SEXT
In which Severinus is found murdered but the book that he had found is to be found no longer.
We crossed the grounds with a rapid step, in anguish1. The captain of the archers3 led us toward the infirmary, and as we arrived there we glimpsed in the thick grayness a stirring of shadows: monks6 and servants were rushing about, archers were standing7 outside the door to prevent access.
“Those guards were sent by me, to seek a man who could shed light on many mysteries,” Bernard said.
“The brother herbalist?” the abbot asked, dumb?founded.
“No. You will see now,” Bernard said, making his way inside.
We entered Severinus’s laboratory, and here a painful sight greeted our eyes. The unfortunate herbalist lay, a corpse9, in a pool of blood, his head bashed in. On every side the shelves seemed to have been devastated10 by a storm: pots, bottles, books, documents lay all around in great disorder11, ruined. Beside the body was an armillary sphere at least twice the size of a man’s head, of finely worked metal, surmounted12 by a gold cross, and set on a short, decorated tripod. On other occasions I had noticed it on the table to the left of the front door.
At the other end of the room two archers were holding the cellarer fast, though he wriggled13 and proclaimed his innocence14, increasing his noise when he saw the abbot enter. “My lord!” he cried out. “Appearances are against me! Severinus was already dead when I came in, and they found me staring at this massacre15, speechless!”
The archers’ captain went over to Bernard, and with his permission made a report, in front of everyone. The archers had been ordered to find the cellarer and arrest him, and for over two hours they had searched for him throughout the abbey. This, I thought, must have been the command Bernard had given before entering the hall; and the soldiers, foreigners in this place, had probably pursued their search in the wrong places, without realizing that the cellarer, unaware16 of his fate, was with the others in the narthex; the fog had also made their hunt more difficult. In any case, from the captain’s words it emerged that Remigio, after I left him, went toward the kitchen, where someone saw him and informed the archers, who reached the Aedificium after Remigio had left it again, missing them only by a moment. In the kitchen was Jorge, who declared he had just finished speaking with the cellarer. The ar?chers then explored the grounds in the direction of the gardens, and there, emerging from the mist like a ghost, they found old Alinardo, who seemed lost. It was Alinardo who said he had seen the cellarer, a short while before, going into the infirmary. The archers went there and found the door open. Once inside, they discovered Severinus lifeless and the cellarer furiously rummaging17 over the shelves, flinging everything on the floor, as if he were hunting for something. It was easy to see what had happened, the captain concluded. Remigio had entered, had attacked the herbalist and killed him, and then was seeking the thing for which he had killed.
An archer2 picked the armillary sphere up from the floor and handed it to Bernard. The elegant architec?ture of brass19 and silver circles, held together by a stronger frame of bronze rings grasped by the stem of the tripod, had been brought down heavily on the victim’s skull20, and at the impact many of the finer circles had shattered or bent21 to one side. This side was the one brought down on Severinus’s head, as was revealed by traces of blood and even tufts of hair and horrible gobbets of cerebral22 matter.
William bent over Severinus to verify his death. The poor man’s eyes, veiled by the streams of blood from his head, were fixed23, and I wondered if it were ever possible to read in the stiffened24 pupil, as it has been said in some cases, the image of the murderer, the last vestige25 of the victim’s perception. I saw that William sought the dead man’s hands, to see if he had black stains on his fingers, even though, this time, the cause of death was obviously quite different: but Severinus was wearing the same leather gloves with which I had occasionally seen him handling dangerous herbs, liz?ards, and unfamiliar26 insects.
Meanwhile, Bernard Gui was addressing the cellarer: “Remigio of Varagine—that is your name, is it not? I had sent my men after you on the basis of other accusations27 and to confirm other suspicions. Now I see that I acted properly, although, to my regret, too slowly. My lord,” he said to the abbot, “I hold myself virtually responsible for this last crime, because I have known since this morning that this man should be taken into custody28, after I heard the revelations of that other wretch29, arrested last night. But as you saw for yourself, during the morning I was occupied with other duties, and my men did their best. ...”
