The occupant of the cab was invisible now, but a moment before Cairn had had a glimpse of her as she glanced out, apparently1 towards the very doorway2 in which he stood. Perhaps his imagination was playing him tricks. He stood and waited, until at last the cab drew up within a few yards of him.
Myra Duquesne got out.
Having paid the cabman, she crossed the pavement and entered the hall-way. Cairn stepped forward so that she almost ran into his arms.
"Mr. Cairn!" she cried. "Why! have you been to see Antony?"
"I have," he replied, and paused, at a loss for words.
It had suddenly occurred to him that Antony Ferrara and Myra Duquesne had known one another from childhood; that the girl probably regarded Ferrara in the light of a brother.
"There are so many things I want to talk to him about," she said. "He seems to know everything, and I am afraid I know very little."
Cairn noted3 with dismay the shadows under her eyes—the grey eyes that he would have wished to see ever full of light and laughter. She was pale, too, or seemed unusually so in her black dress; but the tragic4 death of her guardian5, Sir Michael Ferrara, had been a dreadful blow to this convent-bred girl who had no other kin6 in the world. A longing7 swept into Cairn's heart and set it ablaze8; a longing to take all her sorrows, all her cares,
[34]
upon his own broad shoulders, to take her and hold her, shielded from whatever of trouble or menace the future might bring.
"Have you seen his rooms here?" he asked, trying to speak casually9; but his soul was up in arms against the bare idea of this girl's entering that perfumed place where abominable10 and vile11 things were, and none of them so vile as the man she trusted, whom she counted a brother.
"Not yet," she answered, with a sort of childish glee momentarily lighting12 her eyes. "Are they very splendid?"
"Very," he answered her, grimly.
"Can't you come in with me for awhile? Only just a little while, then you can come home to lunch—you and Antony." Her eyes sparkled now. "Oh, do say yes!"
Knowing what he did know of the man upstairs, he longed to accompany her; yet, contradictorily13, knowing what he did he could not face him again, could not submit himself to the test of being civil to Antony Ferrara in the presence of Myra Duquesne.
"Please don't tempt14 me," he begged, and forced a smile. "I shall find myself enrolled15 amongst the seekers of soup-tickets if I completely ignore the claims of my employer upon my time!"
"Oh, what a shame!" she cried.
Their eyes met, and something—something unspoken but cogent—passed between them; so that for the first time a pretty colour tinted18 the girl's cheeks. She suddenly grew embarrassed.
"Good-bye, then," she said, holding out her hand. "Will you lunch with us to-morrow?"
He released her hand, and stood watching her as she entered the lift. When it ascended20, he turned and went out to swell21 the human tide of Piccadilly. He wondered what his father would think of the girl's visiting Ferrara. Would he approve? Decidedly the situation was a delicate one; the wrong kind of interference—the tactless kind—might merely render it worse. It would
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be awfully difficult, if not impossible, to explain to Myra. If an open rupture23 were to be avoided (and he had profound faith in his father's acumen), then Myra must remain in ignorance. But was she to be allowed to continue these visits?
Should he have permitted her to enter Ferrara's rooms?
He reflected that he had no right to question her movements. But, at least, he might have accompanied her.
There could be no peace for him until he knew her to be safely home again, and his work suffered accordingly; until, at about midday, he rang up Myra Duquesne, on the pretence25 of accepting her invitation to lunch on the morrow, and heard, with inexpressible relief, her voice replying to him.
In the afternoon he was suddenly called upon to do a big "royal" matinée, and this necessitated26 a run to his chambers27 in order to change from Harris tweed into vicuna and cashmere. The usual stream of lawyers' clerks and others poured under the archway leading to the court; but in the far corner shaded by the tall plane tree, where the ascending28 steps and worn iron railing, the small panes29 of glass in the solicitor's window on the ground floor and the general air of Dickens-like aloofness30 prevailed, one entered a sort of backwater. In the narrow hall-way, quiet reigned—a quiet profound as though motor 'buses were not.
