“Four out of the five rich men in this town,” he said, “are common swindlers. I suppose the proportion is pretty equal all over the world. The fifth is a friend of mine, and a very fine fellow; and what is even more important from our point of view, he owns a motor-car.”
“I am afraid,” said the Professor in his mirthful way, looking back along the white road on which the black, crawling patch might appear at any moment, “I am afraid we have hardly time for afternoon calls.”
“Doctor Renard’s house is only three minutes off,” said the Colonel.
“Our danger,” said Dr. Bull, “is not two minutes off.”
“Yes,” said Syme, “if we ride on fast we must leave them behind, for they are on foot.”
“He has a motor-car,” said the Colonel.
“But we may not get it,” said Bull.
“Yes, he is quite on your side.”
“But he might be out.”
“Hold your tongue,” said Syme suddenly. “What is that noise?”
For a second they all sat as still as equestrian4 statues, and for a second—for two or three or four seconds—heaven and earth seemed equally still. Then all their ears, in an agony of attention, heard along the road that indescribable thrill and throb5 that means only one thing—horses!
The Colonel’s face had an instantaneous change, as if lightning had struck it, and yet left it scatheless6.
“Where can they have got the horses?” asked Syme, as he mechanically urged his steed to a canter.
The Colonel was silent for a little, then he said in a strained voice—
“I was speaking with strict accuracy when I said that the ‘Soleil d’Or’ was the only place where one can get horses within twenty miles.”
“No!” said Syme violently, “I don’t believe he’d do it. Not with all that white hair.”
“He may have been forced,” said the Colonel gently. “They must be at least a hundred strong, for which reason we are all going to see my friend Renard, who has a motor-car.”
With these words he swung his horse suddenly round a street corner, and went down the street with such thundering speed, that the others, though already well at the gallop, had difficulty in following the flying tail of his horse.
Dr. Renard inhabited a high and comfortable house at the top of a steep street, so that when the riders alighted at his door they could once more see the solid green ridge9 of the hill, with the white road across it, standing10 up above all the roofs of the town. They breathed again to see that the road as yet was clear, and they rang the bell.
Dr. Renard was a beaming, brown-bearded man, a good example of that silent but very busy professional class which France has preserved even more perfectly11 than England. When the matter was explained to him he pooh-poohed the panic of the ex-Marquis altogether; he said, with the solid French scepticism, that there was no conceivable probability of a general anarchist12 rising. “Anarchy,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “it is childishness!”
“Et ca,” cried out the Colonel suddenly, pointing over the other’s shoulder, “and that is childishness, isn’t it?”
They all looked round, and saw a curve of black cavalry come sweeping13 over the top of the hill with all the energy of Attila. Swiftly as they rode, however, the whole rank still kept well together, and they could see the black vizards of the first line as level as a line of uniforms. But although the main black square was the same, though travelling faster, there was now one sensational14 difference which they could see clearly upon the slope of the hill, as if upon a slanted15 map. The bulk of the riders were in one block; but one rider flew far ahead of the column, and with frantic16 movements of hand and heel urged his horse faster and faster, so that one might have fancied that he was not the pursuer but the pursued. But even at that great distance they could see something so fanatical, so unquestionable in his figure, that they knew it was the Secretary himself. “I am sorry to cut short a cultured discussion,” said the Colonel, “but can you lend me your motor-car now, in two minutes?”
“I have a suspicion that you are all mad,” said Dr. Renard, smiling sociably17; “but God forbid that madness should in any way interrupt friendship. Let us go round to the garage.”
Dr. Renard was a mild man with monstrous18 wealth; his rooms were like the Musee de Cluny, and he had three motor-cars. These, however, he seemed to use very sparingly, having the simple tastes of the French middle class, and when his impatient friends came to examine them, it took them some time to assure themselves that one of them even could be made to work. This with some difficulty they brought round into the street before the Doctor’s house. When they came out of the dim garage they were startled to find that twilight19 had already fallen with the abruptness20 of night in the tropics. Either they had been longer in the place than they imagined, or some unusual canopy21 of cloud had gathered over the town. They looked down the steep streets, and seemed to see a slight mist coming up from the sea.
“It is now or never,” said Dr. Bull. “I hear horses.”
“No,” corrected the Professor, “a horse.”
And as they listened, it was evident that the noise, rapidly coming nearer on the rattling22 stones, was not the noise of the whole cavalcade23 but that of the one horseman, who had left it far behind—the insane Secretary.
