Horse and man carry their lives on the outside, so to speak. The trick of it all is that a man never knows what the tusker will do. You can't even count on him doing the opposite. And he does it quick. Often he sniffs6 first, but you don't hear that until after it is done. Men have heard that sniff5 as they lay under a horse that was kicking its life out; yet the sniff really sounded while they were still in the saddle—the horse still whole.
All the words that have to do with this sport are ugly. It's more like a snort than a sniff. . . . You really must see it. A trampled7 place in the jungle—tusker at bay—-a mounted sticker on each side waiting for the move. The tusker stands still. He looks nowhere, out of eyes like burning cellars. That is as near as you can come with words—trapdoors opening into cellars, smoke and flame below.
At this moment you are like a negative, being exposed. There is filmed among your enduring pictures thereafter, the raking curving snout, yellow tusks8, blue bristling9 hollows from which the eyes burn. The lances glint green from the creepers. . . .
Then the flick10 of the head that goes with the snort. The boar isn't there—lanced doubtless. . . . Yes, the cavalry "cracks" get him for the most part and then you hear men's laughter and bits of comment and the strike of a match or two, for very much relished11 cigarettes. But now and then, the scene shifts too quickly and the other rider may see his friend's mount stand up incredibly gashed—a white horse possibly—and this other must charge and lance true right now, for the boar is waiting for the man in the saddle to come down.
Nobody ever thinks of the boar's part. Queer about that. It's the bad revolting curve that goes with a tusker's snout, in the sag13 of which the eye is set, that puts him out of reach of decent regard. Only two other curves touch it for malignity—the curve of a hyena's shoulder and the curve of a shark's jaw14. Three scavengers that haven't had a real chance. They weren't bred right.
Among the visitors that came in for the jungle play was Ian Deal, one of the younger of Carlin's seven brothers; one of the two who hadn't appeared for her marriage. The other missing brother was in Australia, but Ian Deal had been in India at the time of the ceremony and not the full-length of India away. Skag had thought about this; Carlin had doubtless done more than that. Once she had flushed, when someone had marked Ian's absence to the point of speaking of it. Before that, Skag had only heard that Ian was one of the best-loved of all. . . .
He watched the meeting of the brother and sister. It was at the railway station in Hurda, and Skag couldn't very well get away. There was something almost like anguish15 in the face of the young man as he hastened forward—anguish of devotion that never hoped to express itself; anguish by no means sure of itself, because it burned with the thought of Carlin being nearer to any man. Ian didn't speak, as he stopped with a rush before his sister. He merely touched her cheek, but his eyes were the eyes of a man whose heart was starving. The English observe that this jealous affection occasionally exists between twins; the Hindus suggest certain mysterious spiritual relations as accounting18 for it. . . . Finally Skag realised that Carlin's eyes were turned to him, something of pity in them and something of appeal.
It was all very quick then. Skag's hand was out to her brother. Ian didn't see it. Only his right elbow raised the slightest bit; his dark face flushed and paled that second. The stare was refined; it wasn't hate so much as astonishment19 that any man could ever bring the thing about to touch Carlin's heart. Back of it all was the matter that Ian Deal would have died before confessing—the pain and powerlessness of a brother who loves jealously.
Few beings of his years would have seen so deep and kept his nerve that instant, but Skag had been different since his battle with the cobra. He had decided20 never to lose his nerve again. This was the first test since that day. . . . His throat tightened21 a second, so that he had to clear it. All he knew then was that her brother was striding away, having muttered something about the need to see after unshipping Kala Khan, his Arab mount, which was aboard the train. There was a sort of shimmer22 between Skag's eyes and Ian Deal's vanishing legs that made them seem lifted out of all proportion. Then Carlin caught his arm, carried him forward and to her at the same time, as she whispered:
"You were perfect, Skag-ji. I never loved you so much as that moment, when poor Ian refused to take your hand—"
Skag cleared his throat a second time. . . . Carlin had used that name only once or twice before; and only in moments of her greater joy in him. He had been told by Horace Dickson that "ji" used intimately was "nicer" than any English word.
