CORKY LAPUTA, PLEASED TO BE PROVING THAT Robin1 Goodfellow was as daring and as formidable as any real agent of the NSA, had always intended to leave the estate in one of the actor’s expensive classic cars. The complication of a blown tire would not force a change of plan; it qualified2 as a mere3 annoyance4.
The ride was rough, the steering5 wheel pulled stubbornly in his hands, but as a connoisseur6 of chaos7 and a master of disorder8, he met this challenge with the delight familiar to any child who had fought to. control a vehicle in the bumper-car pavilion at a carnival9. Every twitch10 and wobble gave him a thrill.
He needed only to nurse the Buick out of the gate and three blocks to the street on which he had parked the Acura. From there, the drive home would be quick. Within half an hour, the pampered11 boy would be introduced to Stinky Cheese Man, would understand the horror that he was about to inherit, and would begin his long ordeal12 as well as his own career as a media star.
If anything went wrong en route, if for the first time chaos failed to serve Corky, he would kill the boy rather than surrender him to anyone. He wouldn’t even use young Manheim as a trade for his own survival. Cowardice13 had no place in the valiant14 lives of those who would [583] usher15 in the collapse16 of society and raise a new world from the rubble17.
“Anyone stops me,” he promised the kid, “I’ll blow your brains out—pop, pop, pop—and make you the biggest object of worldwide mourning since Princess Di.”
He made the corner of the house. At some distance to the left lay the reflection pond at the center of the turnaround in front of the mansion18. He was still traveling on the tributary19 driveway, which would join the main drive in fifty or sixty yards.
Just beyond the reach of the headlights, something so strange occurred that Corky cried out in surprise, and when the twin beams revealed the true nature of the obstacle ahead, terror seized him. He jammed his foot down on the brakes so hard that he put the car into a spin.
Moloch said that he would blow Fric’s brains out, but Fric had more immediate20 worries because the itching21 between his shoulders was real this time, not imaginary, and it quickly spread to the back of his neck.
He had expected to suffer an attack the moment that he’d been spritzed in the face, but perhaps the drug that Moloch administered had, as a side effect, delayed the asthmatic response. Now here it came, and with a vengeance23.
Fric began to wheeze24. His chest tightened25, and he couldn’t get enough breath.
He didn’t have his inhaler.
As bad, maybe worse: He remained semiparalyzed, unable to claw himself up from a slack-limbed slump26 into a full sitting position. He had to be more upright to use the muscles of his chest walls and of his neck to squeeze out every trapped breath.
Worse still: The feeble effort he made to sit upright instead caused him to slide farther down. In fact he seemed about to slip off the seat. [584] His legs buckled27 and twisted upon themselves, folding into the knee space in front of the dashboard, and his butt28 hung off the edge of the seat. From the waist to his neck, he was lying flat on the seat, his head tipped up against the back of it.
He felt his airways29 narrowing.
He wheezed30, sucked, snorked for breath, drew in little, squeezed out less. That familiar hard-boiled egg settled in his windpipe, that stone, that blocking wad.
He could not breathe on his back.
He could not breathe. He could not breathe.
Moloch stomped31 the brakes. The car fishtailed, then spun32.
On the driveway, running toward Corky as he sped toward them, were Roman Castevet, whom he’d killed and stored under a sheet in the cold locker33 at the morgue, and Ned Hokenberry come back to retrieve34 the locket that contained his third eye, and anorexic Brittina Dowd as naked and bony as he had left her on the floor of her bedroom but not burnt, and Mick Sachatone in Bart Simpson pajamas35.
He should have known them for mirages36, should have boldly run them down, but never had he seen the like of this, nor dreamed that such a thing was possible. They were not transparent37 but appeared to be as solid as a fireplace poker38 or a bronze-and-marble lamp.
Tramping the brake pedal, he jammed too hard, and perhaps pulled the wheel without intention. The Buick whipped around so sharply that the pistol on his lap was flung to the floor at his feet and his head rapped the side window hard enough to crack it.
