Accompanied by the Duke of Wharton and Major Gascoigne, Mr. Caryll entered the enclosure promptly4 as seven was striking from St. Clement6 Danes. They had come in a coach, which they had left in waiting at the corner of Portugal Row.
As they penetrated7 beyond the belt of trees they found that they were the first in the field, and his grace proceeded with the major to inspect the ground, so that time might be saved against the coming of the other party.
Mr. Caryll stood apart, breathing the freshness of the sunlit morning, but supremely8 indifferent to its glory. He was gloomy and preoccupied9. He had slept ill that night after his interview with Sir Richard, tormented10 by the odious11 choice that lay before him of either breaking with the adoptive father to whom he owed obedience12 and affection, or betraying his natural father whom he had every reason to hate, yet who remained his father. He had been able to arrive at no solution. Duty seemed to point one way; instinct the other. Down in his heart he felt that when the moment came it would be the behests of instinct that he would obey, and, in obeying them, play false to Sir Richard and to the memory of his mother. It was the only course that went with honor; and yet it was a course that must lead to a break with the one friend he had in the world—the one man who stood to him for family and kin5.
And now, as if that were not enough to plague him, there was this quarrel with Rotherby which he had upon his hands. That, too, he had been considering during the wakeful hours of that summer night. Had he reflected he must have seen that no other result could have followed his narrative13 at White's last night; and yet it was a case in which reflection would not have stayed him. Hortensia Winthrop's fair name was to be cleansed14 of the smirch that had been cast upon it, and Justin was the only man in whose power it had lain to do it. More than that—if more were needed—it was Rotherby himself, by his aggressiveness, who had thrust Mr. Caryll into a position which almost made it necessary for him to explain himself; and that he could scarcely have done by any other than the means which he had adopted. Under ordinary circumstances the matter would have troubled him not at all; this meeting with such a man as Rotherby would not have robbed him of a moment's sleep. But there came the reflection—belatedly—that Rotherby was his brother, his father's son; and he experienced just the same degree of repugnance15 at the prospect16 of crossing swords with him as he did at the prospect of betraying Lord Ostermore. Sir Richard would force upon him a parricide's task; Fate a fratricide's. Truly, he thought, it was an enviable position, his.
Pacing the turf, on which the dew still gleamed and sparkled diamond-like, he pondered his course, and wondered now, at the last moment, was there no way to avert17 this meeting. Could not the matter be arranged? He was stirred out of his musings by Gascoigne's voice, raised to curse the tardiness18 of Lord Rotherby.
“'Slife! Where does the fellow tarry? Was he so drunk last night that he's not yet slept himself sober?”
“The streets are astir,” put in Wharton, helping20 himself to snuff. And, indeed, the cries of the morning hawkers reached them now from the four sides of the square. “If his lordship does not come soon, I doubt if we may stay for him. We shall have half the town for spectators.”
“Who are these?” quoth Gascoigne, stepping aside and craning his neck to get a better view. “Ah! Here they come.” And he indicated a group of three that had that moment passed the palings.
Gascoigne and Wharton went to meet the newcomers. Lord Rotherby was attended by Mainwaring, a militia21 captain—a great, burly, scarred bully22 of a man—and a Mr. Falgate, an extravagant23 young buck24 of his acquaintance. An odder pair of sponsors he could not have found had he been at pains to choose them so.
“Adso!” swore Mr. Falgate, in his shrill25, affected26 voice. “I vow27 'tis a most ungenteel hour, this, for men of quality to be abroad. I had my beauty sleep broke into to be here in time. Lard! I shall be dozing28 all day for't!” He took off his hat and delicately mopped his brow with a square of lace he called a handkerchief.
“Shall we come to business, gentlemen?” quoth Mainwaring gruffly.
“With all my heart,” answered Wharton. “It is growing late.”
“Late! La, my dears!” clucked Mr. Falgate in horror. “Has your grace not been to bed yet?”
“To save time,” said Gascoigne, “we have made an inspection29 of the ground, and we think that under the trees yonder is a spot not to be bettered.”