He spoke30 in a loud voice so that all those present could hear (and the room had meanwhile filled up, people crowding into every corner, looking at the things scattered31 and destroyed, pointing to the corpse and commenting in low voices on the crime), and, as he spoke, I glimpsed Malachi in the little crowd, grimly observing the scene. The cellarer, about to be dragged away, also glimpsed him. He wrested32 himself from the archer’s grasp and flung himself on his brother, grab?bing him by the habit and speaking to him briefly33 and desperately34, his face close to the other man’s, until the archers seized him again. But, as he was being led off roughly, he turned again toward Malachi and shouted at him, “You swear, and I swear!”
Malachi did not answer at once, as if he were seeking the most suitable words. Then, as the cellarer was being pulled across the threshold, he said, “I will do nothing to harm you.”
William and I looked at each other, wondering what was the meaning of this scene. Bernard had also ob?served it, but did not appear upset by it; rather, he smiled at Malachi, as if to approve his words and to seal with him a sinister35 bargain. Then he announced that immediately after our meal a first court would meet in the chapter hall to open this investigation36 publicly. And he went out, ordering the cellarer to be taken to the forges, but not allowed to speak with Salvatore.
At that moment we heard Benno calling us, at our back. “I came in right after you,” he said in a whisper, “when the room was still half empty, and Malachi was not here.”
“He must have entered afterward,” William said.
“No,” Benno insisted, “I was near the door, I saw the people come in. I tell you, Malachi was already inside ... before.”
“Before what?”
“Before the cellarer entered. I cannot swear it, but I believe he came from behind that curtain, when there were already many of us in here.” And he nodded toward an ample hanging that concealed37 the bed where Severinus had usually made anyone who had been given some medication lie down and rest.
“Are you insinuating38 he killed Severinus and hid there when the cellarer came in?” William asked.
“Or else from behind the curtain he witnessed what happened out here. Why, otherwise, would the cellarer have implored39 him not to harm him, promising40 in return not to do him harm, either?”
“That is possible,” William said. “In any case, there was a book here and it should still be here, because both the cellarer and Malachi went out empty-handed.” William knew from my report that Benno knew; and at that moment he needed help. He went over to the abbot, who was sadly observing Severinus’s corpse; William asked him to make everyone leave, because he wanted to examine the place more closely. The abbot consented and then left, not without giving William a skeptical41 look, as if reproaching him for always arriving too late. Malachi tried to remain, inventing various reasons, all quite vague; William pointed42 out that this was not the library, and that here Malachi could claim no rights. William was polite but inflexible43, and he got his re?venge for the time when Malachi had not allowed him to examine Venantius’s desk.
When only three of us were left, William cleared the rubble44 and papers away from one of the tables and told me to hand him, one after another, the books in Severinus’s collection. A small collection, compared with the immense one of the labyrinth45, but still there were dozens and dozens of volumes, of various sizes, which had formerly46 stood neatly47 on the shelves and now lay in disorder on the ground among other objects, already disturbed by the cellarer’s frantic48 hands, some even torn, as if he were seeking not a book but something that could be placed between the pages of a book. Some had been ripped violently, separated from their binding49. To collect them, rapidly ascertain50 their subject, and pile them up on the table was no easy undertaking51; and everything had to be done in haste, because the abbot had given us little time: the monks had to come in and lay out Severinus’s battered52 body and prepare it for burial. We also had to move about, search under the tables, behind the shelves, in the cupboards, to see whether anything had escaped the first inspection53. William would not let Benno help me and allowed him only to stand guard at the door. Despite the abbot’s orders, many were pressing to enter: servants terrified by the news, monks mourning their brother, novices54 carrying clean cloths and basins of water to wash and enshroud the corpse. ...
So we had to act fast. I grabbed the books and handed them to William, who examined them and set them on the table. Then we realized it was a long job, and we proceeded together: I would pick up a book, smooth it out if it was ruffled55, read its title, and set it down. In many cases there were only scattered pages.
“De plantis libri tres. Damnation, that’s not it,” William said, slamming the book on the table.
“Thesaurus herbarum,” I said, and William snapped, “Drop it; we’re looking for a Greek book!”
