First they have to mark a Meridian2 Line, then clear a Visto, then mea?sure straight up the middle of it, using "Levels," great wooden Rectan?gles twenty feet long by four feet high, and an inch thick, mostly of Pine Boards, with iron and Brass3 securing the reinforcing Bands,— which would have serv'd handsomely in many of these Fens4 as Duck-Boards or Rafts, but must instead be carried carefully upright, being compar'd most dutifully ev'ry day with how close to eight times a five-foot Brass Standard might be fit in the length of the two Levels set end to end,— and into the Daily corrections needed, the Temperature reckon'd and enter'd as well. Each Plumb-line is protected from the Wind by a three-foot Tube. When tilted5 until the Plumb-line bisects a certain Point drawn6 at the bottom, the Level is level. 'Tis then necessary only to set it with its Mate, together in a forty-foot Line easily kept true by sighting down its Length toward the farthest point of the Visto they can see, on the assumption the Visto has been truly made.
"Back in Durham we style this a Squire's Line,— using the Equip?ment of the Gentleman who hires thee, easy Terrain7, careful work, turn?ing the Telescope over and over, bit of fancy artwork upon the Plane-Table Drafts. Careful and slow."
"Slow, 'tis certain." Mason has long dropp'd all pretense8 at Patience. There are days when the Routine has him livid with boredom9. "As Lady Montague said of Bath, the only thing one can do upon this Engagement, that one did not do the Day before— "Bad Luck, don't say it!" shouts Dixon thro' his Speaking-Trumpet, tho' they are close enough not to require any, causing Mason to wince10.
"Never mind when,— shall it end? Set a Mark before, set a Mark behind, swing the Instrument, do it again the other Way, 's fucking Body and Blood, Dixon, I am beside myself."
Dixon, approaching a few steps, gazes intently a foot and a half to Mason's right. "Eeh,— why, so yese are. How does thah' feel, I won?der. ..?" Switching his eyes to Mason, then back to the Spot beside Mason, "Well, why don't one of thee go ahead, and the other behind me, makes it much easier to line up the Marks... ?"
"Ahrrh! Like a giant Eye! ever a-stare!" He is referring to the Target, a Board about a Foot Square, with Concentrick Circles drawn on both sides, rigg'd to be slid in two grooves13, at the distant gesturing of the man at the Telescope, till it should line up precisely14 upon the central Wire, previously15 brought into the Meridian,— whereupon the other Surveyor hammers in his Stake immediately below, drops his Plummet-String along the center-line of the Target, and marks with a Notch16 exactly where, atop the Stake, the Bob-Point touches. Then the Transit17 Instru?ment leap-frogs the Target and goes ahead of it, its operator sets up, and takes a Back-sight at the Eye upon the Board's Reverse. Then they do it all again.
"I find little serious Astronomy in any of this," Mason complains.
It may be the level'd and selfless Pulse of it that enables them, at the end of June, the Measurement done, at last to travel South together, across the West Line, into Peril18 however differently constru'd, leading to Baltimore and the moment when Dixon will accost19 the Slave-Driver in the Street, and originate the family story whose material Focus, for years among the bric-a-brac in Hull20, will be the Driver's Lash21, that Uncle Jere?miah took away from the Scoundrel....
"No proof," declares Ives. "No entries for Days, allow'd,— but yet no proof."
"Alas22," beams the Revd, "must we place our unqualified Faith in the Implement23, as the Tale accompting for its Presence,— these Family sto?ries have been perfected in the hellish Forge of Domestick Recension, generation 'pon generation, till what survives is the pure truth, anneal'd to Mercilessness, about each Figure, no matter how stretch'd, nor how influenced over the years by all Sentiments from unreflective love to inflexible24 Dislike."
"Don't leave out Irresponsible Embellishment."
"Rather, part of the common Duty of Remembering,— surely our Sen?timents,— how we dream'd of, and were mistaken in, each other,— count for at least as much as our poor cold Chronologies."
The Driver's Whip is an evil thing, an expression of ill feeling worse than any between Master and Slave,— the contempt of the monger of perish?able goods for his Merchandise,— in its tatter'd braiding, darken'd to its Lash-Tips with the sweat and blood of Drove after Drove of human tar11?gets, the metal Wires work'd in to each Lash, its purpose purely25 to express hate with, and Hate's Corollary,— to beg for the same denial of Mercy, should, one day, the r6les be revers'd. Gambling26 that they may not be. Or, that they may.