Mainwaring flashed a critical and experienced eye over the place. “The sun is—So?” he said, looking up. “Yes; it should serve well enough, I—”
“It will not serve at all,” cried Rotherby, who stood a pace or two apart. “A little to the right, there, the turf is better.”
“But there is no protection,” put in the duke. “You will be under observation from that side of the square, including Stretton House.”
“What odds30?” quoth Rotherby. “Do I care who overlooks us?” And he laughed unpleasantly. “Or is your grace ashamed of being seen in your friend's company?”
Wharton looked him steadily31 in the face a moment, then turned to his lordship's seconds. “If Mr. Caryll is of the same mind as his lordship, we had best get to work at once,” he said; and bowing to them, withdrew with Gascoigne.
“See to the swords, Mainwaring,” said Rotherby shortly. “Here, Fanny!” This to Falgate, whose name was Francis, and who delighted in the feminine diminutive32 which his intimates used toward him. “Come help me with my clothes.”
“I vow to Gad,” protested Mr. Falgate, advancing to the task. “I make but an indifferent valet, my dear.”
Mr. Caryll stood thoughtful a moment when Rotherby's wishes had been made known to him. The odd irony33 of the situation—the key to which he was the only one to hold—was borne in upon him. He fetched a sigh of utter weariness.
“I have,” said he, “the greatest repugnance to meeting his lordship.”
“'Tis little wonder,” returned his grace contemptuously. “But since 'tis forced upon you, I hope you'll give him the lesson in manners that he needs.”
“Is it—is it unavoidable?” quoth Mr. Caryll.
“Unavoidable?” Wharton looked at him in stern wonder.
Gascoigne, too, swung round to stare. “Unavoidable? What can you mean, Caryll?”
His Grace of Wharton stroked his chin contemplatively, his eye ironical35, his lip curling never so slightly. “Why,” said he, at length, “you may beg my Lord Rotherby's pardon for having given him the lie. You may retract36, and brand yourself a liar37 and your version of the Maidstone affair a silly invention which ye have not the courage to maintain. You may do that, Mr. Caryll. For my own sake, let me add, I hope you will not do it.”
“I am not thinking of your grace at all,” said Mr. Caryll, slightly piqued38 by the tone the other took with him. “But to relieve your mind of such doubts as I see you entertain, I can assure you that it is out of no motives39 of weakness that I boggle at this combat. Though I confess that I am no ferrailleur, and that I abhor40 the duel as a means of settling a difference just as I abhor all things that are stupid and insensate, yet I am not the man to shirk an encounter where an encounter is forced upon me. But in this affair—” he paused, then ended—“there is more than meets your grace's eye, or, indeed, anyone's.”
He was so calm, so master of himself, that Wharton perceived how groundless must have been his first notion. Whatever might be Mr. Caryll's motives, it was plain from his most perfect composure that they were not motives of fear. His grace's half-contemptuous smile was dissipated.
“This is mere41 trifling42, Mr. Caryll,” he reminded his principal, “and time is speeding. Your withdrawal43 now would not only be damaging to yourself; it would be damaging to the lady of whose fair name you have made yourself the champion. You must see that it is too late for doubts on the score of this meeting.”
Mr. Caryll took off his hat and flung it on the ground behind him. “We must go on, then,” said he. “Gascoigne, see to the swords with his lordship's friend there.”
With a relieved look, the major went forward to make the final preparations, whilst Mr. Caryll, attended by Wharton, rapidly divested45 himself of coat and waistcoat, then kicked off his light shoes, and stood ready, a slight, lithe46, graceful47 figure in white Holland shirt and pearl-colored small clothes.
A moment later the adversaries48 were face to face—Rotherby, divested of his wig49 and with a kerchief bound about his close-cropped head, all a trembling eagerness; Mr. Caryll with a reluctance50 lightly masked by a dangerous composure.
There was a perfunctory salute—a mere presenting of arms—and the blades swept round in a half-circle to their first meeting. But Rotherby, without so much as allowing his steel to touch his opponent's, as the laws of courtesy demanded, swirled51 it away again into the higher lines and lunged. It was almost like a foul52 attempt to take his adversary53 unawares and unprepared, and for a second it looked as if it must succeed. It must have succeeded but for the miraculous54 quickness of Mr. Caryll. Swinging round on the ball of his right foot, lightly and gracefully55 as a dancing master, and with no sign of haste or fear in his amazing speed, he let the other's hard-driven blade glance past him, to meet nothing but the empty air.
