. "The gizmo's always at the top of the bluff, locked up, and when Duke's partying, there's bouncers there—big meat, like iron pumpers, standing on top of the cliff like they're waiting for someone to piss 'em off."
"I hear he uses off-duty cops for that."
"Wouldn't surprise me—even scarier, right?"
"Right."
"Anyway, no one ever gets to see any girls."
"Does Duke throw lots of parties?"
"He used to. Like every two months. You'd see the superstretches lined up on PCH, valets, heat lamps, caterers' trucks, the works. But not in a long time." He thought. "Not in a real long time—a year, maybe more. Maybe he's getting too old for it—that would be a hell of a thing, wouldn't it? Cool old dude like that, living on caviar and Viagra, surrounded by pussy but losing the desire. 'Cause it wouldn't matter how wrinkled his nut bag was and how far down it hung. There's one perfume that opens up pussy faster than Kama Sutra Love Oil." He rubbed his index finger with his thumb and sniffed90.
"Money," I said.
"Eau de cash," he assented91. "Does it every time."
"So old Tony's on Viagra," I said. "That a fact?"
"I don't know if it's a fact, man, but that's what you hear. Look, the dude's got to be what—seventy, eighty, a hundred fifty? My dad used to buy his magazine. Hell, maybe the lead in his pencil still is righteous— he's got a young wife, I seen her, she comes in once in a while to the Dollar for breakfast—used to, when there was a Dollar." He cupped his handssix inches from his chest. "Rack on her. Never looked happy, but I heard she popped a coupla kids for Old Tony."
"What was she unhappy about?"
"Who knows? The dudes who used to work the parking lot said she'd style up in this very cool Expedition—black with gray trim on the bottom, big tires, righteous running boards, chrome wheels—always open her own door before they could reach her, then act pissed that they hadn't gotten there in time. Always in a big hurry. The parking dudes used to joke about that—she had to rush because the old guy needed her home by the time the Viagra kicked in. 'Cause that's the way that stuff works, you know? You drop a pill, wait for the old pecker to salute92 the flag, but you only got so much time to pour the pork before it's back staring at your shoes." He lowered his hand in a long, slow flutter. "Maybe that's how the Viagra thing started—'cause she was always in a hurry. Anyway, money don't buy everything, right? Give me my sand, a few waves, and I'm styling."
He pinched his Adam's apple and touched the canker sore briefly93. I looked for a surfboard, didn't see one.
"You ride, huh? "I said.
"When I can."
"No shape today."
He laughed hard. "Never any shape, here. You don't surf Paradise, man. This is work. That's my office." Pointing to the rental29 shack.
"Thought everything was closed."
"Hey, they pay me to show up, I show up." He swung the key ring in a wobbly arc.
"You open for any business at all?" I said.
"I wouldn't snorkel out there, man. Too much silt94, and a sky like this is gonna reduce your visibility to zippo."
"I was thinking a kayak."
The crooked white nose lowered as he gave me a long, appraising95 look. "You don't know squat about waves, but you don't have that tourist smell about you either."
"Tourist from L.A.," I said. "I used to live in Malibu. Out past Leo Carrillo. Came back for old times' sake."
"OverbyElPescador?"
"Past El Pescador. Over the county line, near Neptune's Net."
"Livingston Beach," he said. "Cool riding zone—prime shape—you ever try to surf?"
"Did some boogie boarding," I said.
"I graduated that when I was in third grade, man. Moved right on to the heavy stuff. I was a hotdogger back in high school—got three minutes of footage in Water Demons96 II. Then my ears went—chronic infections, the doctor said no more. I said screw the doctor, but now my head hurts all the time no matter how much Advil I drop, so I hold down the rides to once a week. You serious about a kayak?"
"Sure, why not?"
He looked me up and down again. "Guess no reason. It's cold out there, but it's glass, except for the rips. Which way you gonna go?"
"South." I smiled. "Maybe catch a look at old Tony's place."
He laughed. "Figures. But don't get your hopes high."
He led me toward the rental shack, said, "It's a pretty easy day for paddling, but going south you are gonna be pushing against the currents. You look like you got the shoulders to handle it, but just know that, okay? We're not talking Lake Arrowhead. Also, there is some riptides along the way—small ones, but they'll bump the boat, so don't be looking for tits and ass21 and start getting pushed out further than you wanna be."
"Thanks for the advice. How much is the rental?"
"Hold on," he said. "Another thing: No matter how glassy it looks and how good a rower you think you are, your clothes are gonna get soaked. I tell people all the time but they never listen and sure enough they come back with their clothes all stuck to them, pissed off. Only way to stay dry is use a wet suit, man. I can rent you that too."
"Make it a combo," I said. "How much?"
He licked his lips, peeled a speck52 of zinc from his nose. "First I gotta unlock the place, then I gotta find a flashlight so I can check the suits, make sure there's no cracks from all the time they been sitting there. Then, I gotta check 'em for spiders and scorpions97 crawling in—'cause we get them, here."
"Scorpions?" I said. "Near the beach?"
"Little black nasty ones. You think of'em as desert dudes, but they're here, man, hibernating98 or whatever. Probably hitched99 a ride in on some truck from T.J. So I gotta stick my hand in and shake out the suit."
"I appreciate it. Exterminator100 fees gonna cost me too?"