Dixon has spoken with him already, the night before, in the Publick Room of his Inn. The Slave-Driver is announcing a Vendue at the Dock, twenty Africans, Men and Women, each a flower of the Tribe they had been taken from. Yet he is calling them by names more appropriate to Animals one has come to dislike. Several times Dixon feels the need, strong as thirst, to get up, walk over to the fellow and strike him.
"And so I hope ev'ryone will come down and have a look, dusky chil?dren of the Forest, useful in any number o' ways, cook and eat 'em, fuck 'em or throw 'em to the Dogs, as we say in the Trade, imagine Gents, your very own Darky, to order about as you please. You, Sir, in the interesting Hat," beckoning27 to Dixon, who raises his Brows amiably28, at the same time freezing with the certainty that once again he is about to see a face he knows. Someone from the recent past, whose name he cannot remem?ber. "A fine young Mulatto gal29'd be just your pint30 of Ale I'd wager31, well tonight you're in luck, damme 'f you're not."
"Not in the Market," replies Dixon, as he imagines, kindly32.
"Ho!" drawing back in feign'd Surprize, "what's this, not in the mar1?ket, how then may I even begin to educate you, Sir, or should I say, Friend, upon this Topick? The news, Friend, being that all are in the Market,— however regrettably,— for ev'ryone wants a slave, at least
one, to call his own "
"Sooner or later," Dixon far too brightly, "— a Slave must kill his Master. It is one of the Laws of Springs." The Herdsman of Humans, who has been staring at Dixon, now looks about for a line of Withdrawal33. "Give me Engines, for they have no feelings of injustice,— sometimes they don't exist, either, so I have to invent what I need...," at which point the Enterpriser has edg'd his way as far as the door.
"Remember, tomorrow, midday at the Pier34!" and he is off like a shot.
Attention shifts to Dixon, whose insane demeanor35 has vanish'd with the Dealer's Departure.
"Will you be there, Sir?" inquires a neighboring Drinker, more socia?bly teasing, than wishing to sting. "Being one of our Sights down here, of interest to a Visitor,— you might find it diverting. Not quite as much as a Horse Auction36, o' course."
Dixon vibrated his Eye-balls for a while. "That's it? Slaves and Horses?"
"Why, and Tobacco! Ye've never been to a Tobacco Auction? Say, ye'll never listen to an Italian Tenor37 the same way again."
In '55, at the grim news of Braddock's Fate, Pennsylvanians had come flying Eastward38 before the Indians, over Susquehanna, in a panic,— here in the Chesapeake Slave country, rather stretch'd long nights of Apprehension39, the counting of Kitchen Knives, Fears conceal'd, Fears detected, Fears betray'd, of poisons in the food, stranglings at midnight, Women violated, Horses and Cash, House and Home, gone,— as their Spoliators into the boundless40 Continent,— and everywhere the soft Weight of the nocturnal Breath, above that water-riddl'd Country.
In his heart, Mason has grown accustom'd to the impossibility, between Dixon and himself, of Affection beyond a certain Enclosure. They have spent years together inside one drawn Perimeter41 and another. They also know how it is out in the Forest, over the Coastal42 ranges, out of metropolitan43 Control. Only now, far too late, does Mason develop a passion for his co-adjutor, comparable to that occurring between Public-School Students in England.—
"Oh, please Wicks spare us, far too romantick really," mutter several voices at once.
Say then, that Mason at last came to admire Dixon for his Bravery,— a different sort than they'd shown each other years before, on the Sea?horse, where they'd had no choice. Nor quite the same as they'd both exhibited by the Warrior45 Path. Here in Maryland, they had a choice at last, and Dixon chose to act, and Mason not to,— unless he had to,— what each of us wishes he might have the unthinking Grace to do, yet fails to do. To act for all those of us who have so fail'd. For the Sheep. Yet Mason offer'd his Admiration46, so long and unreasonably47 withheld48, only to provide Dixon fodder49 for more Rustick Joakery.
