NIGHT
In which the labyrinth1 is finally broached2, and the intruders have strange visions and, as happens in labyrinths3, lose their way.
We climbed back up to the scriptorium, this time by the east staircase, which rose also to the forbidden floor. Holding the light high before us, I thought of Alinardo’s words about the labyrinth, and I expected frightful4 things.
I was surprised, as we emerged into the place we should not have entered, at finding myself in a not very large room with seven sides, windowless, where there reigned—as, for that matter, throughout the whole floor—a strong odor of stagnation5 or mold. Nothing terrifying.
The room, as I said, had seven walls, but only four of them had an opening, a passage flanked by two little columns set in the wall; the opening was fairly wide, surmounted6 by a round-headed arch. Against the blind walls stood huge cases, laden7 with books neatly8 arranged. Each case bore a scroll9 with a number, and so did each individual shelf; obviously the same numbers we had seen in the catalogue. In the midst of the room was a table, also covered with books. On all the volumes lay a fairly light coat of dust, sign that the books were cleaned with some frequency. Nor was there dirt of any kind on the floor. Above one of the archways, a big scroll, painted on the wall, bore the words “Apocalypsis Iesu Christi.” It did not seem faded, even though the lettering was ancient. We noticed afterward10, also in the other rooms, that these scrolls11 were actually carved in the stone, cut fairly deeply, and the depressions had subsequently been filled with color, as painters do in frescoing churches.
We passed through one of the openings. We found ourselves in another room, where there was a window that, in place of glass panes12, had slabs13 of alabaster14, with two blind walls and one aperture15, like the one we had just come through. It opened into another room, which also had two blind walls, another with a window, and another passage that opened opposite us. In these two rooms, the two scrolls were similar in form to the first we had seen, but with different words. The scroll in the first room said “Super thronos viginti quatuor,” and the one in the second room, “Nomen illi mors.” For the rest, even though the two. rooms were smaller than the one by which we had entered the library (actually, that one was heptagonal, these two rectangular), the furnishing was the same.
We entered the third room. It was bare of books and had no scroll. Under the window, a stone altar. There were three doors: the one by which we had entered; another, leading to the heptagonal room already visited; and a third, which led to a new room, no different from the others except for the scroll, which said “Obscuratus est sol et aer,” announcing the growing darkness of sun and air. From here you went into a new room, whose scroll said “Facta est grando et ignis,” threatening turmoil17 and fire. This room was without other apertures18: once you reached it, you could pro19?ceed no farther and had to turn back.
“Let us think about this,” William said. “Five quadran?gular or vaguely20 trapezoidal rooms, each with one window, arranged around a windowless heptagonal room to which the stairway leads. It seems elementary to me. We are in the east tower. From the outside each tower shows five windows and five sides. It works out. The empty room is the one facing east, the same direction as the choir21 of the church; the dawn sun illuminates22 the altar, which I find right and pious23. The only clever idea, it seems to me, is the use of alabaster slabs. In the daytime they admit a fine light, and at night not even the moon’s rays can penetrate24. Now let’s see where the other two doors of the heptagonal room lead.”
My master was mistaken, and the builders of the library had been shrewder than we thought. I cannot explain clearly what happened, but as we left the tower room, the order of the rooms became more confused. Some had two doorways25, others three. All had one window each, even those we entered from a windowed room, thinking we were heading toward the interior of the Aedificium. Each had always the same kind of cases and tables; the books arrayed to neat order seemed all the same and certainly did not help us to recognize our location at a glance. We tried to orient ourselves by the scrolls. Once we crossed a room in which was written “In diebus illis,” “In those days,” and after some roaming we thought we had come back to it. But we remem?bered that the door opposite the window led into a room whose scroll said “Primogenitus mortuorum,” “The firstborn of the dead,” whereas now we came upon another that again said “Apocalypsis Iesu Christi,” though it was not the heptagonal room from which we had set out. This fact convinced us that sometimes the scrolls repeated the same words in different rooms. We found two rooms with “Apocalypsis” one after the other, and, immediately following them, one with “Cecidit de coelo stella magna,” “A great star fell from the heavens.”