At the end of the 360-degree pivot39, his four victims had not vanished during the rotation40, but loomed41 right there, and all flung themselves at the car, shocking from Corky a scream that sounded too girlish for Robin Goodfellow. One, two, three, four, the angry dead burst against the windshield, against the cracked side window, eager [585] to be at him, but burst, not real after all, merely figures of rain and shadow, plumes42 of cast-up water that splashed into shapeless sprays, flowed away, were gone.
A full turn didn’t drain the Buick’s momentum44, and they spun another ninety degrees, colliding with one of the trees that lined the driveway, thereby45 brought to an abrupt46 stop as the passenger’s door sprung open and the windshield dissolved.
Laughing in the face of chaos, Corky reached down past the steering wheel, feeling for the Glock on the floor between his feet. He touched the handgrip of the gun, grasped it, brought the weapon up to shoot the boy.
The driver’s door opened with a shrill47 protest of buckled metal, and Ethan Truman reached in for Corky, so instead of shooting the boy, he shot the man.
Arriving at the Buick in the moment that it crashed to a stop, Ethan slammed his pistol down on the roof and left it there because he didn’t want to shoot into the car, not with Fric in the line of fire. Heedless of the risk, he yanked open the tweaked door and reached inside. The driver thrust a handgun at him—thhhup—and he not only saw the muzzle48 flash but also smelled it.
He felt no consequence in the instant of the shot, too focused on the struggle for the gun to be able to assess whether he’d been hit or not. He swore he felt the second shot part his hair, and then he had the pistol.
At once flinging the weapon away into the dark, he would have dragged the driver out of the Buick, but the bastard49 came without coaxing50, barreling into him. They both went down harder than gravity required, Ethan on the bottom, rapping the back of his head against the quartzite cobblestones.
[586] On impact, when the door flew open, Fric found himself sliding off the seat, out of the Buick, onto the puddled pavement. Flat on his back, the worst of all positions when he couldn’t breathe.
Rain falling in his eyes blurred51 his vision, but he worried less about the blurring52 than about a crimson53 tint54 that seeped55 across the night, making rubies56 of the raindrops.
His thoughts clouded to match his vision—too little oxygen to the brain—but he was clearheaded enough to realize that the effect of the crap he had inhaled57 might be wearing off. He tried to move, and could, but not with any grace or control, rather like a hooked fish flopping58 on a shore.
On his side, he had more ability to clench59 and relax his neck, chest, and abdominal60 muscles, which he must do in order to force out the stale air condensed like syrup61 in his lungs. More ability, but not enough. If paper were a sound, it would not be as thin as his wheeze had become, nor a human hair as thin, nor a film of dust.
He needed to sit up. He couldn’t.
He needed his inhaler. Gone.
Although the world was crimson to him, he knew that he must look blue to the world, for this was one of the really bad attacks, worse than any he’d known before, an occasion for the emergency room, for the doctors and nurses with their talk of Manheim movies.
No breath. No breath. Thirty-five thousand dollars to refurnish his rooms, but no breath.
Funny thoughts crowded his head. Not funny ha-ha. Funny scary. Red thoughts. So dark red at the edges that the red was really black.
Currently not in a mood to teach the deconstructionist theory of literature, but in a mood to deconstruct anything in his way, with a wolfish fury howling in his skull62, Corky needed to gouge63 eyes, to chew at the face below him, to tear with teeth, to claw and rip.
Cracking his jaws64 for the first bite, he realized that Truman had [587] been stunned65 when he rapped his head on the pavement, that his resistance was not as strong as expected. In his savage66 frenzy67, Corky dimly realized, too, that if he succumbed68 to the animalistic urge to finish this by tooth and nail, something would snap in him, some last organizing restraint, and he would be found hours hence, still bent69 to the savaged70 body of his victim, his snout and jowls in the fleshy ruins, searching for grisly morsels71 as a pig for truffles.
As Robin Goodfellow, who had not actually received training to be a lethal72 weapon but who had read his share of spy novels, he knew that a sharp blow with the heel of his hand to an enemy’s nose would shatter nasal bones and drive the wicked splinters into the brain, bringing instant death, and so he did this, and cried with delight as Truman’s blood answered the blow with a bright spray.
He rolled off the useless cop, rose, turned toward the Buick, and went looking for the boy. Corky leaned down at the driver’s door to peer inside, but Fric had apparently73 gotten out through the sprung door on the passenger’s side.
