The five reconciled detectives had a hundred details to explain to each other. The Secretary had to tell Syme how they had come to wear masks originally in order to approach the supposed enemy as fellow-conspirators.
Syme had to explain how they had fled with such swiftness through a civilised country. But above all these matters of detail which could be explained, rose the central mountain of the matter that they could not explain. What did it all mean? If they were all harmless officers, what was Sunday? If he had not seized the world, what on earth had he been up to? Inspector7 Ratcliffe was still gloomy about this.
“I can’t make head or tail of old Sunday’s little game any more than you can,” he said. “But whatever else Sunday is, he isn’t a blameless citizen. Damn it! do you remember his face?”
“I grant you,” answered Syme, “that I have never been able to forget it.”
“Well,” said the Secretary, “I suppose we can find out soon, for tomorrow we have our next general meeting. You will excuse me,” he said, with a rather ghastly smile, “for being well acquainted with my secretarial duties.”
“I suppose you are right,” said the Professor reflectively. “I suppose we might find it out from him; but I confess that I should feel a bit afraid of asking Sunday who he really is.”
“Why,” asked the Secretary, “for fear of bombs?”
“No,” said the Professor, “for fear he might tell me.”
“Let us have some drinks,” said Dr. Bull, after a silence.
Throughout their whole journey by boat and train they were highly convivial8, but they instinctively9 kept together. Dr. Bull, who had always been the optimist10 of the party, endeavoured to persuade the other four that the whole company could take the same hansom cab from Victoria; but this was over-ruled, and they went in a four-wheeler, with Dr. Bull on the box, singing. They finished their journey at an hotel in Piccadilly Circus, so as to be close to the early breakfast next morning in Leicester Square. Yet even then the adventures of the day were not entirely11 over. Dr. Bull, discontented with the general proposal to go to bed, had strolled out of the hotel at about eleven to see and taste some of the beauties of London. Twenty minutes afterwards, however, he came back and made quite a clamour in the hall. Syme, who tried at first to soothe12 him, was forced at last to listen to his communication with quite new attention.
“I tell you I’ve seen him!” said Dr. Bull, with thick emphasis.
“Whom?” asked Syme quickly. “Not the President?”
“Not so bad as that,” said Dr. Bull, with unnecessary laughter, “not so bad as that. I’ve got him here.”
“Got whom here?” asked Syme impatiently.
“Hairy man,” said the other lucidly13, “man that used to be hairy man—Gogol. Here he is,” and he pulled forward by a reluctant elbow the identical young man who five days before had marched out of the Council with thin red hair and a pale face, the first of all the sham14 anarchists16 who had been exposed.
“Why do you worry with me?” he cried. “You have expelled me as a spy.”
“We are all spies!” whispered Syme.
“We’re all spies!” shouted Dr. Bull. “Come and have a drink.”
Next morning the battalion17 of the reunited six marched stolidly18 towards the hotel in Leicester Square.
“This is more cheerful,” said Dr. Bull; “we are six men going to ask one man what he means.”
“I think it is a bit queerer than that,” said Syme. “I think it is six men going to ask one man what they mean.”
They turned in silence into the Square, and though the hotel was in the opposite corner, they saw at once the little balcony and a figure that looked too big for it. He was sitting alone with bent19 head, poring over a newspaper. But all his councillors, who had come to vote him down, crossed that Square as if they were watched out of heaven by a hundred eyes.
They had disputed much upon their policy, about whether they should leave the unmasked Gogol without and begin diplomatically, or whether they should bring him in and blow up the gunpowder20 at once. The influence of Syme and Bull prevailed for the latter course, though the Secretary to the last asked them why they attacked Sunday so rashly.
“My reason is quite simple,” said Syme. “I attack him rashly because I am afraid of him.”
They followed Syme up the dark stair in silence, and they all came out simultaneously21 into the broad sunlight of the morning and the broad sunlight of Sunday’s smile.
“Delightful!” he said. “So pleased to see you all. What an exquisite22 day it is. Is the Czar dead?”
“No, sir,” he said sternly “there has been no massacre24. I bring you news of no such disgusting spectacles.”
“Disgusting spectacles?” repeated the President, with a bright, inquiring smile. “You mean Dr. Bull’s spectacles?”
The Secretary choked for a moment, and the President went on with a sort of smooth appeal—
“Of course, we all have our opinions and even our eyes, but really to call them disgusting before the man himself—”
Dr. Bull tore off his spectacles and broke them on the table.
“My spectacles are blackguardly,” he said, “but I’m not. Look at my face.”
“I dare say it’s the sort of face that grows on one,” said the President, “in fact, it grows on you; and who am I to quarrel with the wild fruits upon the Tree of Life? I dare say it will grow on me some day.”