Syme’s family, like most of those who end in the simple life, had once owned a motor, and he knew all about them. He had leapt at once into the chauffeur’s seat, and with flushed face was wrenching25 and tugging26 at the disused machinery27. He bent28 his strength upon one handle, and then said quite quietly—
“I am afraid it’s no go.”
As he spoke29, there swept round the corner a man rigid30 on his rushing horse, with the rush and rigidity31 of an arrow. He had a smile that thrust out his chin as if it were dislocated. He swept alongside of the stationary32 car, into which its company had crowded, and laid his hand on the front. It was the Secretary, and his mouth went quite straight in the solemnity of triumph.
Syme was leaning hard upon the steering33 wheel, and there was no sound but the rumble34 of the other pursuers riding into the town. Then there came quite suddenly a scream of scraping iron, and the car leapt forward. It plucked the Secretary clean out of his saddle, as a knife is whipped out of its sheath, trailed him kicking terribly for twenty yards, and left him flung flat upon the road far in front of his frightened horse. As the car took the corner of the street with a splendid curve, they could just see the other anarchists35 filling the street and raising their fallen leader.
“I can’t understand why it has grown so dark,” said the Professor at last in a low voice.
“Going to be a storm, I think,” said Dr. Bull. “I say, it’s a pity we haven’t got a light on this car, if only to see by.”
“We have,” said the Colonel, and from the floor of the car he fished up a heavy, old-fashioned, carved iron lantern with a light inside it. It was obviously an antique, and it would seem as if its original use had been in some way semi-religious, for there was a rude moulding of a cross upon one of its sides.
“Where on earth did you get that?” asked the Professor.
“I got it where I got the car,” answered the Colonel, chuckling36, “from my best friend. While our friend here was fighting with the steering wheel, I ran up the front steps of the house and spoke to Renard, who was standing in his own porch, you will remember. ‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘there’s no time to get a lamp.’ He looked up, blinking amiably37 at the beautiful arched ceiling of his own front hall. From this was suspended, by chains of exquisite38 ironwork, this lantern, one of the hundred treasures of his treasure house. By sheer force he tore the lamp out of his own ceiling, shattering the painted panels, and bringing down two blue vases with his violence. Then he handed me the iron lantern, and I put it in the car. Was I not right when I said that Dr. Renard was worth knowing?”
“You were,” said Syme seriously, and hung the heavy lantern over the front. There was a certain allegory of their whole position in the contrast between the modern automobile39 and its strange ecclesiastical lamp. Hitherto they had passed through the quietest part of the town, meeting at most one or two pedestrians40, who could give them no hint of the peace or the hostility41 of the place. Now, however, the windows in the houses began one by one to be lit up, giving a greater sense of habitation and humanity. Dr. Bull turned to the new detective who had led their flight, and permitted himself one of his natural and friendly smiles.
“These lights make one feel more cheerful.”
“There is only one set of lights that make me more cheerful,” he said, “and they are those lights of the police station which I can see beyond the town. Please God we may be there in ten minutes.”
Then all Bull’s boiling good sense and optimism broke suddenly out of him.
“Oh, this is all raving43 nonsense!” he cried. “If you really think that ordinary people in ordinary houses are anarchists, you must be madder than an anarchist yourself. If we turned and fought these fellows, the whole town would fight for us.”
“No,” said the other with an immovable simplicity44, “the whole town would fight for them. We shall see.”
While they were speaking the Professor had leant forward with sudden excitement.
“What is that noise?” he said.
“Oh, the horses behind us, I suppose,” said the Colonel. “I thought we had got clear of them.”
“The horses behind us! No,” said the Professor, “it is not horses, and it is not behind us.”
Almost as he spoke, across the end of the street before them two shining and rattling shapes shot past. They were gone almost in a flash, but everyone could see that they were motor-cars, and the Professor stood up with a pale face and swore that they were the other two motor-cars from Dr. Renard’s garage.
“I tell you they were his,” he repeated, with wild eyes, “and they were full of men in masks!”
“Absurd!” said the Colonel angrily. “Dr. Renard would never give them his cars.”
“He may have been forced,” said Ratcliffe quietly. “The whole town is on their side.”
“You still believe that,” asked the Colonel incredulously.
“You will all believe it soon,” said the other with a hopeless calm.
