Meanwhile he wandered round in the Australian spring. Already he loved it. He loved the country he had railed at so loudly a few months ago. While he “cared” he had to rail at it. But the care once broken inside him it had a deep mystery for him, and a dusky, far-off call that he knew would go on calling for long ages before it got any adequate response, in human beings. From far off, from down long fern-dark avenues there seemed to be the voice of Australia, calling low.
He loved to wander in the bush at evening, when night fell so delicately yet with such soft mystery. Then the sky behind the trees was all soft, rose pink, and the great gum-trees ran up their white limbs into the air like quicksilver, plumed4 at the tips with dark tufts. Like rivulets5 the white boughs6 ran up from the white trunk: or like great nerves, with nerve-like articulations, branching into the dusk. Then he would stand under a tall fern-tree, and look up through the whorl of lace above his head, listening to the birds calling in the evening stillness, the parrots making a chinking noise.
Sitting at the edge of the bush he looked at the settlement and the sea beyond. He had quite forgotten how he used to grumble7 at the haphazard8 throwing of bungalows10 here and there and anywhere: how he used to hate the tin roofs, and the untidiness. It recalled to him the young Australian captain: “Oh, how I liked the rain on the tin roofs of the huts at the war. It reminded me of Australia.”
“And now,” thought Richard to himself, “tin roofs and scattered11 shanties12 will always remind me of Australia. They seem to me beautiful, though it’s a fact they have nothing to do with beauty.”
But, oh, the deep mystery of joy it was to him to sit at the edge of the bush as twilight13 fell, and look down at the township. The bungalows were built mostly on the sides of the slopes. They had no foundations, but stood on brickwork props14, which brought them up to the level. There they stood on the hillsides, on their short legs, with darkness under their floors, the little bungalows, looking as if they weighed nothing. Looking flimsy, made of wood with corrugated15 zinc16 roofs. Some of them were painted dark red, roofs and all, some were painted grey, some were wooden simply. Many had the white-grey zinc roofs, pale and delicate. At the back was always one big water-butt of corrugated iron, a big round tank painted dark-red, the corrugation ribs17 running round, and a jerky, red-painted pipe coming down from the eaves. Sometimes there were two of these tanks: and a thin, not very tidy woman in a big straw hat stooping to the tap at the bottom of the tank. The roof came down low, making a long shade over the wooden verandahs. Nearly always a little loggia at the back, from which the house-door opened. And this little verandah was the woman’s kitchen; there she had a little table with her dirty dishes, which she was going to wash up. And a cat would be trotting18 around, as if it had not an enemy in the world, while from the verandah a parrot called.
The bungalows near the bush edge had odd bits of garden nipped out of the paddocks and carefully railed in: then another little enclosure for the calf19. At the back the earth was scratched, there was a rubbish heap of ashes and tins slipping into the brambles, and very white fowls20 clustering for bed-time. In front of the house, in another bit of garden with wooden palings, two camellia trees full of flowers, one white and one red, like artificial things, but a bit seared by the wind. And at the gate the branching coral trees still flowering flame from their dark, strong-thrusting, up-curving buds.
So, with evening falling. There were green roads laid out in the wild, with but one lost bungalow9 to justify22 them. And a lost horse wildly galloping23 round the corner of this blind road, to quiet down and look around. A belated collier galloping stiffly on his pony24, out of the township, and a woman in a white blouse and black skirt, with two little girls beside her, driving a ramshackle little buggy with a quick-legged little pony, homewards through the trees.
Lights were beginning to glint out: the township was deciding it was night. The bungalows scattered far and wide, on the lower levels. There was a net-work of wide roads, or beginnings of roads. The heart of the township was one tiny bit of street a hundred yards long: Main Street. You knew where it was, as you looked down on the reddish earth and grass and bush, by the rather big roof of pale zinc and a sandy-coloured round gable of the hotel—the biggest building in the place. For the rest, it looked, from above, like an inch of street with tin roofs on either side, fizzling out at once into a wide grass-road with a few bungalows and then the bush. But there was the dark railway, and the little station. And then again the big paddocks rising to the sea, with a ridge25 of coral-trees and a farm-place. Richard could see Coo-ee with its low, red roof, right on the sea. Behind it the rail-fences of the paddocks, and the open grass, and the streets cut out and going nowhere, with an odd bungalow here and there.
So it was all round—a far and wide scattering26 of pale-roofed bungalows at random27 among grassy28, cut-out streets, all along the levels above the sea, but keeping back from the sea, as if there were no sea. Ignoring the great Pacific. There were knolls29 and pieces of blue creek30-hollow, blue of fresh-water in lagoons31 on the yellow sands. Up the knolls perched more bungalows, on very long front legs and no back legs, caves of dark underneath32. And on the sky-line, a ridge of wiry trees with dark plume-tufts at the ends of the wires, and these little loose crystals of different-coloured, sharp-angled bungalows cropping out beneath. All in a pale, clear air, clear and yet far off, as it were visionary.