Cairn ran up the stairs to the second landing, and began to fumble31 for his key. Although he knew it to be impossible, he was aware of a queer impression that someone was waiting for him, inside his chambers. The sufficiently32 palpable fact—that such a thing was impossible—did not really strike him until he had opened the door and entered. Up to that time, in a sort of subconscious33 way, he had anticipated finding a visitor there.
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He threw open all the windows, and entering his bedroom, also opening both the windows there. The current of air thus established began to disperse34 the odour—a fusty one as of something decaying—and by the time that he had changed, it was scarcely perceptible. He had little time to waste in speculation35, but when, as he ran out to the door, glancing at his watch, the nauseous odour suddenly rose again to his nostrils37, he stopped with his hand on the latch38.
"What the deuce is it!" he said loudly.
Quite mechanically he turned and looked back. As one might have anticipated, there was nothing visible to account for the odour.
The emotion of fear is a strange and complex one. In this breath of decay rising to his nostril36, Cairn found something fearsome. He opened the door, stepped out on to the landing, and closed the door behind him.
At an hour close upon midnight, Dr. Bruce Cairn, who was about to retire, received a wholly unexpected visit from his son. Robert Cairn followed his father into the library and sat down in the big, red leathern easy-chair. The doctor tilted39 the lamp shade, directing the light upon Robert's face. It proved to be slightly pale, and in the clear eyes was an odd expression—almost a hunted look.
Robert Cairn helped himself quietly.
"Now take a cigar and tell me what has frightened you."
"Frightened me!" He started, and paused in the act of reaching for a match. "Yes—you're right, sir. I am frightened!"
"Not at the moment. You have been."
"Right again." He lighted his cigar. "I want to begin by saying that—well, how can I put it? When I took up newspaper work, we thought it would be better if I lived in chambers—"
"Certainly."
"Well, at that time—" he examined the lighted
[37]
end of his cigar—"there was no reason—why I should not live alone. But now—"
"Well?"
"Now I feel, sir, that I have need of more or less constant companionship. Especially I feel that it would be desirable to have a friend handy at—er—at night time!"
Dr. Cairn leant forward in his chair. His face was very stern.
"Hold out your fingers," he said, "extended; left hand."
His son obeyed, smiling slightly. The open hand showed in the lamplight steady as a carven hand.
"Nerves quite in order, sir."
"Tell me," he said.
"It's a queer tale," his son began, "and if I told it to Craig Fenton, or Madderley round in Harley Street I know what they would say. But you will understand. It started this afternoon, when the sun was pouring in through the windows. I had to go to my chambers to change; and the rooms were filled with a most disgusting smell."
His father started.
"What kind of smell?" he asked. "Not—incense?"
"No," replied Robert, looking hard at him—"I thought you would ask that. It was a smell of something putrid—something rotten, rotten with the rottenness of ages."
"Did you trace where it came from?"
"I opened all the windows, and that seemed to disperse it for a time. Then, just as I was going out, it returned; it seemed to envelop42 me like a filthy43 miasma44. You know, sir, it's hard to explain just the way I felt about it—but it all amounts to this: I was glad to get outside!"
Dr. Cairn stood up and began to pace about the room, his hands locked behind him.
"To-night," he rapped suddenly, "what occurred to-night?"
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"To-night," continued his son, "I got in at about half-past nine. I had had such a rush, in one way and another, that the incident had quite lost its hold on my imagination; I hadn't forgotten it, of course, but I was not thinking of it when I unlocked the door. In fact I didn't begin to think of it again until, in slippers45 and dressing46-gown, I had settled down for a comfortable read. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, to influence my imagination—in that way. The book was an old favourite, Mark Twain's Up the Mississippi, and I sat in the armchair with a large bottle of lager beer at my elbow and my pipe going strong."