Something in this experience threw Skag back to the point of the cobra and the last experience with crippling nerves. Of course, it was the thought of Carlin imprisoned23 in the playhouse that broke him. Starting to run when he first saw the cobra on the threshold, he counted Failure. That burst of speed for ten steps had put the king into fighting mood. Skag had beaten thin in his own mind the possibility of ever committing Failure again. A man must not lose his nerve in the stress of a loved one's peril24. One doesn't act so well to bring the event to a winning. In fact, there is no excuse and no advantage and no decency25 in losing one's nerve, any time, any place. . . .
Skag had known things in certain seconds of his duel26 with the cobra. (Mostly, a man only thinks he knows.) Carlin had stood on the threshold, not more than fifteen feet away, while he was engaged. No one had told him at that time, that the man does not live who can continue to keep off a fighting cobra from striking home; but Skag learned in that short interval27. He faced not only the fastest thing he had ever seen move, but it was also the stillest. It would come to a dead stop before him—stillness compared to which a post or a wall is mere16 squat28 inertia29. This lifted head and hood30 was sustained, elate—having the moveless calm one might imagine at the centre of a solar system. Its outline was mysteriously clear. Often the background was Carlin's own self. The action took place in the period of the Indian afterglow, in which one can see better than in brilliant sunlight, a light that breathes soft and delicate effulgences. The cobra at the point of stillness was like dark dulled jewels against it—dulled so that the raying of the jewels would not obscure the contour.
And once toward the last, as he fought (the inside of his head feeling like a smear31 of opened arteries), Skag had seen Carlin over the hood of the cobra. She had seemed utterly32 tall, utterly enfolding; his relation to her, one of the inevitables of creation. Nothing could ever happen to take her away for long. Matters which men call life and death were mere exigencies33 of his scheme and hers together.
In a word, it was a breath of the thing he had been yearning34 for, from the moment he first saw her in the monkey glen; the need was the core of the anguish he had known in the long pursuit of the thief elephant; the thing that must come to a man and a maid who have found each other, if there is to be any equity35 in the romantic plan at all, unless the two are altogether asleep and content in the tight dimensions of three-score-and-ten.
Skag had seen that he could not win; but he had also seen that Carlin was there—there to stay! . . . Something in her—that no fever or poison or death could take away—something for him! The thing was vivid to him for moments afterward36; it lingered in dimmer outlines for hours; but as the days passed, he could only hold the vital essence of what he had learned that hour.
Carlin was more to him every day—more dear and intimate in a hundred ways; yet always she held the quest of her before him; a constant suggestion of marvels37 of reserve; mysteries always unfolding, of no will or design of hers. It seemed to the two that they were treading the paths of a larger design than they could imagine; and Skag was sure it was only the dullness of his faculty39 and the slowness of his taking, not Carlin's resources of magic, that limited the joy.
"He has always been strange," Carlin said. "In some ways he has been closer to me than any of the others. Always strange—doing things one time that showed the tenderest feeling for me and again the harshest resentment41. You could not know what he suffered—remaining away when we were married. He has always hoped I would stay single. The idea was like a passion in him. Some of the others have it, but not to the same degree. . . . You know we have all felt the tragedy over us. We are different. The English feel it and the natives, too; yet we hold the respect of both, as no other half-caste line in India. It is because of the austerity of our views on one subject—to keep the lineage above reproach as it began. . . . No, Ian will not come here. He has seen his sister. He will make that do—"
"Why don't you go to him?" Skag asked.
She turned her head softly.
"You Americans are amazing."
"Why?" he laughed.
"An Englishman or any of my brothers in your place, wouldn't think
India could contain Ian Deal and himself."
"It wouldn't do any good to fight that sort of feeling," Skag said.
"Only a man whose courage is proven would dare to say that."
"If I were on the right side, it would not be my part to leave India."
Carlin liked this so well that she decided Skag deserved to hear of a certain matter.