“We have no time for tomfoolery,” said the Secretary, breaking in savagely25. “We have come to know what all this means. Who are you? What are you? Why did you get us all here? Do you know who and what we are? Are you a half-witted man playing the conspirator6, or are you a clever man playing the fool? Answer me, I tell you.”
“Candidates,” murmured Sunday, “are only required to answer eight out of the seventeen questions on the paper. As far as I can make out, you want me to tell you what I am, and what you are, and what this table is, and what this Council is, and what this world is for all I know. Well, I will go so far as to rend26 the veil of one mystery. If you want to know what you are, you are a set of highly well-intentioned young jackasses.”
“And you,” said Syme, leaning forward, “what are you?”
“I? What am I?” roared the President, and he rose slowly to an incredible height, like some enormous wave about to arch above them and break. “You want to know what I am, do you? Bull, you are a man of science. Grub in the roots of those trees and find out the truth about them. Syme, you are a poet. Stare at those morning clouds. But I tell you this, that you will have found out the truth of the last tree and the top-most cloud before the truth about me. You will understand the sea, and I shall be still a riddle27; you shall know what the stars are, and not know what I am. Since the beginning of the world all men have hunted me like a wolf—kings and sages28, and poets and lawgivers, all the churches, and all the philosophies. But I have never been caught yet, and the skies will fall in the time I turn to bay. I have given them a good run for their money, and I will now.”
Before one of them could move, the monstrous29 man had swung himself like some huge ourang-outang over the balustrade of the balcony. Yet before he dropped he pulled himself up again as on a horizontal bar, and thrusting his great chin over the edge of the balcony, said solemnly—
“There’s one thing I’ll tell you though about who I am. I am the man in the dark room, who made you all policemen.”
With that he fell from the balcony, bouncing on the stones below like a great ball of india-rubber, and went bounding off towards the corner of the Alhambra, where he hailed a hansom-cab and sprang inside it. The six detectives had been standing30 thunderstruck and livid in the light of his last assertion; but when he disappeared into the cab, Syme’s practical senses returned to him, and leaping over the balcony so recklessly as almost to break his legs, he called another cab.
He and Bull sprang into the cab together, the Professor and the Inspector into another, while the Secretary and the late Gogol scrambled31 into a third just in time to pursue the flying Syme, who was pursuing the flying President. Sunday led them a wild chase towards the north-west, his cabman, evidently under the influence of more than common inducements, urging the horse at breakneck speed. But Syme was in no mood for delicacies32, and he stood up in his own cab shouting, “Stop thief!” until crowds ran along beside his cab, and policemen began to stop and ask questions. All this had its influence upon the President’s cabman, who began to look dubious33, and to slow down to a trot34. He opened the trap to talk reasonably to his fare, and in so doing let the long whip droop35 over the front of the cab. Sunday leant forward, seized it, and jerked it violently out of the man’s hand. Then standing up in front of the cab himself, he lashed36 the horse and roared aloud, so that they went down the streets like a flying storm. Through street after street and square after square went whirling this preposterous37 vehicle, in which the fare was urging the horse and the driver trying desperately38 to stop it. The other three cabs came after it (if the phrase be permissible39 of a cab) like panting hounds. Shops and streets shot by like rattling40 arrows.
At the highest ecstacy of speed, Sunday turned round on the splashboard where he stood, and sticking his great grinning head out of the cab, with white hair whistling in the wind, he made a horrible face at his pursuers, like some colossal41 urchin42. Then raising his right hand swiftly, he flung a ball of paper in Syme’s face and vanished. Syme caught the thing while instinctively warding43 it off, and discovered that it consisted of two crumpled44 papers. One was addressed to himself, and the other to Dr. Bull, with a very long, and it is to be feared partly ironical45, string of letters after his name. Dr. Bull’s address was, at any rate, considerably46 longer than his communication, for the communication consisted entirely of the words:—
“What about Martin Tupper now?”
Syme’s message was, at any rate, longer, and ran as follows:—
“No one would regret anything in the nature of an interference by the Archdeacon more than I. I trust it will not come to that. But, for the last time, where are your goloshes? The thing is too bad, especially after what uncle said.”
The President’s cabman seemed to be regaining48 some control over his horse, and the pursuers gained a little as they swept round into the Edgware Road. And here there occurred what seemed to the allies a providential stoppage. Traffic of every kind was swerving49 to right or left or stopping, for down the long road was coming the unmistakable roar announcing the fire-engine, which in a few seconds went by like a brazen50 thunderbolt. But quick as it went by, Sunday had bounded out of his cab, sprung at the fire-engine, caught it, slung51 himself on to it, and was seen as he disappeared in the noisy distance talking to the astonished fireman with explanatory gestures.