The source of the phrases on the scrolls was obvious?—they were verses from the Apocalypse of John—but it was not at all clear why they were painted on the walls or what logic27 was behind their arrangement. To in?crease28 our confusion, we discovered that some scrolls, not many, were colored red instead of black.
At a certain point we found ourselves again in the original heptagonal room (easily identified because the stairwell began there), and we resumed moving toward our right, trying to go straight from room to room. We went through three rooms and then found ourselves facing a blank wall. The only opening led into a new room that had only one other aperture, which we went through, and then, after another four rooms, we found ourselves again facing a wall. We returned to the previ?ous room, which had two exits, took the one we had not tried before, went into a new room, and then found ourselves back in the heptagonal room of the outset.
“What was the name of the last room, the one where we began retracing29 our steps?” William asked.
I strained my memory and, I had a vision of a white horse: “Equus albus.”
“Good. Let’s find it again.” And it was easy. From there, if we did not want to turn back as we had before, we could only pass through the room called “Gratia vobis et pax,” and from there, on the right, we thought we found a new passage, which did not take us back. Actually we again came upon “In diebus illis” and “Primogenitus mortuorum” (were they the rooms of a few moments earlier?); then finally we came to a room that we did not seem to have visited before: “Tertia pars30 terrae combusta est.” But even when we had learned that a third of the earth had been burned up, we still did not know what our position was with respect to the east tower.
Holding the lamp in front of me, I ventured into the next rooms. A giant of threatening dimensions, a swaying and fluttering form came toward me, like a ghost.
“A devil!” I cried and almost dropped the lamp as I wheeled around and took refuge in William’s arms. He seized the lamp from my hands and, thrusting me aside, stepped forward with a decisiveness that to me seemed sublime31. He also saw something, because he brusquely stepped back. Then he leaned forward again and raised the lamp. He burst out laughing.
“Really ingenious. A mirror!”
“A mirror?”
“Yes, my bold warrior32. You flung yourself so courage?ously on a real enemy a short while ago in the scriptorium, and now you are frightened by your own image. A mirror that reflects your image, enlarged and distorted.”
He took me by the hand and led me up to the wall facing the entrance to the room. On a corrugated33 sheet of glass, now that the light illuminated34 it more closely, I saw our two images, grotesquely35 misshapen, changing form and height as we moved closer or stepped back.
“You must read some treatise36 on optics,” William said, amused, “as the creators of the library surely did. The best ones- are by the Arabs. Alhazen wrote a treatise, De aspectibus, in which, with precise geometrical demonstrations37, he spoke38 of the power of mirrors, some of which, depending on how their surface is gauged39, can enlarge the tiniest things (what else are my lenses?), while others make images appear upside down, or oblique40, or show two objects in the place of one, and four in place of two. Still others, like this one, turn a dwarf41 into a giant or a giant into a dwarf.”
“Lord Jesus!” I exclaimed. “Are these, then, the vi?sions some say they have had in the library?”
“Perhaps. A really clever idea.” He read the scroll on the wall, over the mirror: “Super thronos viginti quatuor.” “ ‘The twenty-four elders upon their seats.’ We have seen this inscription42 before, but it was a room without any mirror. This one, moreover, has no windows, and yet it is not heptagonal. Where are we?” He looked around and went over to a case. “Adso, without those wondrous43 oculi ad legendum I cannot figure out what is written on these books. Read me some titles.”
I picked out a book at random44. “Master, it is not written!”
“What do you mean? I can see it is written. What do you read?”
“I am not reading. These are not letters of the alphabet, and it is not Greek. I would recognize it. They look like worms, snakes, fly dung. ...”
“Ah, it’s Arabic. Are there others like it?”
“Yes, several. But here is one in Latin, thank God. Al ... Al-Kuwarizmi, Tabulae.”
“The astronomical45 tables of Al-Kuwarizmi, translated by Adelard of Bath! A very rare work! Continue.”
“Isa ibn-Ali, De oculis; Alkindi, De radiis slellatis ...”
“Now look on the table.”
I opened a great volume lying on the table, a De bestiis. I happened on a delicately illuminated page where a very beautiful unicorn46 was depicted47.
“Beautifully made,” William commented, able to see the illustrations well. “And that?”
I read: “Liter monstrorum de diversis generibus. This also has beautiful images, but they seem older to me.”