"All...? Pray thee, Mason, shall I have a special U-niform for thah'? Something with a Cloak to it,— Mantua-length would be better, wouldn't it, than all the way down, for I would need access to my Pistol,—
There unavoidable in the Street is the Slave Driver. And he's driving about half his Drove, who thro' some inconvenient50 behavior, remain unsold. He is screaming, having abandon'd all control, and Striking ev'rywhere with the Whip, mostly encountering the Air, even with the movements of the Africans limited by the Chains, having fail'd to inflict51 much Injury. "You fuck'd up my Sale, you fuck'd up my day, you fuck'd up my business,— Now I owe money, plus another night's Lodging52, plus another night's Victualling,—
"I'll just seek Assistance, then, shall I?" Mason making as if to flee.
"Mason, thou're the only one nearby who knows how to watch my Back,— would tha mind, frightfully?" And before Mason can stir, Dixon is down the Steps, and into the Street.
"That's enough." He stands between the Whip and the Slaves, with his Hat back and his hand out. Later he won't remember how. "I'll have that."
"You'll have it to your Head, Friend, if you don't step out of my Way. These are mine,— I'll do as I damn'd please with my Property." Towns?folk pause to observe.
Dixon, moving directly, seizes the Whip,— the owner comes after it,— Dixon places his Fist in the way of the oncoming Face,— the Driver cries out and stumbles away. Dixon follows, raising the Whip. "Turn around. I'll guess you've never felt this."
"You broke my Tooth!”
"In a short while thah's not going to matter much, because in addition, I'm going to kill you...? Now be a man, face me, and make it easier, or must I rather work upon you from the Back, like a Beast, which will take longer, and certainly mean more discomfort53 for you."
"No! Please! My little ones! 0 Tiffany! Jason!"
"Any more?"
"— Scott!"
Dixon reaches down and tears, from the man's Belt, a ring of keys. "Who knows where these go?"
"We know them by heart, Sir," replies one tall woman in a brightly strip'd Head-Cloth. With the Driver protesting the usefulness of his Life, the Africans unchain themselves.
"Now then!" cries Dixon merrily.
A not at all friendly crowd by now having form'd,— "And as we're in the middle of Town, here," the Africans advise him, "Sheriff's men'll be here any moment,— don't worry about us,— some will stay, some'll get away,— but you'd better go, right now."
Despite this sound Counsel, Dixon still greatly desires to kill the Driver, cringing54 there among the Waggon-Ruts. What's a man of Conscience to do? It is frustrating55. His Voice breaks. "If I see you again, you are a dead man." He shakes the Whip at him. "And dead you'll be, ere you see again this Instrument of Shame. For it will lie in a Quaker Home, and never more be us'd."
"Don't bet the Meeting-House on that," snarls56 the Driver, scuttling57 away.
"Go back to Philadelphia," someone shouts at Dixon.
"Good Withdrawal-Line or two here, yet," reports Mason.
Thrusting the Whip into his red Coat, Dixon steps away, Mason fol?lowing. At the first brick Prow58 of a house to block them from View, they take to their Heels, returning by a roundabout and not altogether witting route to the Stable where their Horses wait. "Eeh, Rebel, old gal, Ah'm pleas'd to see your Face...?" Dixon has brought a small apple from a fruitmonger's barrow, but the Horse dives anyway beneath the giant flaps over his Coat Pockets and goes in to inspect, lest something should have been overlook'd. At that moment of Equine curiosity, with Mason occu?pied in saddling up, Dixon understands what Christopher Maire must have meant long ago by "instrument of God,"— and his Obligation henceforward, to keep Silence upon the Topick.
They are very conscious of leaving Town,— with Luck, for the last time,— observing ev'rything as thro' some marvellous "Specs," that make all come sharp, and near. Sailors sit upon curb-stones outside the front doors of the Taverns59 that have intoxicated60 them, vomiting61 the Sur?veyors on, with a strange elation62. Traffick in the Street brings and takes its own Light, Lanthorns upon carriages projecting, in swooping63 Shad?ows upon the crooked64 Meridians65 and Parallels of the brick walls, ev'ry leafless Tree, ev'ry desire-driven Pedestrian and Street-wary Dog. In low-ceiling'd Rooms at right angles to the street, Waggon-drivers stand in glum66 rows, drinking as if out of Duty, protected from the snow that promises at any moment to begin, tho' from little else, least of all the Road, and its Chances. Women pull their shawls in against the Night. Young people singly and pair'd, bound for twilight67 Assignations, sweep up and down the steps of Row-Houses, and along the curb-sides, from which the Steps rise, in all the traceless Promise of first Lanthorn-Light. Now that the Surveyors must leave, they wish to stay. In an onset68 of Turning-Evil, Mason imagines the Streets full of Row-Houses multi?plying69 like loaves and fishes, whirling past like Spokes70 of a Giant Wheel, whose Convergence or Hub, beyond some disputable Prelude71 to Radiance, he cannot make out.