The semiparalytic inhalant would not yet have worn off entirely75. The brat76 couldn’t have crawled far.
Straightening up from the driver’s door, Corky saw a handgun on the roof of the Buick, in front of his eyes.
Rain gleaming like diamond inlays on the checking of the grip.
Truman’s weapon.
Find the boy. Shoot him but only in the leg. To keep him from going anywhere. Then hustle77 back to the garage for another set of keys, another getaway car.
Corky could still salvage78 the plan, for he was the son of chaos as surely as Fric was the son of the biggest movie star in the world, and chaos would not fail its child as the actor had failed his.
He rounded the car and saw the boy on his side, kicking at the sodden79 ground, hitching80 forward like a crippled crab81.
Corky went after him.
Although Fric proceeded by the strangest form of locomotion82 that [588] Corky had ever seen, making a thin whistling sound that suggested the stripped-gear-popped-spring protest of a broken windup toy, the kid had gotten off the driveway, onto the grass. He seemed to be trying to reach a stone garden bench that appeared to be an antique. Approaching, Corky raised the pistol.
William Yorn, diligent83 groundskeeper, monitored every tree and shrub84 for disease and treated his green wards85 at the first sign of mold or blight86, or pestilence87. Occasionally, however, a plant could not be saved, and a replacement88 was then ordered from a tree broker89.
Large trees were replaced with the same specimen90 in the largest available box size. The new beauty was either delivered by truck and then swung into place by a rented crane or flown to the site by a big logging-industry helicopter with dual91 sets of rotors and positioned from the air.
Smaller specimens92 were planted with strategies and tactics less military in nature, and in the case of the smallest of the new trees, a lot of hand labor93 proved sufficient to get the job done. In some instances, a tree would be small enough to require staking to guide its growth for a year or two and to give it resistance to the wind.
While some in positions equivalent to his still used tall wooden stakes to prop94 these slender new trees, Mr. Yorn preferred one-inch and two-inch steel poles, in eight- and ten-foot lengths, for they would not rot, provided sturdier support, and could be reused.
After wrenching95 an eight-foot pole from the ground and tearing the stretchy plastic ties securing it to the tree, Ethan staggered after the crazy son of a bitch in the storm suit, swung the steel at his head as hard as he knew how, and clubbed him to the ground.
Toppling, the kidnapper96 reflexively fired the pistol. The bullet ricocheted off the granite97 garden bench and shrieked98 into the rain and darkness.
The thug collapsed99, rolled onto his back. He should have been [589] dead or unconscious, but he looked only dazed, confused. He still held the gun.
Ethan dropped on his assailant with both knees, driving the breath out of him, with luck breaking a few of his ribs100 and crushing his spleen to paste. He clawed at the gloved hand that held the gun, seized possession of the weapon, fumbled101 it, and with dismay saw it clatter102 out of easy reach.
Although his skull must be ringing like the bells of Notre Dame103, the creep flailed104 at Ethan and snared105 a fistful of his hair, twisted it painfully, tried to pull his face down toward bared and snapping teeth.
Fearing the teeth, Ethan nevertheless clamped his right hand on the man’s throat to pin him, and then punched, left knuckles107 to right eye, and punched again, but still his hair was twined in those iron fingers and being drawn108 out by the roots. He felt a thick jewelry109 chain around the maniac’s throat and thought to twist it, twisted and punched, twisted and punched, until his left hand ached and the taut110 chain, having scored the fingers of his right hand, finally broke like cheap string.
The teeth stopped snapping. The eyes fixed111 on something beyond Ethan, beyond the night itself. Limp fingers released twisted locks of hair.
Gasping112, rising from the dead man, Ethan looked at the chain in his hand. A locket. A glass sphere in which floated a watchful113 eye.
Moloch seemed to be dead, but he had seemed to be dead before. Fric watched the fight from an art-film angle and through a crimson haze114, wondering why the director of photography had chosen to shoot an action scene with a distorting lens and a red filter.
All this he wondered and worried about not with full attention but dreamily, as if he were asleep and having two nightmares at the same time, one involving two men in mortal combat and the other about [590] suffocation115. He was back in the old suffacatorium, wheezing116 like a geezer of a coal miner with black-lung disease, like in that movie Ghost Dad had been wise to turn down, and the mother of the original owner of Palazzo Rospo was trying to smother117 him with a fur coat.