There was a puzzled pause for some little time, and then the Colonel began again abruptly—
“No, I can’t believe it. The thing is nonsense. The plain people of a peaceable French town—”
He was cut short by a bang and a blaze of light, which seemed close to his eyes. As the car sped on it left a floating patch of white smoke behind it, and Syme had heard a shot shriek46 past his ear.
“My God!” said the Colonel, “someone has shot at us.”
“It need not interrupt conversation,” said the gloomy Ratcliffe. “Pray resume your remarks, Colonel. You were talking, I think, about the plain people of a peaceable French town.”
“It is extraordinary,” he said, “most extraordinary.”
“A fastidious person,” said Syme, “might even call it unpleasant. However, I suppose those lights out in the field beyond this street are the Gendarmerie. We shall soon get there.”
“No,” said Inspector Ratcliffe, “we shall never get there.”
He had been standing up and looking keenly ahead of him. Now he sat down and smoothed his sleek48 hair with a weary gesture.
“What do you mean?” asked Bull sharply.
“I mean that we shall never get there,” said the pessimist49 placidly50. “They have two rows of armed men across the road already; I can see them from here. The town is in arms, as I said it was. I can only wallow in the exquisite comfort of my own exactitude.”
And Ratcliffe sat down comfortably in the car and lit a cigarette, but the others rose excitedly and stared down the road. Syme had slowed down the car as their plans became doubtful, and he brought it finally to a standstill just at the corner of a side street that ran down very steeply to the sea.
The town was mostly in shadow, but the sun had not sunk; wherever its level light could break through, it painted everything a burning gold. Up this side street the last sunset light shone as sharp and narrow as the shaft51 of artificial light at the theatre. It struck the car of the five friends, and lit it like a burning chariot. But the rest of the street, especially the two ends of it, was in the deepest twilight, and for some seconds they could see nothing. Then Syme, whose eyes were the keenest, broke into a little bitter whistle, and said,
“It is quite true. There is a crowd or an army or some such thing across the end of that street.”
“Well, if there is,” said Bull impatiently, “it must be something else—a sham52 fight or the mayor’s birthday or something. I cannot and will not believe that plain, jolly people in a place like this walk about with dynamite53 in their pockets. Get on a bit, Syme, and let us look at them.”
The car crawled about a hundred yards farther, and then they were all startled by Dr. Bull breaking into a high crow of laughter.
“Why, you silly mugs!” he cried, “what did I tell you. That crowd’s as law-abiding as a cow, and if it weren’t, it’s on our side.”
“How do you know?” asked the professor, staring.
“You blind bat,” cried Bull, “don’t you see who is leading them?”
They peered again, and then the Colonel, with a catch in his voice, cried out—
“Why, it’s Renard!”
There was, indeed, a rank of dim figures running across the road, and they could not be clearly seen; but far enough in front to catch the accident of the evening light was stalking up and down the unmistakable Dr. Renard, in a white hat, stroking his long brown beard, and holding a revolver in his left hand.
“What a fool I’ve been!” exclaimed the Colonel. “Of course, the dear old boy has turned out to help us.”
Dr. Bull was bubbling over with laughter, swinging the sword in his hand as carelessly as a cane54. He jumped out of the car and ran across the intervening space, calling out—
“Dr. Renard! Dr. Renard!”
An instant after Syme thought his own eyes had gone mad in his head. For the philanthropic Dr. Renard had deliberately55 raised his revolver and fired twice at Bull, so that the shots rang down the road.
Almost at the same second as the puff56 of white cloud went up from this atrocious explosion a long puff of white cloud went up also from the cigarette of the cynical57 Ratcliffe. Like all the rest he turned a little pale, but he smiled. Dr. Bull, at whom the bullets had been fired, just missing his scalp, stood quite still in the middle of the road without a sign of fear, and then turned very slowly and crawled back to the car, and climbed in with two holes through his hat.
“I think,” said Dr. Bull with precision, “that I am lying in bed at No. 217 Peabody Buildings, and that I shall soon wake up with a jump; or, if that’s not it, I think that I am sitting in a small cushioned cell in Hanwell, and that the doctor can’t make much of my case. But if you want to know what I don’t think, I’ll tell you. I don’t think what you think. I don’t think, and I never shall think, that the mass of ordinary men are a pack of dirty modern thinkers. No, sir, I’m a democrat59, and I still don’t believe that Sunday could convert one average navvy or counter-jumper. No, I may be mad, but humanity isn’t.”