As a result, by the very force of the stroke, Rotherby found himself over-reached and carried beyond his point of aim; while Mr. Caryll's sideward movement brought him not only nearer his opponent, but entirely56 within his guard.
It was seen by them all, and by none with such panic as Rotherby himself, that, as a consequence of his quasi-foul stroke, the viscount was thrown entirely at the mercy of his opponent thus at the very outset of the encounter, before their blades had so much as touched each other. A straightening of the arm on the part of Mr. Caryll, and the engagement would have been at an end.
Mr. Caryll, however, did not straighten his arm. He was observed to smile as he broke ground and waited for his lordship to recover.
Falgate turned pale. Mainwaring swore softly under his breath, in fear for his principal; Gascoigne did the same in vexation at the opportunity Mr. Caryll had so wantonly wasted. Wharton looked on with tight-pressed lips, and wondered.
Rotherby recovered, and for a moment the two men stood apart, seeming to feel each other with their eyes before resuming. Then his lordship renewed the attack with vigor57.
Mr. Caryll parried lightly and closely, plying58 a beautiful weapon in the best manner of the French school, and opposing to the ponderous59 force of his antagonist60 a delicate frustrating61 science. Rotherby, a fine swordsman in his way, soon saw that here was need for all his skill, and he exerted it. But the prodigious62 rapidity of his blade broke as upon a cuirass against the other's light, impenetrable guard.
His lordship broke ground, breathed heavily, and sweated under the glare of the morning sun, cursing this swordsman who, so cool and deliberate, husbanded his strength and scarcely seemed to move, yet by sheer skill and address more than neutralized63 his lordship's advantages of greater strength and length of reach.
“You cursed French dog!” swore the viscount presently, between his teeth, and as he spoke64 he made a ringing parade, feinted, beat the ground with his foot to draw off the other's attention, and went in again with a full-length lunge. “Parry that, you damned maitre-d'armes” he roared.
Mr. Caryll answered nothing; he parried; parried again; delivered a riposte whenever the opportunity offered, or whenever his lordship grew too pressing, and it became expedient65 to drive him back; but never once did he stretch out to lunge in his turn. The seconds were so lost in wonder at the beauty of this close play of his that they paid no heed66 to what was taking place in the square about them. They never observed the opening windows and the spectators gathering67 at them—as Wharton had feared. Amongst these, had either of the combatants looked up, he would have seen his own father on the balcony of Stretton House. A moment the earl stood there, Lady Ostermore at his side; then he vanished into the house again, to reappear almost at once in the street, with a couple of footmen hurrying after him.
Meanwhile the combat went on. Once Lord Rotherby had attempted to fall back for a respite68, realizing that he was winded. But Mr. Caryll denied him this, attacking now for the first time, and the rapidity of his play was such that Rotherby opined—the end to be at hand, appreciated to the full his peril69. In a last desperate effort, gathering up what shreds70 of strength remained him, he repulsed71 Mr. Caryll by a vigorous counter attack. He saw an opening, feinted to enlarge it, and drove in quickly, throwing his last ounce of strength into the effort. This time it could not be said to have been parried. Something else happened. His blade, coming foible on forte72 against Mr. Caryll's, was suddenly enveloped73. It was as if a tentacle74 had been thrust out to seize it. For the barest fraction of a second was it held so by Mr. Caryll's sword; then, easily but irresistibly75, it was lifted out of Rotherby's hand, and dropped on the turf a half-yard or so from his lordship's stockinged feet.
A cold sweat of terror broke upon him. He caught his breath with a half-shuddering sob19 of fear, his eyes dilating76 wildly—for Mr. Caryll's point was coming straight as an arrow at his throat. On it came and on, until it was within perhaps three inches of the flesh.
There it was suddenly arrested, and for a long moment it was held there poised77, death itself, menacing and imminent78. And Lord Rotherby, not daring to move, rooted where he stood, looked with fascinated eyes along that shimmering79 blade into two gleaming eyes behind it that seemed to watch him with a solemnity that was grim to the point of mockery.