“This?” I asked, showing him a work whose pages were covered with abstruse56 letters. And William said, “No, that’s Arabic, idiot! Bacon was right: the scholar’s first duty is to learn languages!”
“But you don’t know Arabic, either!” I replied, irked, to which William answered, “At least I understand when it is Arabic!” And I blushed, because I could hear Benno snickering behind my back.
There were many books, and even more notes, scrolls57 with drawings of the heavenly vault58, catalogues of strange plants, written on scattered pages, probably by the dead man. We worked a long time, exploring every corner of the laboratory. William, with great coldness, even shifted the corpse to see whether there was any?thing beneath it, and he rummaged59 inside the habit. Nothing.
“It has to be done,” he said. “Severinus locked him?self in here with a book. The cellarer didn’t have it. …”
“Can he have hidden it inside his habit?” I asked. “No, the book I saw the other morning under Venantius’s desk was big, and we would have noticed.”
“How was it bound?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It was lying open, and I saw it only for a few seconds, just long enough to realize it was in Greek, but I remember nothing else. Let us continue; the cellarer didn’t take it, nor, I believe, did Malachi.”
“Absolutely not,” Benno confirmed. “When the cellar?er grabbed him by the chest, it was obvious he could have nothing under his scapular.”
“Good. Or, rather, bad. If the book is not in this room, obviously someone else, besides Malachi and the cellarer, had come in here before.”
“A third person, then, who killed Severinus?”
“Too many people,” William said.
“But anyway,” I asked, “who could have known the book was here?”
“Jorge, for example, if he overheard us.”
“Yes,” I said, “but Jorge couldn’t have killed a strong man like Severinus, and with such violence.”
“No, certainly not. Besides, you saw him going to?ward4 the Aedificium, and the archers found him in the kitchen shortly before they found the cellarer. So he wouldn’t have had time to come here and then go back to the kitchen.”
“Let me think with my own head,” I said, aiming at emulating60 my master. “Alinardo was moving around in the vicinity, but he, too, can hardly stand, and he couldn’t have overpowered Severinus. The cellarer was here, but the time between his leaving the kitchen and the arrival of the archers was so short that I think it would have been difficult for him to make Severinus open the door, to attack and kill him, and then to make all this mess. Malachi could have come before them all: Jorge hears us in the narthex, he goes to the scriptori?um to tell Malachi that a book from the library is in Severinus’s laboratory, Malachi comes here, persuades Severinus to open the door, and kills him, God knows why. But if he was looking for the book, he should have recognized it, without all this ransacking61, because he’s the librarian! So who’s left?”
“Benno,” William said.
Benno shook his head, in vigorous denial. “No, Broth8?er William, you know I was consumed with curiosity. But if I had come in here and had been able to leave with the book, I would not be here now keeping you company; I would be examining my treasure some?where else. ...”
“An almost convincing argument,” William said, smiling. “However, you don’t know what the book looks like, either. You could have killed and now you would be here trying to identify the book.”
Benno blushed violently. “I am not a murderer!” he protested.
“No one is, until he commits his first crime,” William said philosophically62. “Anyway, the book is missing, and this is sufficient proof that you didn’t leave it here.”
Then he turned to contemplate63 the corpse. He seemed only at that point to take in his friend’s death. “Poor Severinus,” he said, “I had suspected even you and your poisons. And you were expecting some trick with poison; otherwise you wouldn’t have worn those gloves. You feared a danger of the earth and instead it came to you from the heavenly vault. ...” He picked up the sphere again, observing it with attention. “I wonder why they used thit particular weapon. ...”
“It was within reach.”
“Perhaps. But there were other things, pots, garden?ing tools. ... It is a fine example of the craft of metals and of astronomical64 science. It is ruined and ... Good heavens!” he cried,
“What is it?”
“And the third part of the sun was smitten65 and the third part of the moon and the third part of the stars …” he quoted.
I knew all too well the text of John the apostle. “The fourth trumpet66,” I exclaimed.