Syme turned his bright blue eyes on Bull with an earnestness which he did not commonly make clear.
“You are a very fine fellow,” he said. “You can believe in a sanity60 which is not merely your sanity. And you’re right enough about humanity, about peasants and people like that jolly old innkeeper. But you’re not right about Renard. I suspected him from the first. He’s rationalistic, and, what’s worse, he’s rich. When duty and religion are really destroyed, it will be by the rich.”
“They are really destroyed now,” said the man with a cigarette, and rose with his hands in his pockets. “The devils are coming on!”
The men in the motor-car looked anxiously in the direction of his dreamy gaze, and they saw that the whole regiment61 at the end of the road was advancing upon them, Dr. Renard marching furiously in front, his beard flying in the breeze.
The Colonel sprang out of the car with an intolerant exclamation62.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, “the thing is incredible. It must be a practical joke. If you knew Renard as I do—it’s like calling Queen Victoria a dynamiter63. If you had got the man’s character into your head—”
“Dr. Bull,” said Syme sardonically64, “has at least got it into his hat.”
“I tell you it can’t be!” cried the Colonel, stamping.
“Renard shall explain it. He shall explain it to me,” and he strode forward.
“Don’t be in such a hurry,” drawled the smoker. “He will very soon explain it to all of us.”
But the impatient Colonel was already out of earshot, advancing towards the advancing enemy. The excited Dr. Renard lifted his pistol again, but perceiving his opponent, hesitated, and the Colonel came face to face with him with frantic gestures of remonstrance65.
“It is no good,” said Syme. “He will never get anything out of that old heathen. I vote we drive bang through the thick of them, bang as the bullets went through Bull’s hat. We may all be killed, but we must kill a tidy number of them.”
“I won’t ‘ave it,” said Dr. Bull, growing more vulgar in the sincerity66 of his virtue67. “The poor chaps may be making a mistake. Give the Colonel a chance.”
“Shall we go back, then?” asked the Professor.
“No,” said Ratcliffe in a cold voice, “the street behind us is held too. In fact, I seem to see there another friend of yours, Syme.”
Syme spun68 round smartly, and stared backwards69 at the track which they had travelled. He saw an irregular body of horsemen gathering70 and galloping71 towards them in the gloom. He saw above the foremost saddle the silver gleam of a sword, and then as it grew nearer the silver gleam of an old man’s hair. The next moment, with shattering violence, he had swung the motor round and sent it dashing down the steep side street to the sea, like a man that desired only to die.
“What the devil is up?” cried the Professor, seizing his arm.
“The morning star has fallen!” said Syme, as his own car went down the darkness like a falling star.
The others did not understand his words, but when they looked back at the street above they saw the hostile cavalry coming round the corner and down the slopes after them; and foremost of all rode the good innkeeper, flushed with the fiery72 innocence73 of the evening light.
“The world is insane!” said the Professor, and buried his face in his hands.
“What are we going to do?” asked the Professor.
“At this moment,” said Syme, with a scientific detachment, “I think we are going to smash into a lamppost.”
The next instant the automobile had come with a catastrophic jar against an iron object. The instant after that four men had crawled out from under a chaos75 of metal, and a tall lean lamp-post that had stood up straight on the edge of the marine76 parade stood out, bent and twisted, like the branch of a broken tree.
“Well, we smashed something,” said the Professor, with a faint smile. “That’s some comfort.”
“You’re becoming an anarchist,” said Syme, dusting his clothes with his instinct of daintiness.
“Everyone is,” said Ratcliffe.
As they spoke, the white-haired horseman and his followers77 came thundering from above, and almost at the same moment a dark string of men ran shouting along the sea-front. Syme snatched a sword, and took it in his teeth; he stuck two others under his arm-pits, took a fourth in his left hand and the lantern in his right, and leapt off the high parade on to the beach below.
The others leapt after him, with a common acceptance of such decisive action, leaving the debris78 and the gathering mob above them.
“We have one more chance,” said Syme, taking the steel out of his mouth. “Whatever all this pandemonium79 means, I suppose the police station will help us. We can’t get there, for they hold the way. But there’s a pier80 or breakwater runs out into the sea just here, which we could defend longer than anything else, like Horatius and his bridge. We must defend it till the Gendarmerie turn out. Keep after me.”