They are soon enough upon the York Road, the deeply magnetiz'd Fields to either side, in the Dark, tugging72 at Bits, Buckles73, Pen-Nibs, Compass-Needles, and the steel strands74 of the Driver's Whip. They feel cover'd with small beings crawling and plucking ev'rywhere, neither kindly Remembrancers, nor wicked Spirits. "Do you feel that?" calls Mason in the Dark. "You're the Needle-Master,— what is it?" "Mysteries of the Magnetick... ?" After a bit, "Aye? Instances of those being...?" "Ah don't know, Mason, 'tis why I say 'Mysteries'...?" Lanthorn-Lights ahead. Soon they can hear a night-Congregation singing. Reaching a small wood Moon-color'd Chapel75, as if by earlier arrangement, the Surveyors pause to listen.
Oh God in thy Mercy forever uncertain, Upon Whom continue Thy Sheep to Rely... Pray keep us till Dawn, Be the Night e'er so long— All Thy helpless Creation, Who sleep 'neath the Sky...
For the chances of Night are too many to reckon, And the Bridge to the Day-light, is ever too frail76... When the Hour of Departure shall strike to the second, Who will tend to the Journey? who will find us the Trail?
As once were we Lambs, in a Spring-tide abiding77,
As once were we Children, eternal and free,
So shepherd us through,
Where the Dangers be few,—
From Darkness preserve us, returning to Thee.—
For the chances of Night &c—
Having acknowledg'd at the Warpath the Justice of the Indians' Desires, after the two deaths, Mason and Dixon understand as well that the Line is exactly what Capt. Zhang and a number of others have been styling it all along— a conduit for Evil. So the year in Delaware with the Degree of Latitude78 is an Atonement, an immersion79 in "real" Sci?ence, a Baptism of the Cypress80 swamp, and even a Rebirth,— not some hir'd Cadastral Survey by its nature corrupt81, of use at Trail's End only to those who would profit from the sale and division and resale of Lands. "Guineas, Mason, Pistoles, and Spanish Dollars, splendorously Vomited82 from Pluto's own Gut83! Without End! All generated from thah' one Line...? Yet has any of it so much as splash'd or dribbl'd in our Direction?
"The one thing we do know how to do, is Vistoes. Let's give 'em some?thing they'll journey from other Provinces, down Rivers and Pikes in Streams ever-wid'ning, to gaze upon,— " as the Visto soon is lin'd with Inns and Shops, Stables, Games of Skill, Theatrickals, Pleasure-Gardens... a Promenade,— nay84, Mall,— eighty Miles long. At twilight
you could mount to a Platform, and watch the lamps coming on, watch the Visto tapering85, in perfect Projection86, to its ever-unreachable Point. Pure Latitude and Longitude87.
"I am a student of 'Blind Jack88' Metcalf, if it please you," declares one of the Axmen, overhearing them.
"West Riding Lad! Blind Surveyor! he was famous in Staindrop even when I was a Lad."
"Applying the methods I learn'd whilst a member of his Crew, we could build a Modern Road here, straight up this Visto, eighty Miles long, well drain'd its entire length, self-compacting, impervious89 to all weather, immovable 'neath Laden90 Wheels be they broad or narrow,— true there's nothing much at the Middle Point, not today as we speak, but with the much improv'd Carriage from the other end, itself convenient to Philadelphia, New Castle, the entire heart of Chesapeake, why a Metrop?olis could blossom here among the Fens of Nanticoke that might rival any to the North."
"Sha!" warns the Chinaman. "Think about it!"
"Very well,— yet Right Lines, by minimizing Distance, are highly valu'd by some,— Commanding Officers, Merchants, Express-Riders? Must these all be Creatures of Sha?"