". . . Ian has something on his side. You see I had almost decided not to marry—almost promised him. He always said he would never marry if I didn't; that our people would do better forgotten—so much hid sorrow in the heart of us. . . . Something always kept me from making the covenant42 with him; yet I have been closer and closer up the years to the point of giving my life to the natives altogether. . . . That day in the monkey glen, after the work was done . . . I looked into your face! . . . You went away and came again. I had heard your voice. The old tiger down by the river had made you forget everything—but your power"—
Carlin laughed. The last phrases had been spoken low and rapidly.
"I didn't forget everything, dear," she went on. "I didn't forget anything! Everything meant you—all else tentative and preparatory. I knew then that the plan was for joy, as soon as we knew enough to take it—"
On the third morning of the pig-sticking Ian Deal rode by the elephant stockades44 in Hurda just as the American passed. The hands were long that held the bridle45-rein46, the narrowest Skag had ever seen on a man. The boots were narrow like a poster drawing. It was plainly an advantage for this man to ship his own horse from the south for the few days of sport. The black Arab, Kala Khan, seemed built on the same frame as its rider—speed and power done into delicacy47, utter balance of show and stamina48. When the Arab is black, he is a keener black than a man could think. His eyes were fierce, but it was the fierceness of fidelity49; of that darkness which intimates light; no red burning of violence within.
Ian's face was darker from the saddle; the body superb in its high tension and slender grace. Was this the brother that Roderick Deal, the eldest50, had spoken of as being darker than the average native? Yet the caste-mark was not apparent; the two bloods perfectly51 blent.
The depth of Skag's feeling was called to pity as well as admiration52. The rift53 in this Deal's nature was emotional not physical—some mad poetic54 thing, forever struggling in the tight matrices of a hard-set world. India was rising clearer to Skag; even certain of her profound complexities55. He knew that instant how the fertilising pollen56 of the West was needed here, and how the West needed the enfolding spiritual culture which is the breath within the breath of the East. This swift realisation had something to do with his own real work. It was filmy, yet memorable—like the first glimpse of one's sealed orders, carried long, to be opened at maturity57. Also Skag had the dim impulse of a thought that he had something for Ian Deal. He meant to speak to Carlin of this at the right time.
"Pig-sticking no-end," the cavalry officers had promised and they were making good.
That third afternoon Carlin and Skag took Nels out toward the open jungle, which thrust a narrow triangular58 strip in toward the town. At intervals59 they heard shouts, far deeper in. The Great Dane was in his highest form, after weeks of care and training by Bhanah. He could well carry his poise60 in a walk like this; having his full exercise night and morning. A marvel38 thing, like nothing else—this dignity of Nels. . . . The two neared their own magic place—not the monkey glen; that was deeper in the jungle—the place where they had really found each other as belonging, in the moment of afterglow.
"It was wonderful then," he said, "but I think—it is even more wonderful now."
That was about as much as Sanford Hantee had ever put into a sentence. Carlin looked at him steadily61. They were getting past the need of words. She saw that he was fulfilling her dream. Their story loomed62 higher and more gleaming to him with the days. He had touched the secret of all—that love is Quest; that love means on and on, means not to stay; love from the first moment, but always lovelier, range on range. It could only burn continually with higher power and whiter light, through steady giving to others.
A woman knows this first, but she must bide63 her time until the man catches up; until he enters into the working knowledge that the farther vistas64 of perfection only open as two pull together with all their art and power; that the intimate and ineffable65 between man and woman is only accomplished66 by their united bestowal67 to the world.
They walked long in silence and deeper into the jungle before halting again. Nels brushed the man's thigh68 and stood close. Skag's hand dropped and he felt the rising hackles, before his eyes left Carlin's. They heard the Dane's rumble69 and the world came back to them—the shouting nearer.
For a moment they stood, a sense of languor70 stealing between them. Without a word, their thoughts formed the same possibility, as two who have a child that is vaguely71 threatened. They were deeper in the jungle than they thought. . . . The cordon72 of native beaters was still a mile away in its nearest arc, but there is never any telling what a pig will do. . . . They turned back, walking together without haste, Nels behind. They heard the thudding of a mount that runs and swerves73 and runs again. It was nearer. . . . Their hands touched, but they did not hasten.
When Carlin turned to him, Skag saw what he had seen on the cobra day—weariness, but courage perfect. A kind of vague revolt rose in him, that it should ever be called again to her eyes—more, that it should come so soon. He was ready, but not for Carlin to enter the vortex again.