They followed him as he went crunching81 down the beach, and in a second or two their boots broke not on the sea gravel82, but on broad, flat stones. They marched down a long, low jetty, running out in one arm into the dim, boiling sea, and when they came to the end of it they felt that they had come to the end of their story. They turned and faced the town.
That town was transfigured with uproar83. All along the high parade from which they had just descended84 was a dark and roaring stream of humanity, with tossing arms and fiery faces, groping and glaring towards them. The long dark line was dotted with torches and lanterns; but even where no flame lit up a furious face, they could see in the farthest figure, in the most shadowy gesture, an organised hate. It was clear that they were the accursed of all men, and they knew not why.
Two or three men, looking little and black like monkeys, leapt over the edge as they had done and dropped on to the beach. These came ploughing down the deep sand, shouting horribly, and strove to wade85 into the sea at random86. The example was followed, and the whole black mass of men began to run and drip over the edge like black treacle87.
Foremost among the men on the beach Syme saw the peasant who had driven their cart. He splashed into the surf on a huge cart-horse, and shook his axe88 at them.
“The peasant!” cried Syme. “They have not risen since the Middle Ages.”
“Even if the police do come now,” said the Professor mournfully, “they can do nothing with this mob.”
“Nonsense!” said Bull desperately89; “there must be some people left in the town who are human.”
“No,” said the hopeless Inspector, “the human being will soon be extinct. We are the last of mankind.”
“It may be,” said the Professor absently. Then he added in his dreamy voice, “What is all that at the end of the ‘Dunciad’?
‘Nor public flame; nor private, dares to shine;
Nor human light is left, nor glimpse divine!
Light dies before thine uncreating word:
Thy hand, great Anarch, lets the curtain fall;
And universal darkness buries all.’”
The low lights of the police station were indeed blotted92 and broken with hurrying figures, and they heard through the darkness the clash and jingle93 of a disciplined cavalry.
“They are charging the mob!” cried Bull in ecstacy or alarm.
“No,” said Syme, “they are formed along the parade.”
“They have unslung their carbines,” cried Bull dancing with excitement.
“Yes,” said Ratcliffe, “and they are going to fire on us.”
As he spoke there came a long crackle of musketry, and bullets seemed to hop45 like hailstones on the stones in front of them.
“The gendarmes have joined them!” cried the Professor, and struck his forehead.
“I am in the padded cell,” said Bull solidly.
There was a long silence, and then Ratcliffe said, looking out over the swollen94 sea, all a sort of grey purple—
Syme turned to him and said—
“You are quite hopeless, then?”
“No; oddly enough I am not quite hopeless. There is one insane little hope that I cannot get out of my mind. The power of this whole planet is against us, yet I cannot help wondering whether this one silly little hope is hopeless yet.”
“In what or whom is your hope?” asked Syme with curiosity.
“In a man I never saw,” said the other, looking at the leaden sea.
“I know what you mean,” said Syme in a low voice, “the man in the dark room. But Sunday must have killed him by now.”
“Perhaps,” said the other steadily96; “but if so, he was the only man whom Sunday found it hard to kill.”
“I heard what you said,” said the Professor, with his back turned. “I also am holding hard on to the thing I never saw.”
All of a sudden Syme, who was standing as if blind with introspective thought, swung round and cried out, like a man waking from sleep—
“Where is the Colonel? I thought he was with us!”
“The Colonel! Yes,” cried Bull, “where on earth is the Colonel?”
“He went to speak to Renard,” said the Professor.
“We cannot leave him among all those beasts,” cried Syme. “Let us die like gentlemen if—”
“Do not pity the Colonel,” said Ratcliffe, with a pale sneer97. “He is extremely comfortable. He is—”
Many of their pursuers had waded100 into the water shaking their fists, but the sea was rough, and they could not reach the pier. Two or three figures, however, stood on the beginning of the stone footway, and seemed to be cautiously advancing down it. The glare of a chance lantern lit up the faces of the two foremost. One face wore a black half-mask, and under it the mouth was twisting about in such a madness of nerves that the black tuft of beard wriggled101 round and round like a restless, living thing. The other was the red face and white moustache of Colonel Ducroix. They were in earnest consultation102.
“Yes, he is gone too,” said the Professor, and sat down on a stone. “Everything’s gone. I’m gone! I can’t trust my own bodily machinery. I feel as if my own hand might fly up and strike me.”