"Without Question. Officers kill men in large numbers. Merchants concentrate wealth by beggaring uncounted others. Express-riders dis?tort and injure the very stuff of Time."
"Then why not consider Light itself as equally noxious," inquires Dixon, "for doth it not move ever straight ahead?"
"Ah!" a gleam as likely Madness as Merriment appearing in his Eye. "And if it moves in some other way?"
"Ev'ry Survey would have to be re-run," cries Dixon. "Eeh,— mar?vellous,— work for all the poor Dodmen till Doomsday!"
"Excuse me, Sir," Mason addresses the Geomancer. "Is this an article of common Faith among the Chinese, which I must remedy my ignorance of,— or but a Crotchet of your own I assume I may safely disregard? no wonder the Jesuits find you Folk inconvenient."
"What's that you're writing? Looks like Verse...?" "My Epitaph. Like to hear it?
7C2 'He wish'd but for a middling Life,
Forever in betwixt
The claims of Lust91 and Duty,
So intricately mix'd,—
To reach some happy Medium,
Fleet as a golden Beam,
Uncharted as St. Brendan's Isle92,
Fugitive93 as a Dream.
Alas, 'twas not so much the Years
As Day by thieving Day,—
With Debts incurr'd, and Interest Due,
That Dreams were sold to pay,—
Until at last, but one remain'd,
Too modest to have Worth,
That yet he holds within his heart,
As he is held, in Earth.' "
That other Tract94, across the Border,— perhaps nearly ev'rything, perhaps nearly nothing,— is denied him. "Is that why I sought so obsessedly Death's Insignia, its gestures and formula;, its quotidian95 gos?sip,— all those awful days out at Tyburn,— hours spent nearly immo?bile, watching stone-carvers labor96 upon tomb embellishments, Chip by Chip,— was it all but some way to show my worthiness97 to obtain a Per?mit to visit her, to cross that grimly patroll'd Line, that very essence of Division? She only wishes me back in the stink98 of mills, mutton-grease, Hell-Clamor, Lanthorns all night, the People in subjection, the foul'd wells of Painswick, Bisley, Stroud, styling it 'Home,'— Oh, is there no deliverance!"
She accosts99 him one night walking the Visto. "Seems sad, doesn't it," she chuckles100. "Trust me, Mopery, there are regions of Sadness you have not seen. Nonetheless, you must come back to our Vale, 'round to your beginning,— well away from the sea and the sailors, away from the Nets of imaginary Lines. You must leave Mr. Dixon to his Fate, and attend your own."
"You don't care for him, do you?"
"If we are a Triangle, then must I figure as the Unknown side.... Dare you calculate me? Dead-reckon your course into the Wilderness101 that is now my home, as my Exile? Show, by Projection, Shapes beyond the meager102 Prism of my Grave? Do you have any idea of my Sentiments? I think not. Mr. Dixon would much prefer you forget me, he is of beaming and cheery temperament103, a Boy who would ever be off to play. You were his playmate, now that is over, and you must go back inside the House of your Duty. When you come out again, he will no longer be there, and the Dark will be falling."
On their last visit to New-York, at the very end, waiting for the Halifax Packet, they dash all about the town, looking for any Face familiar from years before. Yet they are berated104 for their slowness at Corners. Carriages careen thro' Puddles the size of Ponds, spattering them with Mire44 unspeakable, so that they soon resemble Irregulars detach'd from a cam?paign in some moist Country. The Sons of Liberty have grown even less hospitable105, and there is no sign of Philip Dimdown, nor Blackie, nor Cap?tain Volcanoe. "Out of Town," they are told, when they are told anything. "Let's drink up and get out of here, there's no point." "We can find them. That's what we do, isn't it? We're Finders, after all." "The Continent is casting off, one by one, the Lines that fasten'd us to her."
Yet at last, seated among their Impedimenta, Quayage106 unreckon'd stretching north and south into Wood Lattice-Work, a deep great Thicket107 of Spars, poised108 upon the Sky, Hemp109 and City Smoak, two of a shed-ful of somberly cloak'd travelers waiting the tide, they are aware once more of a feeling part intra-cranial, part Skin-quiver, part fear,— familiar from Inns at Bridges, waiting-places at Ferries, all Lenses of Revenance or Haunt?ing, where have ever converg'd to them Images of those they drank with, saw at the edges of Rooms from the corners of Eyes, shouted to up or down a Visto. This seems to be true now, of ev'ry Face in this Place. Mason turns, his observing Eye protruding110 in alarm. "Are we at the right Pier?" "I was just about to ask,—
- I didn't actually see any Signs, did you?"