This foreboding they knew, together. Love made them sentient74. Not merely a possibility, but almost a glimpse had come—as if an ominous75 presence had stolen in with the languor.
"Let's hurry, Carlin—"
She was smiling in a child's delicate way, as their steps quickened. The thrash of the chase was nearer; the jungle was clearing as they made their way to the border near Hurda. The low rumbling76 was from Nels. He would stand, turning back an instant, then trot77 to overtake them. . . . No question now. One pig at least, was clear of the beaters, coming this way, someone in chase.
The great trees were far apart. They were near their place, after many minutes. They had caught a glimpse of a mounted man through the trees—playing his game alone—the pig, but a crash in the undergrowth. . . . There was silence, as if the hunter were listening—then a cutting squeal78, a laugh from the absorbed horseman, and it was all before their eyes!
The tusker halted at the border of their little clearing. He had just seen them and the dog—more enemies. . . . Hideous79 bone-rack—long as a pony80, tapering81 to the absurd piggy haunches—head as long as a pony's head, with a look of decay round the yellow tusks—dripping gash12 from a lance-wound under one ear—standing82 stock just now, at the end of all flight!
Nels seemed to slide forward two feet, like a shoved statue. It was a penetrating83 silence before the voice of Ian Deal:
"You two—what in God's name—"
That was all of words.
His black Arab, Kala Khan, had come to halt twice a lance-length from the tusker. Carlin and Skag and Nels stood half the circle away from the man and mount, a little farther from the still beast, the red right eye of which made the central point of the whole tableau84.
Ian looked hunched85. He seemed suddenly ungainly—as if all sport like this were mockery and he had merely been carried on in these lower currents for a price. His lance wobbled across his bridle-arm which was too rigid86, the curb87 checking the perfect spring of the Arab's action.
The tusker was bone-still, with that cocked look which means anything but flight. Skag moved a step forward. His knees touched Nels; his left hand was stretched back to hold Carlin in her place. There was no word, no sound—and that was the last second of the tableau.
The tusker broke the picture. Flick of the head, a snort—and he wasn't there. He wasn't on the lance! His side-charge, with no turn which the eye could follow, carried him under the point of Ian's thrust in direct drive at the black Arab's belly88.
Kala Khan was standing straight up, yet they heard his scream. The boar's head seemed on a swivel as he passed beneath. Ian Deal standing in the stirrups swung forward, one arm round his mount's neck, but badly out of the saddle. . . . The tusker turned to do it again.
Skag spoke43. That was the instant Nels charged. In the same second, the Arab, still on his hind17 legs, made a teetering plunge89 back, to dodge90 the second drive of the beast, and Ian Deal fell, head-long on the far side, his narrow boot locked in the steel stirrup.
Skag spoke again. It was to Kala Khan this time. Nels' smashing drive at the throat had carried the tusker from under the Arab's feet. His rumbling challenge had seemed to take up the scream of the horse; it ended in the piercing squeal of the throated boar.
Skag still talked to Kala Khan, as he moved forward. The Arab stood braced91, facing him now—the tumbled head-down thing to the left, arms sprawled92, face turned away. A thousand to one, among the best mounts, would have broken before the second charge and thrashed the hanging head against the ground.
Skag's tones were continuous, his empty hand held out. There was never a glance of his eye to the battle of the Dane and the beast. Four feet from his hand was the hanging rein, his eyes to the eyes of the black, his tones steadily lower, never rising, never ceasing. His loose fingers closed upon the bridle rein; his free hand pressed the Arab's cheek.
He felt Carlin beside him and turned—one of the tremendous moments of life to find her there. (It was like the last instant of the cobra fight, when he had seen her over the hood—utterly white, utterly tall.) She took the rein from his hand. Her face turned to Nels' struggle—but her eyes pressed shut.
Skag stepped to Kala Khan's side, lifted the leather fender, slipped the cinch, and let the light hunting saddle slide over, releasing Ian Deal. Then he sprang to Nels, calling as he caught up the fallen lance:
"Coming, old man—coming to you!"