“When my hand flies up,” said Syme, “it will strike somebody else,” and he strode along the pier towards the Colonel, the sword in one hand and the lantern in the other.
As if to destroy the last hope or doubt, the Colonel, who saw him coming, pointed his revolver at him and fired. The shot missed Syme, but struck his sword, breaking it short at the hilt. Syme rushed on, and swung the iron lantern above his head.
“Judas before Herod!” he said, and struck the Colonel down upon the stones. Then he turned to the Secretary, whose frightful103 mouth was almost foaming104 now, and held the lamp high with so rigid and arresting a gesture, that the man was, as it were, frozen for a moment, and forced to hear.
“Do you see this lantern?” cried Syme in a terrible voice. “Do you see the cross carved on it, and the flame inside? You did not make it. You did not light it. Better men than you, men who could believe and obey, twisted the entrails of iron and preserved the legend of fire. There is not a street you walk on, there is not a thread you wear, that was not made as this lantern was, by denying your philosophy of dirt and rats. You can make nothing. You can only destroy. You will destroy mankind; you will destroy the world. Let that suffice you. Yet this one old Christian105 lantern you shall not destroy. It shall go where your empire of apes will never have the wit to find it.”
He struck the Secretary once with the lantern so that he staggered; and then, whirling it twice round his head, sent it flying far out to sea, where it flared106 like a roaring rocket and fell.
“Swords!” shouted Syme, turning his flaming face to the three behind him. “Let us charge these dogs, for our time has come to die.”
His three companions came after him sword in hand. Syme’s sword was broken, but he rent a bludgeon from the fist of a fisherman, flinging him down. In a moment they would have flung themselves upon the face of the mob and perished, when an interruption came. The Secretary, ever since Syme’s speech, had stood with his hand to his stricken head as if dazed; now he suddenly pulled off his black mask.
The pale face thus peeled in the lamplight revealed not so much rage as astonishment107. He put up his hand with an anxious authority.
“There is some mistake,” he said. “Mr. Syme, I hardly think you understand your position. I arrest you in the name of the law.”
“Of the law?” said Syme, and dropped his stick.
“Certainly!” said the Secretary. “I am a detective from Scotland Yard,” and he took a small blue card from his pocket.
“And what do you suppose we are?” asked the Professor, and threw up his arms.
“You,” said the Secretary stiffly, “are, as I know for a fact, members of the Supreme108 Anarchist Council. Disguised as one of you, I—”
Dr. Bull tossed his sword into the sea.
“There never was any Supreme Anarchist Council,” he said. “We were all a lot of silly policemen looking at each other. And all these nice people who have been peppering us with shot thought we were the dynamiters. I knew I couldn’t be wrong about the mob,” he said, beaming over the enormous multitude, which stretched away to the distance on both sides. “Vulgar people are never mad. I’m vulgar myself, and I know. I am now going on shore to stand a drink to everybody here.”
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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equestrian
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| adj.骑马的；n.马术 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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scatheless
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| adj.无损伤的，平安的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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sensational
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| adj.使人感动的，非常好的，轰动的，耸人听闻的 | |
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slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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sociably
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| adv.成群地 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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19
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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20
abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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21
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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22
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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23
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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24
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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26
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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27
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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28
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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29
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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30
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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31
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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32
stationary
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| adj.固定的，静止不动的 | |
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33
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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34
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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35
anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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36
chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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37
amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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38
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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39
automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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40
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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41
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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42
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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43
raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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44
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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45
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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46
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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47
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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49
pessimist
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| n.悲观者；悲观主义者；厌世 | |
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50
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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51
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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52
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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53
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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54
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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56
puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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58
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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59
democrat
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| n.民主主义者，民主人士；民主党党员 | |
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60
sanity
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| n.心智健全，神智正常，判断正确 | |
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61
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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62
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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63
dynamiter
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| n.炸药使用者（尤指革命者） | |
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64
sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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65
remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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66
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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67
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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68
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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69
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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70
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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71
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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72
fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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73
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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74
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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75
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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76
marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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77
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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78
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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79
pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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80
pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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81
crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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82
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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83
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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84
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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85
wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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86
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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87
treacle
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| n.糖蜜 | |
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88
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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89
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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90
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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91
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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92
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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93
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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94
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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95
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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96
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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97
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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98
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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99
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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100
waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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102
consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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103
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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104
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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105
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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106
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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107
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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108
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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