Mr. Truman lifted him and carried him to the garden bench. Mr. Truman understood that during an attack Fric needed to be sitting up to better use his neck, chest, and abdominal muscles to force air out of his lungs. Mr. Truman knew the drill.
Mr. Truman propped118 him on the bench. Held him upright. Checked Fric’s belt for the medicinal inhaler.
Mr. Truman spewed out a string of vulgar and obscene words, all of which Fric had heard before in his years among the entertainment world’s elite119, but he’d never heard them from Mr. Truman until now.
More red everywhere and more of it darkening to black, and so little air getting through the mink120, the sable121, the fox, whatever fur it might be.
Breathing through his mouth because his nose had clogged122 with wacked cartilage and clotting123 blood, Ethan didn’t know if he had enough wind left to carry the boy back to the house at a run, all the way to Mrs. McBee’s office where spare inhalers were stored.
A bullet had nicked his left ear, too, and though the wound was superficial, blood followed the folds of the ear, into the resonant124 depths, half deafening125 him but also oozing126 down his eustachian tube and into his throat, causing him to cough in fits.
After a hesitation127, realizing that Fric was experiencing worse than an asthma22 attack, that this was something life-threatening, he scooped128 the boy off the bench, into his arms, turned toward the house—and confronted Dunny.
“Sit down with him,” Dunny said.
“Get out of my way, for God’s sake!”
[591] “It’ll be all right. Just sit down, Ethan.”
“He’s bad, I’ve never seen him this bad.” Ethan heard in the hoarseness129 of his voice an emotion deeper and better than fear and anger: the raw and wrenching love for another human being that he’d not been sure he still had the capacity to feel. “There’s no strength in him to fight this time, he’s so weak.”
“That’s the paralytic74 spray, but the effect is wearing off.”
“Spray? What’re you talking about?”
With one hand and with a gentle force greater than mere mortal strength, Dunny Whistler pressed Ethan backward with the boy in his arms, and guided him down onto the wet garden bench.
Standing130 over them, a pale and somewhat haggard man in a fine suit, Dunny appeared to be nothing special, yet he walked through mirrors, transformed himself into parrots that flew themselves into doves, vanished into the ornaments131 of a Christmas tree.
Ethan realized that his old friend’s suit remained dry in the rain, as did Dunny himself. The drizzle132 appeared to strike him but with no effect. No matter how intently Ethan stared, he could not see what happened to any drop that met Dunny’s suit and face, could not puzzle out the secret to the trick.
When Dunny placed one hand on Fric’s head, the trapped breath exploded from the suffering boy’s lungs. Fric shuddered133 in Ethan’s arms, tipped his head back, and breathed, sucked cold air without inhibition, exhaled134 a pale plume43 of air with no asthmatic wheeze.
Gazing up at Dunny—coma135-thinned, waxy-looking Dunny—Ethan felt no less bewilderment than when, after being killed in traffic, he had found himself alive outside the door of Forever Roses. “What? How?”
“Do you believe in angels, Ethan?”
“Angels?”
“The last night of my life,” Dunny said, “as I lay dying in the coma, I received a visitation. This spirit who calls himself Typhon.”
[592] Ethan thought of Dr. O’Brien at Our Lady of Angels, earlier this same day. The DVD recording136 of Dunny’s brain waves. The inexplicable137 beta waves of a conscious, alert, and agitated138 person spiking139 across the screen when Dunny had been in a deep coma.
“In the hours before my death,” Dunny continued, “Typhon came to me to reveal the fate of my best friend. That’s you, Ethan. In spite of the lost years between us and all the ways I went wrong, that’s still you. My friend ... and Hannah’s husband. Typhon showed me when and where and how you would be murdered by Rolf Reynerd, in that black-and-white room with all the birds, and I was so afraid for you ... and grieved for you.”
At several points, the EEG had recorded a wildly spiking beta tracery that according to Dr. O’Brien represented the brain waves of a terrified individual. Subsets of beta had indicated conversation.