Becoming restless in turn, the speaker stood up and walking to the fireplace flicked47 off the long cone48 of grey ash from his cigar. He leant one elbow upon the mantel-piece, resuming his story:
"St. Paul's had just chimed the half-hour—half-past ten—when my pipe went out. Before I had time to re-light it, came the damnable smell again. At the moment nothing was farther from my mind, and I jumped up with an exclamation49 of disgust. It seemed to be growing stronger and stronger. I got my pipe alight quickly. Still I could smell it; the aroma50 of the tobacco did not lessen51 its beastly pungency52 in the smallest degree.
"I tilted the shade of my reading-lamp and looked all about. There was nothing unusual to be seen. Both windows were open and I went to one and thrust my head out, in order to learn if the odour came from outside. It did not. The air outside the window was fresh and clean. Then I remembered that when I had left my chambers in the afternoon, the smell had been stronger near the door than anywhere. I ran out to the door. In the passage I could smell nothing; but—"
He paused, glancing at his father.
"Before I had stood there thirty seconds it was rising all about me like the fumes53 from a crater54. By God, sir! I realised then that it was something ... following me!"
Dr. Cairn stood watching him, from the shadows
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"That seemed to work a change in me," he continued rapidly; "I recognised there was something behind this disgusting manifestation56, something directing it; and I recognised, too, that the next move was up to me. I went back to my room. The odour was not so pronounced, but as I stood by the table, waiting, it increased, and increased, until it almost choked me. My nerves were playing tricks, but I kept a fast hold on myself. I set to work, very methodically, and fumigated57 the place. Within myself I knew that it could do no good, but I felt that I had to put up some kind of opposition58. You understand, sir?"
"Quite," replied Dr. Cairn quietly. "It was an organised attempt to expel the invader59, and though of itself it was useless, the mental attitude dictating60 it was good. Go on."
"The clocks had chimed eleven when I gave up, and I felt physically61 sick. The air by this time was poisonous, literally62 poisonous. I dropped into the easy-chair and began to wonder what the end of it would be. Then, in the shadowy parts of the room, outside the circle of light cast by the lamp, I detected—darker patches. For awhile I tried to believe that they were imaginary, but when I saw one move along the bookcase, glide63 down its side, and come across the carpet, towards me, I knew that they were not. Before heaven, sir"—his voice shook—"either I am mad, or to-night my room was filled with things that crawled! They were everywhere; on the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling above me! Where the light was I couldn't detect them, but the shadows were alive, alive with things—the size of my two hands; and in the growing stillness—"
His voice had become husky. Dr. Cairn stood still, as a man of stone, watching him.
Silence fell. A car passed outside in Half-Moon Street; its throb65 died away. A clock was chiming the half-hour after midnight. Dr. Cairn spoke16:
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"Anything else?"
"One other thing, sir. I was gripping the chair arms; I felt that I had to grip something to prevent myself from slipping into madness. My left hand—" he glanced at it with a sort of repugnance—"something hairy—and indescribably loathsome—touched it; just brushed against it. But it was too much. I'm ashamed to tell you, sir; I screamed, screamed like any hysterical66 girl, and for the second time, ran! I ran from my own rooms, grabbed a hat and coat; and left my dressing gown on the floor!"
He turned, leaning both elbows on the mantel-piece, and buried his face in his hands.
"Have another drink," said Dr. Cairn. "You called on Antony Ferrara to-day, didn't you? How did he receive you?"
"That brings me to something else I wanted to tell you," continued Robert, squirting soda-water into his glass. "Myra—goes there."
"Where—to his chambers?"
"Yes."
Dr. Cairn began to pace the room again.
"I am not surprised," he admitted; "she has always been taught to regard him in the light of a brother. But nevertheless we must put a stop to it. How did you learn this?"
Robert Cairn gave him an account of the morning's incidents, describing Ferrara's chambers with a minute exactness which revealed how deep, how indelible an impression their strangeness had made upon his mind.