". . . So, it's all done, son," the man said softly. "You're the best of them all to-day."
He laughed. Nels looked up at him in a bored way, but he still held. Skag went back to Carlin. Ian Deal had partly risen. The American did not catch his eye, and now Kala Khan stood between them, Carlin still holding the rein. Skag's hand rested upon the wet trembling withers95, where the saddle had covered. There was a blue glisten96 to the moisture. Skag loved the Arab very hard that moment, and no less afterward. Kala Khan needed care at once. His wound was long and deep, from the hock on the inside, up to the stifle-joint.
Ian Deal was on his feet, the Arab still between him and Skag's eyes. But now her brother drew off, back turned, walking away, his arms and hands fumbling97 queerly about his head, as he staggered a little.
"He will come back!" Carlin whispered.
Nels loosed now, but sat by his game—sat upon his haunches, bringing first-aid cleansing98 to his shoulders and chest, where the pinned tusker had worn against him in the battle. . . . All in astonishingly few seconds—the blue beast still with an isolated99 kick or two.
It was as Carlin said. They had scarcely started toward Hurda before they saw Ian Deal following. His pace quickened as he neared—his first words queerly shocking:
"Is he hurt—oh, I say—is the Arab hurt?"
Skag answered: "A bad cut, but he'll be sound in a week or two."
"One might ask first, you know. He's rather a fine thing—"
Carlin seemed paler, as she held her brother with curious eyes. Ian didn't see her. He was slowly taking in Skag, full-length.
"One might ask, you know," he repeated presently. "One couldn't make a gift of a damaged thing. Oh, yes, you're to have him, Hantee. Things of Kala Khan's quality gravitate to you—I was thinking of the dog, you know—"
Skag shook his head.
"Don't make it harder for me!" Ian said fiercely. "He belongs to you—Carlin, too, of course—no resistance of mine left. A man sees differently—toes up."
Carlin pressed Skag's arm.
The American bowed. Ian Deal straightened.
"That's better," he breathed. "You'll see to the mount? I'd do it for you, but I need an hour—in here among the trees, you know, alone. . . . If it isn't quite clear to me, I'll cock one foot up in the crotch of a tree—until it's straight again. . . . But it's clear, Hantee," he added. "I'm seeing now—the man she sees—or something like!"
Ian turned toward the deeper growths. . . . They walked in silence. The untellable thing—for Skag alone—lingered in Carlin's eyes, in the pallor of her face. She was the one who spoke:
"It is terrible—terribly dear, like a blending of two souls in a white heat together—those moments at the play-house and now—as you held Kala Khan—"
"It was not one alone," he answered strangely. "Something from you was with me—half, with mine."
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1
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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outfits
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| n.全套装备( outfit的名词复数 )；一套服装；集体；组织v.装备，配置设备，供给服装( outfit的第三人称单数 ) | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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sniff
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| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
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sniffs
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的第三人称单数 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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flick
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| n.快速的轻打，轻打声，弹开；v.轻弹，轻轻拂去，忽然摇动 | |
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relished
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| v.欣赏( relish的过去式和过去分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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sag
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| v.下垂，下跌，消沉；n.下垂，下跌，凹陷，[航海]随风漂流 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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mere
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hind
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accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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tightened
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shimmer
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imprisoned
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peril
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decency
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| n.体面，得体，合宜，正派，庄重 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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squat
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inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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smear
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utterly
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exigencies
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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equity
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afterward
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marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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stockades
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| n.（防御用的）栅栏，围桩( stockade的名词复数 ) | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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stamina
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| n.体力；精力；耐力 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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complexities
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| 复杂性(complexity的名词复数)； 复杂的事物 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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triangular
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| adj.三角（形）的，三者间的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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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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bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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bestowal
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| 赠与，给与； 贮存 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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cordon
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| n.警戒线，哨兵线 | |
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swerves
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| n.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的名词复数 )v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的第三人称单数 ) | |
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sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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82
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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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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tableau
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| n.画面，活人画（舞台上活人扮的静态画面） | |
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hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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95
withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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96
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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97
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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99
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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