Dunny said, “I was made an offer ... was given the chance to ... to be the guardian140 you needed these past two days. With the power granted to me for this short mission, I could among other things fold back time.”
When a guy stands before you, saying he can turn back time, and you at once believe him, and you also accept with rapidly diminishing amazement141 that he remains142 dry in the rain, you have changed forever—and probably for the better, even though you feel as if the earth itself has been pulled out from under you, as if you have fallen into a rabbit hole deeper and stranger than Alice ever dreamed.
“I decided143 to let you experience your death in Reynerd’s apartment, your scheduled destiny, then take you back to the moment before it happened. I figured to scare the shit out of you and give you the extra edge you were going to need to get through the rest of what was coming—and to get this boy through it.”
Dunny smiled at Fric, and arched an eyebrow144 as though to suggest that he knew there was something the boy would want to say.
[593] Still weak of body but once more quick of mind, Fric said to Ethan, “You’re probably surprised angels can say ‘shit.’ I was, too. But then, you know, it’s in the dictionary.”
Ethan remembered a moment in the library with Fric, earlier this evening, when he had told the troubled boy that everyone liked him. Disbelieving, disconcerted, Fric in his enduring humility145 had been at a loss for words.
On the library Christmas tree behind Fric, the angel ornaments had turned, nodded, and danced in the absence of a draft. A strange expectation had overcome Ethan, a sense that a door of understanding might be about to open in his heart. It had not opened then, but now it had been flung wide.
Dunny sees his friend holding the boy in his lap, in his arms, and he sees the boy holding as tightly as he is able to Ethan, but he sees far more than their wonder at his supernatural presence and more than their relief to be alive. He sees a surrogate father and the son whom he will unofficially adopt, sees two lives raised from despair by the complete commitment of each to the other, sees the years ahead of them, filled with the joy that is born of selfless love but marked also by the anguishes146 of life that in the end only love can heal. And Dunny knows that what he has done here is the best and cleanest thing that he has ever done or, ironically, ever will.
“The PT Cruiser, the truck,” Ethan wonders.
“You died a second time,” Dunny says, “because destiny struggles to reassert the pattern that was meant to be. Your death in Reynerd’s apartment came by your own free will, because of choices you made. In setting time back, I thwarted147 your self-made destiny. You don’t need to fully106 understand. You can’t. Just know that now ... destiny won’t reassert that pattern. By your choices and by your acts, you’ve now made another destiny for yourself.”
[594] “The bells from the ambulance,” Ethan asks, “all the games with them ... ?”
Dunny smiles at Fric. “What are the rules? How must we angels work?”
“By indirection,” the boy says. “Encourage, inspire, terrify, cajole, advise. You influence events by every means that is sly, slippery, and seductive.”
“See, there’s a thing you now know that most other people don’t,” Dunny says. “More important perhaps than knowing that civet is squeezed from the anal glands148 of cats into perfume bottles.”
The boy has a smile to make his model mother’s fade from memory, and he has an inner light that shines without the help of spiritual advisers149.
“Those people that ... that rose up out of the driveway and threw themselves at the car,” Ethan says with lingering bewilderment.
“Images of Moloch’s victims, which I conjured150 out of water and sent running at his car to frighten him,” Dunny explains.
“Damn, I missed that!” Fric says.
“Furthermore, we guardian angels don’t pull our white robes around us and just harp-strum ourselves from here to there the way movies would have you believe. How do we travel, Fric?” The boy starts well but falters151: “You travel by mirrors, by mist, by smoke, by doorways152 ...”
“Doorways in water, by stairways made of shadows, on roads of moonlight,” Dunny prompts.
Fric picks up the thread of memory: “By wish and hope and simple expectation.”
“Would you like one last exhibition of an angel flying in this way that angels really fly?”
“Cool,” the boy says.
“Wait, “Ethan says.
“There is no waiting,” Dunny says, for now he receives the call and must answer. “I’m done here forever.”
[595] “My friend,” Ethan says.
Grateful for those two words, grateful beyond expression, Dunny transforms his body by the power granted in his contract, becoming hundreds of luminous153 golden butterflies that rise gracefully154 into the rain and one by one, with flutter of wings, fold themselves into the night, away from the sight of mortal eyes.