“In fact. First hail, then blood, then water, and now the stars ... If this is the case, then everything must be re-examined; the murderer did not strike at random67, he was following a plan. ... But is it possible to imagine a mind so evil that he kills only when he can do so while following the dictates68 of the book of the Apoca?lypse?”
“What will happen with the fifth trumpet?” I asked, terrified. I tried to recall: ‘And I saw a star fallen from heaven unto the earth and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit. ... Will somebody die by drowning in the well?”
“The fifth trumpet also promises many other things,” William said. “From the pit will come the smoke of a great furnace, then locusts69 will come from it to torment70 mankind with a sting similar to a scorpion’s. And the shape of the locusts will resemble that of horses, with gold crowns on their heads and lions’ teeth. ... Our man could have various means at his disposal to carry out the words of the book. ... But we must not pursue fantasies. Let us try, rather, to remember what Severinus said to us when he informed us he had found the book. ...”
“You told him to bring it to you and he said he couldn’t. ...”
“So he did, and then we were interrupted. Why couldn’t he? A book can be carried. And why did he put on gloves? Is there something in the book’s binding connected with the poison that killed Berengar and Venantius? A mysterious trap, a poisoned tip ...”
“A snake!” I said.
“Why not a whale? No, we are indulging in fantasies again. The poison, as we have seen, had to enter the mouth. Besides, Severinus didn’t actually say he couldn’t carry the book. He said he preferred to show it to me here. And then he put on his gloves. ... So we know this book must be handled with gloves. And that goes for you, too, Benno, if you find it, as you hope to. And since you’re being so helpful, you can help me further. Go up to the scriptorium again and keep an eye on Malachi. Don’t let him out of your sight.”
“I will!” Benno said, and he went out, happy at his mission, it seemed to us.
We could restrain the other monks no longer, and the room was invaded. Mealtime was now past, and Bernard was probably assembling his tribunal in the chapter house.
“There is nothing more to be done here,” William said.
With the infirmary, we abandoned my poor hypothesis, and as we were crossing the vegetable garden I asked William whether he really trusted Benno. “Not entirely,” William said, “but we told him nothing he didn’t al?ready know, and we have made him fear the book. And, finally, in setting him to watch Malachi, we are also setting Malachi to watch him, and Malachi is obviously looking for the book on his own.”
“What did the cellarer want, then?”
“We’ll soon know. Certainly he wanted something, and he wanted it quickly, to avert71 some danger that was terrifying him. This something must be known to Malachi: otherwise there would be no explanation of Remigio’s desperate plea to him. ...”
“Anyway, the book has vanished. ...”
“This is the most unlikely thing,” William said, as we arrived at the chapter house. “If it was there, as Severinus told us it was, either it’s been taken away or it’s there still.”
“And since it isn’t there, someone has taken it away,” I concluded.
“It is also possible that the argument should proceed from another minor72 premise73. Since everything con18?firms the fact that nobody can have taken it away ...”
“Then it should be there still. But it is not there.”
“Just a moment. We say it isn’t there because we didn’t find it. But perhaps we didn’t find it because we haven’t seen it where it was.”
“But we looked everywhere!”
“We looked, but did not see. Or else saw, but did not recognize. ... Adso, how did Severinus describe that book to us? What words did he use?”
“He said he had found a book that was not one of his, in Greek. ...”
“No! Now I remember. He said a strange book. Severinus was a man of learning, and for a man of learning a book in Greek is not strange; even if that scholar doesn’t know Greek, he would at least recognize the alphabet. And a scholar wouldn’t call a book in Arabic strange, either, even if he doesn’t know Arabic. ...” He broke off. “And what was an Arabic book doing in Severinus’s laboratory?”
“But why should he have called an Arabic book strange?”
“This is the problem. If he called it strange it was because it had an unusual appearance, unusual at least for him, who was an herbalist and not a librarian. ... And in libraries it can happen that several ancient manuscripts are bound together, collecting in one vol?ume various and curious texts, one in Greek, one in Aramaic ...”
“… and one in Arabic!” I cried, dazzled by this illumination.