Time and the world stood still, or were annihilated80 in that moment for the man who waited.
High in the blue overhead a lark81 was pouring out its song; but his lordship heard it not. He heard nothing, he was conscious of nothing but that gleaming sword and those gleaming eyes behind it.
Then a voice—the voice of his antagonist—broke the silence. “Is more needed?” it asked, and without waiting for a reply, Mr. Caryll lowered his blade and drew himself upright. “Let this suffice,” he said. “To take your life would be to deprive you of the means of profiting by this lesson.”
It seemed to Rotherby as if he were awaking from a trance. The world resumed its way. He breathed again, and straightened himself, too, from the arrested attitude of his last lunge. Rage welled up from his black soul; a crimson82 flood swept into his pallid83 cheeks; his eyes rolled and blazed with the fury of the mad.
Mr. Caryll moved away. In that quiet voice of his: “Take up your sword,” he said to the vanquished84, over his shoulder.
Wharton and Gascoigne moved towards him, without words to express the amazement85 that still held Rotherby glared an instant longer without moving. Then, doing as Mr. Caryll had bidden him, he stooped to recover his blade. A moment he held it, looking after his departing adversary; then with swift, silent stealth he sprang to follow. His fell intent was written on his face.
Falgate gasped—a helpless fool—while Mainwaring hurled86 himself forward to prevent the thing he saw impended87. Too late. Even as he flung out his hands to grapple with his lordship, Rotherby's arm drove straight before him and sent his sword through the undefended back of Mr. Caryll.
All that Mr. Caryll realized at first was that he had been struck a blow between the shoulder blades; and then, ere he could turn to inquire into the cause, he was amazed to see some three inches of steel come through his shirt in front. The next instant an exquisite88, burning, searing pain went through and through him as the blade was being withdrawn89. He coughed and swayed, then hurtled sideways into the arms of Major Gascoigne. His senses swam. The turf heaved and rolled as if an earthquake moved it; the houses fronting the square and the trees immediately before him leaped and danced as if suddenly launched into grotesque91 animation92, while about him swirled a wild, incoherent noise of voices, rising and falling, now loud, now silent, and reaching him through a murmuring hum that surged about his ears until it shut out all else and consciousness deserted93 him.
Around him, meanwhile, a wild scene was toward.
His Grace of Wharton had wrenched94 away the sword from Rotherby, and mastered by an effort his own impulse to use it upon the murderer. Captain Mainwaring—Rotherby's own second, a man of quick, fierce passions—utterly unable to control himself, fell upon his lordship and beat him to the ground with his hands, cursing him and heaping abuse upon him with every blow; whilst delicate Mr. Falgate, in the background, sick to the point of faintness, stood dabbing95 his lips with his handkerchief and swearing that he would rot before he allowed himself again to be dragged into an affair of honor.
“Ye damned cutthroat!” swore the militia captain, standing96 over the man he had felled. “D'ye know what'll be the fruits of this? Ye'll swing at Tyburn like the dirty thief y' are. God help me! I'd give a hundred guineas sooner than be mixed in this filthy97 business.”
“'Tis no matter for that now,” said the duke, touching98 him on the shoulder and drawing him away from his lordship. “Get up, Rotherby.”
Heavily, mechanically, Rotherby got to his feet. Now that the fit of rage was over, he was himself all stricken at the thing he had done. He looked at the limp figure on the turf, huddled99 against the knee of Major Gascoigne; looked at the white face, the closed eyes and the stain of blood oozing100 farther and farther across the Holland shirt, and, as white himself as the stricken man, he shuddered101 and his mouth was drawn90 wide with horror.
But pitiful though he looked, he inspired no pity in the Duke of Wharton, who considered him with an eye of unspeakable severity. “If Mr. Caryll dies,” said he coldly, “I shall see to it that you hang, my lord. I'll not rest until I bring you to the gallows102.”