William bent49 his face to the text. “Illuminated by Irish monks50, at least five centuries ago. The unicorn book, on the other hand, is much more recent; it seems to me made in the French fashion.” Once again I admired my master’s erudition. We entered the next room and crossed the four rooms after it, all with windows, and all filled with volumes in unknown languages, in addition to some texts of occult sciences. Then we came to a wall, which forced us to turn back, because the last five rooms opened one into the other, with no other egress51 possible.
“To judge by the angles of the walls, I would say we are in the pentagon of another tower,” William said, “but there is no central heptagonal room. Perhaps we are mistaken.”
“But what about the windows?” I asked. “How can there be so many windows? It is impossible for all the rooms to overlook the outside.”
“You’re forgetting the central well. Many of the win?dows we have seen overlook the octagon, the well. If it were day, the difference in light would tell us which are external windows and which internal, and perhaps would even reveal to us a room’s position with respect to the sun. But after dusk no difference is perceptible. Let’s go back.”
We returned to the room with the mirror and head?ed for the third doorway26, which we thought we had not gone through previously52. We saw before us a sequence of three or four rooms, and toward the last we noticed a glow.
“Someone’s there!” I exclaimed in a stifled53 voice.
“If so, he has already seen our light,” William said, nevertheless shielding the flame with his hand. We hesitated a moment or two. The glow continued to flicker54 slightly, but without growing stronger or weaker.
“Perhaps it is only a lamp,” William said, “set here to convince the monks that the library is inhabited by the souls of the dead. But we must find out. You stay here, and keep covering the light. I’ll go ahead cautiously.”
Still ashamed at the sorry figure I had cut before the mirror, I wanted to redeem55 myself in William’s eyes. “No, I’ll go,” I said. “You stay here. I’ll proceed cautiously. I am smaller and lighter56. As soon as I’ve made sure there is no risk, I’ll call you.”
And so I did. I proceeded through three rooms, sticking close to the walls, light as a cat (or as a novice57 descending58 into the kitchen to steal cheese from the larder59: an enterprise in which I excelled at Melk). I came to the threshold of the room from which the glow, quite faint, was coming. I slipped along the wall to a column that served as the right jamb, and I peered into the room. No one was there. A kind of lamp was set on the table, lighted, and it was smoking, flickering60. It was not a lamp like ours: it seemed, rather, an uncovered thurible. It had no flame, but a light ash smoldered61, burning something. I plucked up my cour?age and entered. On the table beside the thurible, a brightly colored book was lying open. I approached and saw four strips of different colors on the page: yellow, cinnabar, turquoise62, and burnt sienna. A beast was set there, horrible to see, a great dragon with ten heads, dragging after him the stars of the sky and with his tail making them fall to earth. And suddenly I saw the dragon multiply, and the scales of his hide become a kind of forest of glittering shards63 that came off the page and took to circling around my head. I flung my head back and I saw the ceiling, of the room bend and press down toward me, then I heard something like the hiss64 of a thousand, serpents, but not frightening, almost seductive, and a woman appeared, bathed in light, and put her face to mine, breathing on me. I thrust her away with outstretched hands, and my hands seemed to touch the books in the case opposite, or to grow out of all proportion. I no longer realized where I was, where the earth was, and where the sky. In the center of the room I saw Berengar staring, at me with a hateful smile, oozing65 lust48. I covered my face with my hands and my hands seemed the claws of a toad66, slimy and webbed. I cried out, I believe; there was an acid taste in my mouth; I plunged67 into infinite darkness, which seemed to yawn wider and wider beneath me; and then I knew nothing further.
I woke again after a time I thought was centuries, hearing some blows pounding in my head. I was stretched out on the floor and William was slapping me on the cheeks. I was no longer in that room, and before my eyes was a scroll that said “Requiescant a laboribus suis,” “May they rest from their labors68.”
“Come, come, Adso,” William was whispering to me. “There’s nothing. ...”
“Everything ...” I said, still delirious69. “Over there, the beast ...”
“No beast. I found you raving70 underneath71 a table with a beautiful Mozarabic apocalypse on it, opened to the page of the mulier amicta sole confronting the dragon. But I realized from the odor that you had inhaled72 something dangerous and I carried you away immediately. My head also aches.”