William roughly dragged me out of the narthex and sent me running toward the infirmary. “You Teuton animal, you turnip74! You ignoramus! You looked only at the first pages and not at the rest!”
“But, master,” I gasped75, “you’re the one who looked at the pages I showed you and said it was Arabic and not Greek!”
“That’s true, Adso, that’s true: I’m the animal. Now hurry! Run!”
We went back to the laboratory, but we had trouble en?tering, because the novices were carrying out the corpse. Other curious visitors were roaming about the room. William rushed to the table and picked up the volumes, seeking the fatal one, flinging away one after another before the amazed eyes of those present, then opening and reopening them all again. Alas76, the Arabic manu?script was no longer there. I remembered it vaguely77 because of its old cover, not strong, quite worn, with light metal bands.
“Who came in here after I left?” William asked a monk5. The monk shrugged78: it was clear that everyone and no one had come in.
We tried to consider the possibilities. Malachi? It was possible; he knew what he wanted, had perhaps spied on us, had seen us go out empty-handed, and had come back, sure of himself. Benno? I remembered that when William and I had gibed79 at each other over the Arabic text, he had laughed. At the time I believed he was laughing at my ignorance, but perhaps he had been laughing at William’s ingenuousness80: he knew very well the various guises81 in which an ancient manu?script could appear, and perhaps he had thought what we did not think immediately but should have thought namely, that Severinus knew no Arabic, and so it was odd that he should keep among his books one he was unable to read. Or was there a third person?
William was deeply humiliated82. I tried to comfort him; I told him that for three days he had been looking for a text in Greek and it was natural in the course of his examination for him to discard all books not in Greek. And he answered that it is certainly human to make mistakes, but there are some human beings who make more than others, and they are called fools, and he was one of them, and he wondered whether it was worth the effort to study in Paris and Oxford83 if one was then incapable84 of thinking that manuscripts are also bound in groups, a fact even novices know, except stupid ones like me, and a pair of clowns like the two of us would be a great success at fairs, and that was what we should do instead of trying to solve mysteries, especially when we were up against people far more clever than we.
“But there’s no use weeping,” he concluded. “If Malachi took it, he has already replaced it in the library. And we would find it only if we knew how to enter the finis Africae. If Benno took it, he must have assumed that sooner or later I would have the suspicion I did have and would return to the laboratory, or he wouldn’t have acted in such haste. And so he must be hiding, and the one place where he has not hidden surely is the one where we would look for him immediately: namely, his cell. Therefore, let’s go back to the chapter house and see if during the interrogation the cellarer says anything useful. Because, after all, I still don’t see Bernard’s plan clearly; he was seeking his man before the death of Severinus, and for other reasons.”
We went back to the chapter. We would have done better to go to Benno’s cell, because, as we were to learn later, our young friend did not have such a high opinion of William and had not thought he would go back to the laboratory so quickly; so, thinking he was not being sought from that quarter, he had gone straight to his cell to hide the book.
But I will tell of this later. In the meantime dramatic and disturbing events took place, enough to make anyone forget about the mysterious book. And though we did not forget it, we were engaged by other urgent tasks, connected with the mission that William, after all, was supposed to fulfill85.
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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archer
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| n.射手，弓箭手 | |
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archers
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| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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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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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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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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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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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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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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vestige
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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custody
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| n.监护，照看，羁押，拘留 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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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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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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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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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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novices
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| n.新手( novice的名词复数 )；初学修士（或修女）；（修会等的）初学生；尚未赢过大赛的赛马 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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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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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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emulating
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| v.与…竞争( emulate的现在分词 )；努力赶上；计算机程序等仿真；模仿 | |
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ransacking
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的现在分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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astronomical
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| adj.天文学的，（数字）极大的 | |
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smitten
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| 猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去分词 ) | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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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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dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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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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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gibed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄( gibe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ingenuousness
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| n.率直；正直；老实 | |
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81
guises
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| n.外观，伪装( guise的名词复数 )v.外观，伪装( guise的第三人称单数 ) | |
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82
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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83
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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84
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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85
fulfill
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| vt.履行，实现，完成；满足，使满意 | |
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