收听单词发音 |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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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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carnival
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| n.嘉年华会，狂欢，狂欢节，巡回表演 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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pampered
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| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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usher
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| n.带位员，招待员；vt.引导，护送；vi.做招待，担任引座员 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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asthma
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| n.气喘病，哮喘病 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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wheeze
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| n.喘息声，气喘声；v.喘息着说 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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slump
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| n.暴跌，意气消沉，（土地）下沉；vi.猛然掉落，坍塌，大幅度下跌 | |
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buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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AIRWAYS
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| 航空公司 | |
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wheezed
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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stomped
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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locker
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| n.更衣箱，储物柜，冷藏室，上锁的人 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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pajamas
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| n.睡衣裤 | |
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mirages
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景( mirage的名词复数 ) | |
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37
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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38
poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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39
pivot
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| v.在枢轴上转动；装枢轴，枢轴；adj.枢轴的 | |
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40
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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41
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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42
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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43
plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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44
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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45
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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46
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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47
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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48
muzzle
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| n.鼻口部；口套；枪(炮)口；vt.使缄默 | |
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49
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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50
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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51
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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52
blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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53
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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54
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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55
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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56
rubies
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| 红宝石( ruby的名词复数 )； 红宝石色，深红色 | |
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57
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58
flopping
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| n.贬调v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的现在分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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59
clench
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| vt.捏紧（拳头等），咬紧（牙齿等），紧紧握住 | |
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60
abdominal
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| adj.腹（部）的，下腹的；n.腹肌 | |
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61
syrup
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| n.糖浆，糖水 | |
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62
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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63
gouge
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| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
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64
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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65
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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66
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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67
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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68
succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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69
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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70
savaged
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| （动物）凶狠地攻击（或伤害）( savage的过去式和过去分词 )； 残害； 猛烈批评； 激烈抨击 | |
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71
morsels
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| n.一口( morsel的名词复数 )；（尤指食物）小块，碎屑 | |
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72
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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73
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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74
paralytic
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| adj. 瘫痪的 n. 瘫痪病人 | |
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75
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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76
brat
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| n.孩子；顽童 | |
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77
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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78
salvage
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| v.救助，营救，援救；n.救助，营救 | |
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79
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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80
hitching
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| 搭乘； （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的现在分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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81
crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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82
locomotion
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| n.运动，移动 | |
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83
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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84
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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85
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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86
blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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87
pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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88
replacement
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| n.取代，替换，交换；替代品，代用品 | |
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89
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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90
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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91
dual
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| adj.双的；二重的，二元的 | |
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92
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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93
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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94
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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95
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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96
kidnapper
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| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
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97
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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98
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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100
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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101
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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102
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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103
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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104
flailed
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| v.鞭打( flail的过去式和过去分词 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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105
snared
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| v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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107
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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108
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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109
jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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110
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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111
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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112
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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113
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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114
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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115
suffocation
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| n.窒息 | |
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116
wheezing
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| v.喘息，发出呼哧呼哧的喘息声( wheeze的现在分词 )；哮鸣 | |
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117
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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118
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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120
mink
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| n.貂，貂皮 | |
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121
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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122
clogged
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| （使）阻碍( clog的过去式和过去分词 )； 淤滞 | |
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123
clotting
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| v.凝固( clot的现在分词 )；烧结 | |
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124
resonant
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| adj.(声音)洪亮的，共鸣的 | |
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125
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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126
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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127
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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128
scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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129
hoarseness
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| n.嘶哑， 刺耳 | |
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130
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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131
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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132
drizzle
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| v.下毛毛雨；n.毛毛雨，蒙蒙细雨 | |
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133
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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134
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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135
coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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136
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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137
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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138
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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139
spiking
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| n.尖峰形成v.加烈酒于( spike的现在分词 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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140
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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141
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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142
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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143
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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144
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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145
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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146
anguishes
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| v.（尤指心理上的）极度的痛苦( anguish的第三人称单数 ) | |
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147
thwarted
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| 阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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148
glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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149
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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150
conjured
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| 用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 )； 祈求，恳求； 变戏法； （变魔术般地） 使…出现 | |
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151
falters
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的第三人称单数 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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152
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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153
luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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154
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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