And then, before more could be said, there came a sound of running steps and labored103 breathing, and his grace swore softly to himself as he beheld104 no other than Lord Ostermore advancing rapidly, all out of breath and apoplectic105 of face, a couple of footmen pressing close upon his heels, and, behind these, a score of sightseers who had followed them.
“What's here?” cried the earl, without glancing at his son. “Is he dead? Is he dead?”
Gascoigne, who was busily endeavoring to stanch106 the bleeding, answered without looking up: “It is in God's hands. I think he is very like to die.”
Ostermore swung round upon Rotherby. He had paled suddenly, and his mouth trembled. He raised his clenched107 hand, and it seemed that he was about to strike his son; then he let it fall again. “You villain108!” he panted, breathless from running and from rage. “I saw it! I saw it all. It was murder, and, as God's my life, if Mr. Caryll dies, I shall see to it that you hang—I, your own father.”
Thus assailed109 on every side, some of the cowering110, shrinking manner left the viscount. His antagonism111 to his father spurred him to a prouder carriage. He shrugged112 indifferently. “So be it,” he said. “I have been told that already. I don't greatly care.”
Mainwaring, who had been stooping over Mr. Caryll, and who had perhaps more knowledge of wounds than any present, shook his head ominously113.
“'Twould be dangerous to move him far,” said he. “'Twill increase the hemorrhage.”
“My men shall carry him across to Stretton House,” said Lord Ostermore. “Lend a hand here, you gaping114 oafs.”
The footmen advanced. The crowd, which was growing rapidly and was watching almost in silence, awed115, pressed as close as it dared upon these gentlemen. Mainwaring procured116 a couple of cloaks and improvised117 a stretcher with them. Of this he took one corner himself, Gascoigne another, and the footmen the remaining two. Thus, as gently as might be, they bore the wounded man from the enclosure, through the crowd that had by now assembled in the street, and over the threshold of Stretton House.
A groom118 had been dispatched for a doctor, and his Grace of Wharton had compelled Rotherby to accompany them into his father's house, sternly threatening to hand him over to a constable119 at once if he refused.
Within the cool hall of Stretton House they were met by her ladyship and Mistress Winthrop, both pale, but the eyes of each wearing a vastly different expression.
“What's this?” demanded her ladyship, as they trooped in. “Why do you bring him here?”
“Because, madam,” answered Ostermore in a voice as hard as iron, “it imports to save his life; for if he dies, your son dies as surely—and on the scaffold.”
Her ladyship staggered and flung a hand to her breast. But her recovery was almost immediate. “'Twas a duel—” she began stoutly120.
“'Twas murder,” his lordship corrected, interrupting—“murder, as any of these gentlemen can and will bear witness. Rotherby ran Mr. Caryll through the back after Mr. Caryll had spared his life.”
“'Tis a lie!” screamed her ladyship, her lips ashen121. She turned to Rotherby, who stood there in shirt and breeches and shoeless, as he had fought. “Why don't you say that it is a lie?” she demanded.
Rotherby endeavored to master himself. “Madam,” he said, “here is no place for you.”
“But is it true? Is it true what is being said?”
He half-turned from her, with a despairing movement, and caught the sharp hiss122 of her indrawn breath. Then she swept past him to the side of the wounded man, who had been laid on a settle. “What is his hurt?” she inquired wildly, looking about her. But no one spoke. Tragedy—more far than the tragedy of that man's possible death—was in the air, and struck them all silent. “Will no one answer me?” she insisted. “Is it mortal? Is it?”
His Grace of Wharton turned to her with an unusual gravity in his blue eyes. “We hope not, ma'am,” he said. “But it is as God wills.”
Her limbs seemed to fail her, and she sank down on her knees beside the settle. “We must save him,” she muttered fearfully. “We must save his life. Where is the doctor? He won't die! Oh, he must not die!”
They stood grouped about, looking on in silence, Rotherby in the background. Behind him again, on the topmost of the three steps that led up into the inner hall, stood Mistress Winthrop, white of face, a wild horror in the eyes she riveted123 upon the wounded and unconscious man. She realized that he was like to die. There was an infinite pity in her soul—and, maybe, something more. Her impulse was to go to him; her every instinct urged her. But her reason held her back.