He laughed. "Well," he said, "normally it's twenty bucks an hour for the boat, twelve for the suit, six for mask and fins101, so that would be thirty-eight up front, and we usually take a driver's license102 for deposit."
"No mask and fins," I said. "Just the boat and the suit."
"Your feet are gonna get cold."
"I can live with it."
"Your choice, man—okay, how long you planning on staying out? 'Cause I wasn't planning to be here all afternoon. I mean, I show up, but I don't make a big thing out of it, know what I mean?"
"Couple of hours at the most."
"Couple of hours—yeah, I can handle that. So that would be sixty-four bucks, but for you, let's make it a package—say fifty-five even, and I won't even take no deposit, 'cause where the hell are you gonna go? If it's cash."
"Cash it is," I said, reaching for my wallet.
He selected a key from the ring, slipped it into the lock on the rental shack's door. "Rusty. The ocean never stops eating—kind of freaky, idn't it? Cool, too. The ocean's gonna be here for a billion more years, and we're not. So why worry about anything?"
The kayaks made up the mass beneath the blue tarp, and he pulled a yellow-trimmed, white single-rider and a paddle from the shack. I stripped behind the tiny building as Norris—after I paid him he volunteered his name—readied the kayak. Standing naked and shivering in the frigid104 air, I double-checked the suit's neoprene sleeves and legs for creepie-crawlies. Once I slipped into the rubber sheath, the warmth was nearly immediate105.
"Hey," said Norris, as I emerged. He was kneeling next to the boat and wiping down the interior with a filthy-looking rag. "Mr. Lloyd Bridges, man. There's a zip compartment106 on the left leg for your wallet and keys. You can leave the rest of your stuff in your car—cool car, by the way. Long as you get back in time, I won't steal it." Jamming the rag in the rear pocket of his shorts, he slapped the boat's fiberglass flank. "Picked you a good one. You ever done this before?"
"Yup."
"So you know that even when they feel like they're tipping over, they're probably not. If you wanna pick up speed, just keep that rhythm going—hand over hand. And don't let go of the paddle. It'll float, but it can get away from you, and if it does, I got to charge you."
We toted the kayak to the water's edge, then he eased it into the ocean and held it steady as I climbed in.
"Go for it, man," he said, shoving me off. "You see any serious pussy, I want to hear about it."
收听单词发音 |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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squeaking
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的现在分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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dodgers
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hue
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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shrubs
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loam
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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din
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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octopus
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cove
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intersection
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| n.交集，十字路口，交叉点；[计算机] 交集 | |
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bum
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renovation
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concealed
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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snorkel
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| n.泳者所戴的通气管，潜水艇的吸、排气装置 | |
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rentals
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rental
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| n.租赁，出租，出租业 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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reconstruction
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overridden
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| 越控( override的过去分词 )； （以权力）否决； 优先于； 比…更重要 | |
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shack
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symbolic
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| adj.象征性的，符号的，象征主义的 | |
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reiterated
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tariff
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battered
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facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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41
gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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42
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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43
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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44
maroon
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| v.困住，使（人）处于孤独无助之境；n.逃亡黑奴；孤立的人；酱紫色，褐红色；adj.酱紫色的，褐红色的 | |
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45
corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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46
seafood
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| n.海产食品，海味，海鲜 | |
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47
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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48
squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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49
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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50
gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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51
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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52
speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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53
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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54
veering
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| n.改变的；犹豫的；顺时针方向转向；特指使船尾转向上风来改变航向v.（尤指交通工具）改变方向或路线( veer的现在分词 )；（指谈话内容、人的行为或观点）突然改变；（指风） （在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向）逐渐转向；风向顺时针转 | |
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55
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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56
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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57
snorkels
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| n.（潜泳者或潜水艇的）水下通气管( snorkel的名词复数 )；[消防]高空作业车，按展臂方式分为直臂式和曲臂式，按功能分为高空洒水车和高空救援车。v.使用水下呼吸管潜游( snorkel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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58
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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59
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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60
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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61
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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62
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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63
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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pelican
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| n.鹈鹕，伽蓝鸟 | |
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66
squint
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| v. 使变斜视眼, 斜视, 眯眼看, 偏移, 窥视; n. 斜视, 斜孔小窗; adj. 斜视的, 斜的 | |
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67
residue
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| n.残余，剩余，残渣 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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ointment
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| n.药膏，油膏，软膏 | |
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70
bluffs
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| 恐吓( bluff的名词复数 )； 悬崖； 峭壁 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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72
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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73
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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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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76
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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77
calcium
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| n.钙(化学符号Ca) | |
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78
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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79
zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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80
sag
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| v.下垂，下跌，消沉；n.下垂，下跌，凹陷，[航海]随风漂流 | |
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81
chunk
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| n.厚片，大块，相当大的部分（数量） | |
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82
ozone
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| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
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83
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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86
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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87
sprouting
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| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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88
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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89
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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90
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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91
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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93
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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94
silt
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| n.淤泥，淤沙，粉砂层，泥沙层；vt.使淤塞；vi.被淤塞 | |
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95
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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96
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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97
scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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98
hibernating
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| （某些动物）冬眠，蛰伏( hibernate的现在分词 ) | |
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99
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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100
exterminator
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| n.扑灭的人，害虫驱除剂 | |
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101
fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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102
license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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103
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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104
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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105
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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106
compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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