“After him!” howled Syme. “He can’t go astray now. There’s no mistaking a fire-engine.”
The three cabmen, who had been stunned52 for a moment, whipped up their horses and slightly decreased the distance between themselves and their disappearing prey53. The President acknowledged this proximity54 by coming to the back of the car, bowing repeatedly, kissing his hand, and finally flinging a neatly-folded note into the bosom55 of Inspector Ratcliffe. When that gentleman opened it, not without impatience56, he found it contained the words:—
“Fly at once. The truth about your trouser-stretchers is known.
—A FRIEND.”
The fire-engine had struck still farther to the north, into a region that they did not recognise; and as it ran by a line of high railings shadowed with trees, the six friends were startled, but somewhat relieved, to see the President leap from the fire-engine, though whether through another whim57 or the increasing protest of his entertainers they could not see. Before the three cabs, however, could reach up to the spot, he had gone up the high railings like a huge grey cat, tossed himself over, and vanished in a darkness of leaves.
Syme with a furious gesture stopped his cab, jumped out, and sprang also to the escalade. When he had one leg over the fence and his friends were following, he turned a face on them which shone quite pale in the shadow.
“What place can this be?” he asked. “Can it be the old devil’s house? I’ve heard he has a house in North London.”
“All the better,” said the Secretary grimly, planting a foot in a foothold, “we shall find him at home.”
“No, but it isn’t that,” said Syme, knitting his brows. “I hear the most horrible noises, like devils laughing and sneezing and blowing their devilish noses!”
“His dogs barking, of course,” said the Secretary.
“Why not say his black-beetles barking!” said Syme furiously, “snails barking! geraniums barking! Did you ever hear a dog bark like that?”
He held up his hand, and there came out of the thicket58 a long growling59 roar that seemed to get under the skin and freeze the flesh—a low thrilling roar that made a throbbing60 in the air all about them.
Syme had jumped down on the other side, but he still stood listening impatiently.
“Well, listen to that,” he said, “is that a dog—anybody’s dog?”
There broke upon their ear a hoarse62 screaming as of things protesting and clamouring in sudden pain; and then, far off like an echo, what sounded like a long nasal trumpet63.
“Well, his house ought to be hell!” said the Secretary; “and if it is hell, I’m going in!” and he sprang over the tall railings almost with one swing.
The others followed. They broke through a tangle64 of plants and shrubs65, and came out on an open path. Nothing was in sight, but Dr. Bull suddenly struck his hands together.
“Why, you asses,” he cried, “it’s the Zoo!”
As they were looking round wildly for any trace of their wild quarry66, a keeper in uniform came running along the path with a man in plain clothes.
“Has what?” asked Syme.
“The elephant!” cried the keeper. “An elephant has gone mad and run away!”
“He has run away with an old gentleman,” said the other stranger breathlessly, “a poor old gentleman with white hair!”
“What sort of old gentleman?” asked Syme, with great curiosity.
“A very large and fat old gentleman in light grey clothes,” said the keeper eagerly.
“Well,” said Syme, “if he’s that particular kind of old gentleman, if you’re quite sure that he’s a large and fat old gentleman in grey clothes, you may take my word for it that the elephant has not run away with him. He has run away with the elephant. The elephant is not made by God that could run away with him if he did not consent to the elopement. And, by thunder, there he is!”
There was no doubt about it this time. Clean across the space of grass, about two hundred yards away, with a crowd screaming and scampering68 vainly at his heels, went a huge grey elephant at an awful stride, with his trunk thrown out as rigid69 as a ship’s bowsprit, and trumpeting70 like the trumpet of doom71. On the back of the bellowing72 and plunging73 animal sat President Sunday with all the placidity74 of a sultan, but goading75 the animal to a furious speed with some sharp object in his hand.
“Stop him!” screamed the populace. “He’ll be out of the gate!”
And even as he spoke77, a final crash and roar of terror announced that the great grey elephant had broken out of the gates of the Zoological Gardens, and was careening down Albany Street like a new and swift sort of omnibus.
“Great Lord!” cried Bull, “I never knew an elephant could go so fast. Well, it must be hansom-cabs again if we are to keep him in sight.”
As they raced along to the gate out of which the elephant had vanished, Syme felt a glaring panorama78 of the strange animals in the cages which they passed. Afterwards he thought it queer that he should have seen them so clearly. He remembered especially seeing pelicans80, with their preposterous, pendant throats. He wondered why the pelican79 was the symbol of charity, except it was that it wanted a good deal of charity to admire a pelican. He remembered a hornbill, which was simply a huge yellow beak81 with a small bird tied on behind it. The whole gave him a sensation, the vividness of which he could not explain, that Nature was always making quite mysterious jokes. Sunday had told them that they would understand him when they had understood the stars. He wondered whether even the archangels understood the hornbill.