They are approach'd by a Gentleman not quite familiar to them. A Slouch Hat obscures much of his Face. "Well met," he pronounces, yet nothing further.
''Are ye bound for Falmouth?" Mason inquires.
"For Pendennis Point, mean ye, and Carrick Roads?" His tone poises111 upon a Cusp 'twixt Mockery and Teasing, which recognition might modulate112 to one or the other,— yet neither can quite identify him. "That Falmouth?"
"There is another, Sir?" Dixon, maniatropick Detectors113 a-jangle, gets to his feet, as Mason Eye-Balls the Exits.
"There is a Falmouth invisible, as the center of a circle is invisible, yet with Compasses and Straight-Edge may be found," the Stranger replies. At that instant, the company is rous'd by a great Clamor of Bells and Stevedores114, as the Packet, Rigging a-throb, prepares to sail. There will be perhaps two minutes to get aboard. "We must continue this Con12?versation, at Sea,"— and he has vanish'd in the Commotion115. Each Day, on the Way over, Mason and Dixon will look for him, at Mess, at Cards, upon ev'ry Deck, yet without Issue.
Mason's last entry, for September nth, 1768, reads, "At 11h 30m A.M. went on board the Halifax Packet Boat for Falmouth. Thus ends my rest?less progress in America." Follow'd by a Point and long Dash, that thick?ens and thins again, Chinese-Style.
Dixon has been reading over his Shoulder. "What was mine, then...? Restful?”
收听单词发音 |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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fens
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| n.（尤指英格兰东部的）沼泽地带( fen的名词复数 ) | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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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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grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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notch
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| n.(V字形)槽口，缺口，等级 | |
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transit
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| n.经过，运输；vt.穿越，旋转；vi.越过 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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accost
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| v.向人搭话，打招呼 | |
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hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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inflexible
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purely
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gambling
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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29
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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30
pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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31
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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32
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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33
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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34
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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35
demeanor
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| n.行为；风度 | |
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36
auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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37
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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38
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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39
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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40
boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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41
perimeter
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| n.周边，周长，周界 | |
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42
coastal
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| adj.海岸的，沿海的，沿岸的 | |
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43
metropolitan
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| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
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44
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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45
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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46
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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47
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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48
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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49
fodder
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| n.草料；炮灰 | |
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50
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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51
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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52
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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53
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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54
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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55
frustrating
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| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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56
snarls
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| n.（动物的）龇牙低吼( snarl的名词复数 )；愤怒叫嚷（声）；咆哮（声）；疼痛叫声v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的第三人称单数 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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57
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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58
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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59
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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60
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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61
vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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62
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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63
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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65
meridians
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| n.子午圈( meridian的名词复数 )；子午线；顶点；（权力，成就等的）全盛时期 | |
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66
glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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67
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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68
onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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69
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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70
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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71
prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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72
tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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73
buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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74
strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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75
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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76
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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77
abiding
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| adj.永久的，持久的，不变的 | |
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78
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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79
immersion
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| n.沉浸；专心 | |
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80
cypress
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| n.柏树 | |
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81
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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82
vomited
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83
gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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84
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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85
tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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86
projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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87
longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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88
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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89
impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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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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91
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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92
isle
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| n.小岛，岛 | |
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93
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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94
tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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95
quotidian
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| adj.每日的，平凡的 | |
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96
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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97
worthiness
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| 价值，值得 | |
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98
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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99
accosts
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的第三人称单数 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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100
chuckles
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的名词复数 ) | |
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101
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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102
meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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103
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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104
berated
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| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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106
quayage
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| 码头使用费，码头面积 | |
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107
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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108
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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109
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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110
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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111
poises
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| 使平衡( poise的第三人称单数 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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112
modulate
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| v.调整，调节(音的强弱)；变调 | |
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113
detectors
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| 探测器( detector的名词复数 ) | |
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114
stevedores
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| n.码头装卸工人，搬运工( stevedore的名词复数 ) | |
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115
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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