"There is one thing," he concluded, "against which I am always coming up, I puzzled over it at Oxford67, and others did, too; I came against it to-day. Who is Antony Ferrara? Where did Sir Michael find him? What kind of woman bore such a son?"
"Stop boy!" cried Dr. Cairn.
Robert started, looking at his father across the table.
"You are already in danger, Rob. I won't disguise that fact from you. Myra Duquesne is no relation of Ferrara's; therefore, since she inherits half of Sir Michael's fortune, a certain course must have suggested itself
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to Antony. You, patently, are an obstacle! That's bad enough, boy; let us deal with it before we look for further trouble."
"He took up a blackened briar from the table and began to load it.
"Regarding your next move," he continued slowly, "there can be no question. You must return to your chambers!"
"What!"
"There can be no question, Rob. A kind of attack has been made upon you which only you can repel68. If you desert your chambers, it will be repeated here. At present it is evidently localised. There are laws governing these things; laws as immutable69 as any other laws in Nature. One of them is this: the powers of darkness (to employ a conventional and significant phrase) cannot triumph over the powers of Will. Below the Godhead, Will is the supreme70 force of the Universe. Resist! You must resist, or you are lost!"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean that destruction of mind, and of something more than mind, threatens you. If you retreat you are lost. Go back to your rooms. Seek your foe71; strive to haul him into the light and crush him! The phenomena72 at your rooms belong to one of two varieties; at present it seems impossible to classify them more closely. Both are dangerous, though in different ways. I suspect, however, that a purely73 mental effort will be sufficient to disperse these nauseous shadow-things. Probably you will not be troubled again to-night, but whenever the phenomena return, take off your coat to them! You require no better companion than the one you had:—Mark Twain! Treat your visitors as one might imagine he would have treated them; as a very poor joke! But whenever it begins again, ring me up. Don't hesitate, whatever the hour. I shall be at the hospital all day, but from seven onward74 I shall be here and shall make a point of remaining. Give me a call when you return, now, and if there is no earlier occasion, another in the morning. Then rely upon my active co-operation throughout the following night."
[42]
"Active, sir?"
"I said active, Rob. The next repetition of these manifestations75 shall be the last. Good-night. Remember, you have only to lift the receiver to know that you are not alone in your fight."
Robert Cairn took a second cigar, lighted it, finished his whisky, and squared his shoulders.
"Good-night, sir," he said. "I shan't run away a third time!"
When the door had closed upon his exit, Dr. Cairn resumed his restless pacing up and down the library. He had given Roman counsel, for he had sent his son out to face, alone, a real and dreadful danger. Only thus could he hope to save him, but nevertheless it had been hard. The next fight would be a fight to the finish, for Robert had said, "I shan't run away a third time;" and he was a man of his word.
As Dr. Cairn had declared, the manifestations belonged to one of two varieties. According to the most ancient science in the world, the science by which the Egyptians, and perhaps even earlier peoples, ordered their lives, we share this, our plane of existence, with certain other creatures, often called Elementals. Mercifully, these fearsome entities76 are invisible to our normal sight, just as the finer tones of music are inaudible to our normal powers of hearing.
Victims of delirium77 tremens, opium78 smokers79, and other debauchees, artificially open that finer, latent power of vision; and the horrors which surround them are not imaginary but are Elementals attracted to the victim by his peculiar80 excesses.
The crawling things, then, which reeked81 abominably82 might be Elementals (so Dr. Cairn reasoned) superimposed upon Robert Cairn's consciousness by a directing, malignant83 intelligence. On the other hand they might be mere22 glamours—or thought-forms—thrust upon him by the same wizard mind; emanations from an evil, powerful will.
His reflections were interrupted by the ringing of the 'phone bell. He took up the receiver.
"Hullo!"
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"That you, sir? All's clear here, now. I'm turning in."
"Right. Good-night, Rob. Ring me in the morning."
"Good-night, sir."