“But what did I see?”
“You saw nothing. The fact is that some substances capable of inducing visions were burning there. I recog?nized the smell: it is an Arab stuff, perhaps the same that the Old Man of the Mountain gave his assassins to breathe before sending them off on their missions. And so we have explained the mystery of the visions. Some?one puts magic herbs there during the night to con16?vince importunate73 visitors that the library is guarded by diabolical74 presences. What did you experience, by the way?”
In confusion, as best I could recall, I told him of my vision, and William laughed: “For half of it you were developing what you had glimpsed in the book, and for the other half you let your desires and your fears speak out. This is the operation certain herbs set in action. Tomorrow we must talk about it with Severinus; I believe he knows more than he wants us to believe. They are herbs, only herbs, requiring none of those necromantic75 preparations the glazier talked to us about. Herbs, mirrors ... This place of forbidden knowledge is guarded by many and most cunning devices. Knowl?edge is used to conceal76, rather than to enlighten. I don’t like it. A perverse77 mind presides over the holy defense78 of the library. But this has been a toilsome night; we must leave here for the present. You’re dis?traught and you need water and fresh air. It’s useless to try to open these windows: too high, and perhaps closed for decades. How could they think Adelmo had thrown himself down from here?”
Leave, William had said. As if it were easy. We knew the library could be reached only from one tower, the eastern one. But where were we at that moment? We had completely lost our orientation79. We wandered, fearing never to emerge from that place again; I, still stumbling, seized with fits of vomiting80; and William, somewhat worried about me and irritated by the inade?quacy of his learning; but this wandering gave us, or gave him, an idea for the following day. We would come back to the library, assuming we ever got out of it, with a charred81 firebrand, or some other substance capable of leaving signs on the walls.
“To find the way out of a labyrinth,” William recited, “there is only one means. At every new junction82, never seen before, the path we have taken will be marked with three signs. If, because of previous signs on some of the paths of the junction, you see that the junction has already been visited, you will make only one mark on the path you have taken. If all the apertures have already been marked, then you must retrace83 your steps. But if one or two apertures of the junction are still without signs, you will choose any one, making two signs on it. Proceeding84 through an aperture that bears only one sign, you will make two more, so that now the aperture bears three. All the parts of the labyrinth must have been visited if, arriving at a junction, you never take a passage with three signs, unless none of the other passages is now without signs.”
“How do you know that? Are you an expert on labyrinths?”
“No, I am citing an ancient text I once read.”
“And by observing this rule you get out?”
“Almost never, as far as I know. But we will try it, all the same. And besides, within the next day or so I will have lenses and time to devote myself more to the books. It may be that where the succession of scrolls confuses us, the arrangement of the books will give us a rule.”
“You’ll have your lenses? How will you find them again?”
“I said I’ll have lenses. I’ll have new ones made. I believe the glazier is eager for an opportunity of this kind, to try something new. As long as he has the right tools for grinding the bits of glass. When it comes to bits of glass, he has plenty in his workshop.”
As we roamed, seeking the way, suddenly, in the center of one room, I felt an invisible hand stroke my cheek, while a groan85, not human and not animal, echoed in both that room and the next, as if a ghost were wandering from one to the other. I should have been prepared for the library’s surprises, but once again I was terrified and leaped backward. William must have had an experience similar to mine, because he was touching86 his cheek as he held up the light and looked around.
He raised one hand, examined the flame, which now seemed brighter, then moistened a finger and held it straight in front of him.
“It’s clear,” he said then, and showed me two points, on opposite walls, at a man’s height. Two narrow slits87 opened there, and if you put your hand to them you could feel the cold air coming from outside. Putting your ear to them, you could hear a rustling88 sound, as of a wind blowing outside.
“The library must, of course, have a ventilation system,” William said. “Otherwise the atmosphere would be stifling89, especially in the summer. Moreover, those slits provide the right amount of humidity, so the parchments will not dry out. But the cleverness of the founders90 did not stop there. Placing the slits at certain angles, they made sure that on windy nights the gusts91 penetrating92 from these openings would encounter other gusts, and swirl93 inside the sequence of rooms, producing the sounds we have heard. Which, along with the mirrors and the herbs, increase the fear of the foolhardy who come in here, as we have, without knowing the place well. And we ourselves for a moment thought ghosts were breath?ing on our faces. We’ve realized it only now because the wind has sprung up only now. So this mystery, too, is solved. But we still don’t know how to get out!”