Then, as she looked, she saw with a feeling almost of terror that his eyes were suddenly wide open.
“Wha—what?” came in feeble accents from his lips.
There was a stir about him.
“Never move, Justin,” said Gascoigne, who stood by his head. “You are hurt. Lie still. The doctor has been summoned.”
“Ah!” It was a sigh. The wounded man closed his eyes a moment, then re-opened them. “I remember. I remember,” he said feebly. “It is—it is grave?” he inquired. “It went right through me. I remember!” He surveyed himself. “There's been a deal of blood lost. I am like to die, I take it.”
“Nay, sir, we hope not—we hope not!” It was the countess who spoke.
A wry124 smile twisted his lips. “Your ladyship is very good,” said he. “I had not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I—I have done you a wrong, madam.” He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether he spoke in sincerity125 or in sarcasm126. Then with a startling suddenness he broke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what had occasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could have uttered.
He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to come to a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and his laugh was almost of relief. The riddle127 he could never have solved for himself in a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, was solved and well solved if this were death.
“Where—where is Rotherby?” he inquired presently.
There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the place where Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held no tinge128 of mockery. “You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby,” he startled all by saying. “Let him approach,” he begged.
Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. “I am sorry,” he said thickly, “cursed sorry.”
“There's scarce the need,” said Mr. Caryll. “Lift me up, Tom,” he begged Gascoigne. “There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something that was plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor129 for—for that. It disposes of something I could never have disposed of had I lived.” He turned to the Duke of Wharton. “It was an accident,” he said significantly. “You all saw that it was an accident.”
A denial rang out. “It was no accident!” cried Lord Ostermore, and swore an oath. “We all saw what it was.”
“I'faith, then, your eyes deceived you. It was an accident, I say—and who should know better than I?” He was smiling in that whimsical enigmatic way of his. Smiling still he sank back into Gascoigne's arms.
“You are talking too much,” said the Major.
“What odds? I am not like to talk much longer.”
The door opened to admit a gentleman in black, wearing a grizzle wig and carrying a gold-headed cane130. Men moved aside to allow him to approach Mr. Caryll. The latter, not noticing him, had met at last the gaze of Hortensia's eyes. He continued to smile, but his smile was now changed to wistfulness under that pitiful regard of hers.
“It is better so,” he was saying. “Better so!”
His glance was upon her, and she understood what none other there suspected—that those words were for her alone.
He closed his eyes and swooned again, as the doctor stooped to remove the temporary bandages from his wound.
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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tormented
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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obedience
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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tardiness
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| n.缓慢；迟延；拖拉 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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militia
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| n.民兵，民兵组织 | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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25
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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26
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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27
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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28
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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29
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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30
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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31
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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32
diminutive
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| adj.小巧可爱的，小的 | |
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33
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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34
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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35
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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36
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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37
liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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38
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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39
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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40
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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41
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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42
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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43
withdrawal
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| n.取回，提款；撤退，撤军；收回，撤销 | |
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44
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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45
divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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46
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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47
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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48
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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49
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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50
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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51
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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53
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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54
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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55
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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56
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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57
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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58
plying
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的现在分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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59
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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60
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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61
frustrating
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| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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62
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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63
neutralized
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| v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 )；抵消；中和；使（一个国家）中立化 | |
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64
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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65
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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66
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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67
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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68
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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69
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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70
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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71
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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72
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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73
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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74
tentacle
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| n.触角，触须，触手 | |
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75
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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76
dilating
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| v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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77
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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78
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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79
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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80
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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81
lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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82
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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83
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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84
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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85
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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86
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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87
impended
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| v.进行威胁，即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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89
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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90
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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91
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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92
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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93
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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94
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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95
dabbing
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| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
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96
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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97
filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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98
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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99
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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100
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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101
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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102
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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103
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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104
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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105
apoplectic
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| adj.中风的；愤怒的；n.中风患者 | |
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106
stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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107
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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109
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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110
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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111
antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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112
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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113
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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114
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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115
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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117
improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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118
groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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119
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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120
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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121
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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122
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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123
riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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124
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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125
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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126
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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127
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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128
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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129
debtor
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| n.借方，债务人 | |
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130
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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