The six unhappy detectives flung themselves into cabs and followed the elephant sharing the terror which he spread through the long stretch of the streets. This time Sunday did not turn round, but offered them the solid stretch of his unconscious back, which maddened them, if possible, more than his previous mockeries. Just before they came to Baker82 Street, however, he was seen to throw something far up into the air, as a boy does a ball meaning to catch it again. But at their rate of racing83 it fell far behind, just by the cab containing Gogol; and in faint hope of a clue or for some impulse unexplainable, he stopped his cab so as to pick it up. It was addressed to himself, and was quite a bulky parcel. On examination, however, its bulk was found to consist of thirty-three pieces of paper of no value wrapped one round the other. When the last covering was torn away it reduced itself to a small slip of paper, on which was written:—
“The word, I fancy, should be ‘pink’.”
The man once known as Gogol said nothing, but the movements of his hands and feet were like those of a man urging a horse to renewed efforts.
Through street after street, through district after district, went the prodigy84 of the flying elephant, calling crowds to every window, and driving the traffic left and right. And still through all this insane publicity85 the three cabs toiled86 after it, until they came to be regarded as part of a procession, and perhaps the advertisement of a circus. They went at such a rate that distances were shortened beyond belief, and Syme saw the Albert Hall in Kensington when he thought that he was still in Paddington. The animal’s pace was even more fast and free through the empty, aristocratic streets of South Kensington, and he finally headed towards that part of the sky-line where the enormous Wheel of Earl’s Court stood up in the sky. The wheel grew larger and larger, till it filled heaven like the wheel of stars.
The beast outstripped87 the cabs. They lost him round several corners, and when they came to one of the gates of the Earl’s Court Exhibition they found themselves finally blocked. In front of them was an enormous crowd; in the midst of it was an enormous elephant, heaving and shuddering88 as such shapeless creatures do. But the President had disappeared.
“Where has he gone to?” asked Syme, slipping to the ground.
“Gentleman rushed into the Exhibition, sir!” said an official in a dazed manner. Then he added in an injured voice: “Funny gentleman, sir. Asked me to hold his horse, and gave me this.”
He held out with distaste a piece of folded paper, addressed: “To the Secretary of the Central Anarchist15 Council.”
The Secretary, raging, rent it open, and found written inside it:—
“When the herring runs a mile,
Let the Secretary smile;
When the herring tries to fly,
Let the Secretary die.
“Why the eternal crikey,” began the Secretary, “did you let the man in? Do people commonly come to your Exhibition riding on mad elephants? Do—”
“Look!” shouted Syme suddenly. “Look over there!”
“Look at what?” asked the Secretary savagely.
“Why the blazes should I look at a captive balloon?” demanded the Secretary. “What is there queer about a captive balloon?”
“Nothing,” said Syme, “except that it isn’t captive!”
They all turned their eyes to where the balloon swung and swelled92 above the Exhibition on a string, like a child’s balloon. A second afterwards the string came in two just under the car, and the balloon, broken loose, floated away with the freedom of a soap bubble.
“Ten thousand devils!” shrieked93 the Secretary. “He’s got into it!” and he shook his fists at the sky.
The balloon, borne by some chance wind, came right above them, and they could see the great white head of the President peering over the side and looking benevolently94 down on them.
“God bless my soul!” said the Professor with the elderly manner that he could never disconnect from his bleached95 beard and parchment face. “God bless my soul! I seemed to fancy that something fell on the top of my hat!”
He put up a trembling hand and took from that shelf a piece of twisted paper, which he opened absently only to find it inscribed96 with a true lover’s knot and, the words:—
“Your beauty has not left me indifferent.—From LITTLE SNOWDROP.”
There was a short silence, and then Syme said, biting his beard—
“I’m not beaten yet. The blasted thing must come down somewhere. Let’s follow it!”
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收听单词发音
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1
hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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factions
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| 组织中的小派别，派系( faction的名词复数 ) | |
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dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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convivial
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| adj.狂欢的，欢乐的 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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optimist
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| n.乐观的人，乐观主义者 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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lucidly
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| adv.清透地，透明地 | |
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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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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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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rend
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| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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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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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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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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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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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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permissible
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| adj.可允许的，许可的 | |
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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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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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regaining
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| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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brazen
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| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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scampering
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的现在分词 ) | |
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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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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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placidity
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| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
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goading
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| v.刺激( goad的现在分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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landslide
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| n.(竞选中)压倒多数的选票；一面倒的胜利 | |
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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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panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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pelican
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| n.鹈鹕，伽蓝鸟 | |
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pelicans
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| n.鹈鹕( pelican的名词复数 ) | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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83
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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86
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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91
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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92
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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