As we spoke, we wandered aimlessly, now bewildered, not bothering to read the scrolls, which seemed all alike. We came into a new heptagonal room, we went through the nearby rooms, we found no exit. We retraced94 our steps and walked for almost an hour, making no effort to discover where we were. At a certain point William decided95 we were defeated; all we could do was go to sleep in some room and hope that the next day Malachi would find us. As we bemoaned96 the miserable97 end of our bold adventure, we suddenly found again the room from which the stairway descended98. We fervently99 thanked heaven and went down in high spirits.
Once we were in the kitchen, we rushed to the fireplace and entered the corridor of the ossarium, and I swear that the deathly grin of those fleshless heads looked to me like the smiles of dear friends. We re?entered the church and came out through the north door, finally sitting down happily on the tombstones. The beautiful night air seemed a divine balm. The stars shone around us and I felt the visions of the library were far away.
“How beautiful the world is, and how ugly labyrinths are,” I said, relieved.
“How beautiful the world would be if there were a procedure for moving through labyrinths,” my master replied.
We walked along the left side of the church, passed the great door (I looked away, to avoid seeing the elders of the Apocalypse: “Super thronos viginti quatuor”!), and crossed the cloister100 to reach the pilgrims’ hospice.
At the door of the building stood the abbot, staring at us sternly.. “I have been looking for you all night,” he said to William. “I did not find you in your cell, I did not find you in church. ...”
“We were pursuing a trail ...” William said vaguely, with visible embarrassment101. The abbot gave him a long look, then said in a slow and severe voice, “I looked for you immediately after compline. Berengar was not in choir.”
“What are you telling me?” William said, with a cheerful expression. In fact, it was now clear to him who had been in ambush102 in the scriptorium.
“He was not in choir at compline,” the abbot repeated, and has not come back to his cell. Matins are about to ring, and we will now see if he reappears. Otherwise I fear some new calamity103.”
At matins Berengar was absent.
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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scrolls
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| n.（常用于录写正式文件的）纸卷( scroll的名词复数 )；卷轴；涡卷形（装饰）；卷形花纹v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的第三人称单数 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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alabaster
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| adj.雪白的；n.雪花石膏；条纹大理石 | |
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aperture
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| n.孔，隙，窄的缺口 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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apertures
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| n.孔( aperture的名词复数 )；隙缝；（照相机的）光圈；孔径 | |
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pro
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| n.赞成，赞成的意见，赞成者 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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illuminates
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| v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 )；照亮；装饰；说明 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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pars
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| n.部，部分；平均( par的名词复数 )；平价；同等；（高尔夫球中的）标准杆数 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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38
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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39
gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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40
oblique
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| adj.斜的，倾斜的，无诚意的，不坦率的 | |
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41
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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42
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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43
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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44
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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45
astronomical
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| adj.天文学的，（数字）极大的 | |
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46
unicorn
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| n.(传说中的)独角兽 | |
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47
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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48
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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49
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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50
monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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51
egress
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| n.出去；出口 | |
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52
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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53
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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54
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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55
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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56
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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57
novice
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| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
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58
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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59
larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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60
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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61
smoldered
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的过去式 ) | |
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62
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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63
shards
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| n.（玻璃、金属或其他硬物的）尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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64
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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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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toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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67
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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68
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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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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71
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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72
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
importunate
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| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
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diabolical
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| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
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necromantic
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| 降神术的，妖术的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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78
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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79
orientation
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| n.方向，目标；熟悉，适应，情况介绍 | |
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80
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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81
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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82
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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83
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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84
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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85
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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86
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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87
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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88
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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89
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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90
founders
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| n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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91
gusts
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| 一阵强风( gust的名词复数 )； （怒、笑等的）爆发； （感情的）迸发； 发作 | |
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92
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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93
swirl
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| v.(使)打漩，(使)涡卷；n.漩涡，螺旋形 | |
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94
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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95
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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96
bemoaned
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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97
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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98
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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99
fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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100
cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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101
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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102
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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103
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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