Dr. Cairn refilled his charred84 briar, and, taking from a drawer in the writing table a thick MS., sat down and began to study the closely-written pages. The paper was in the cramped85 handwriting of the late Sir Michael Ferrara, his travelling companion through many strange adventures; and the sun had been flooding the library with dimmed golden light for several hours, and a bustle86 below stairs acclaiming87 an awakened88 household, ere the doctor's studies were interrupted. Again, it was the 'phone bell. He rose, switched off the reading-lamp, and lifted the instrument.
"That you, Rob?"
"Yes, sir. All's well, thank God! Can I breakfast with you?"
"Certainly, my boy!" Dr. Cairn glanced at his watch. "Why, upon my soul it's seven o'clock!"
点击收听单词发音
1 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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2 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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3 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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4 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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5 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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6 kin | |
n.家族,亲属,血缘关系;adj.亲属关系的,同类的 | |
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7 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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8 ablaze | |
adj.着火的,燃烧的;闪耀的,灯火辉煌的 | |
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9 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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10 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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11 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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12 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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13 contradictorily | |
adv.反驳地,逆,矛盾地 | |
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14 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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15 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
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16 spoke | |
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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17 ass | |
n.驴;傻瓜,蠢笨的人 | |
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18 tinted | |
adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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19 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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20 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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22 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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23 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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24 tangle | |
n.纠缠;缠结;混乱;v.(使)缠绕;变乱 | |
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25 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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26 necessitated | |
使…成为必要,需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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28 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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29 panes | |
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30 aloofness | |
超然态度 | |
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31 fumble | |
vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等,摸索 | |
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32 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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33 subconscious | |
n./adj.潜意识(的),下意识(的) | |
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34 disperse | |
vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
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35 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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36 nostril | |
n.鼻孔 | |
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37 nostrils | |
鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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38 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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39 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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40 soda | |
n.苏打水;汽水 | |
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41 inhaled | |
v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 envelop | |
vt.包,封,遮盖;包围 | |
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43 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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44 miasma | |
n.毒气;不良气氛 | |
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45 slippers | |
n. 拖鞋 | |
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46 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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47 flicked | |
(尤指用手指或手快速地)轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 ); (用…)轻挥; (快速地)按开关; 向…笑了一下(或瞥了一眼等) | |
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48 cone | |
n.圆锥体,圆锥形东西,球果 | |
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49 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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50 aroma | |
n.香气,芬芳,芳香 | |
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51 lessen | |
vt.减少,减轻;缩小 | |
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52 pungency | |
n.(气味等的)刺激性;辣;(言语等的)辛辣;尖刻 | |
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53 fumes | |
n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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54 crater | |
n.火山口,弹坑 | |
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55 gulp | |
vt.吞咽,大口地吸(气);vi.哽住;n.吞咽 | |
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56 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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57 fumigated | |
v.用化学品熏(某物)消毒( fumigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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58 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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59 invader | |
n.侵略者,侵犯者,入侵者 | |
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60 dictating | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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61 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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62 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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63 glide | |
n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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64 rustled | |
v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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66 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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67 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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68 repel | |
v.击退,抵制,拒绝,排斥 | |
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69 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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70 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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71 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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72 phenomena | |
n.现象 | |
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73 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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74 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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75 manifestations | |
n.表示,显示(manifestation的复数形式) | |
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76 entities | |
实体对像; 实体,独立存在体,实际存在物( entity的名词复数 ) | |
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77 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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78 opium | |
n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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79 smokers | |
吸烟者( smoker的名词复数 ) | |
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80 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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81 reeked | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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82 abominably | |
adv. 可恶地,可恨地,恶劣地 | |
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83 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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84 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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85 cramped | |
a.狭窄的 | |
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86 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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87 acclaiming | |
向…欢呼( acclaim的现在分词 ); 向…喝彩; 称赞…; 欢呼或拥戴(某人)为… | |
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88 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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