So the land swooped33 in grassy swoops35, past the railway, steep up to the bush: here and there thick-headed palm trees left behind by the flood of time and the flood of civilisation36 both: bungalows with flame-trees: bare bungalows like packing-cases: an occasional wind-fan for raising water: a round well-pool, perfectly37 round: then the bush, and a little colliery steaming among the trees. And so the great tree-covered swoop34 upwards38 of the tor, to the red fume39 of clouds, red like the flame-flowers, of sunset. In the darkness of trees the strange birds clinking and trilling: the tree-ferns with their knob-scaly40 trunks spreading their marvellous circle of lace overhead against the glow, the gum-trees like white, naked nerves running up their limbs, and the inevitable41 dead gum-trees poking42 stark43 grey limbs into the air. And the thick aboriginal44 dusk settling down.
Richard wandered through the village, homewards. Horses stood motionless in the middle of the road, like ghosts, listening. Or a cow stood as if asleep on the dark footpath45. Then she too wandered off. At night-time always these creatures roaming the dark and semi-dark roads, eating the wayside grass. The motor-cars rushing up the coast road must watch for them. But the night straying cattle were not troubled. They dragged slowly out of the way.
The night in the township was full of the sound of frogs, rattling46, screeching47, whirring, raving48 like a whole fairy factory going at full speed in the marshy49 creek-bottom. A great grey bird, a crane, came down on wide soft wings softly in the marshy place. A cream coloured pony, with a snake-like head stretched out, came cropping up the road, cropping unmoved, though Richard’s feet passed within a few yards of his nose. Richard thought of the snaky Praxiteles horses outside the Quiriline in Rome. Very, very nearly those old, snaky horses were born again here in Australia: or the same vision come back.
People mattered so little. People hardly matter at all. They were there, they were friendly. But they never entered inside one. It is said that man is the chief environment of man. That, for Richard, was not true in Australia. Man was there, but unnoticeable. You said a few words to a neighbour or an acquaintance, but it was merely for the sake of making a sound of some sort. Just a sound. There was nothing really to be said. The vast continent is really void of speech. Only man makes noises to man, from habit. Richard found he never wanted to talk to anybody, never wanted to be with anybody. He had fallen apart out of the human association. And the rest of the people either were the same, or they herded51 together in a promiscuous52 fashion. But this speechless, aimless solitariness53 was in the air. It was natural to the country. The people left you alone. They didn’t follow you with their curiosity and their inquisitiveness54 and their human fellowship. You passed, and they forgot you. You came again, and they hardly saw you. You spoke55, and they were friendly. But they never asked any questions, and they never encroached. They didn’t care. The profound Australian indifference56, which still is not really apathy57. The disintegration58 of the social mankind back to its elements. Rudimentary individuals with no desire of communication. Speeches, just noises. A herding59 together like dumb cattle, a promiscuity60 like slovenly61 animals. Yet the basic indifference under everything.
And with it all, toiling62 on with civilisation. But it felt like a clock that was running down. It had been wound up in Europe, and was running down, running right down, here in Australia. Men were mining, farming, making roads, shouting politics. But all with that basic indifference which dare not acknowledge how indifferent it is, lest it should drop everything and lapse63 into a blank. But a basic indifference, with a spurt64 of excitement over a horse-race, and an occasional joy in a row.
It seemed strange to Somers that Labour should be so insistent65 in Australia—or that Kangaroo should have been so burning. But then he realised that these men were all the time yoked66 to some work, they were all the time in the collar. And the work kept them going a good deal more than they kept the work going. Nothing but the absolute drive of the world’s work kept them going. Without it they would have lapsed67 into the old bushranging recklessness, lapsed into the profound indifference which was basic in them.
But still, they were men, they were healthy, they were full of energy, even if they were indifferent to the aim in front. So they embraced one aim or another, out of need to be going somewhere, doing something more than just backing a horse. Something more than a mere50 day’s work and a gamble. Some smack68 at the old established institution of life, that came from Europe.
There it is, laid all over the world, the heavy established European way of life. Like their huge ponderous69 cathedrals and factories and cities, enormous encumbrances71 of stone and steel and brick, weighing on the surface of the earth. They say Australia is free, and it is. Even the flimsy, foundationless bungalows. Richard railed at the scrappy amorphousness72, till two nights he dreamed he was in Paris, and a third night it was in some other city, of Italy or France. Here he was staying in a big palazzo of a house—and he struggled to get out, and found himself in a high old provincial74 street with old gable houses and dark shadow and himself in the gulf75 between: and at the end of the street a huge, pale-grey bulk of a cathedral, an old Gothic cathedral, huge and massive and grey and beautiful.
But, suddenly, the mass of it made him sick, and the beauty was nauseous to him. So strong a feeling that he woke up. And since that day he had been thankful for the amorphous73 scrappy scattering of foundationless shacks76 and bungalows. Since then he had loved the Australian landscape, with the remote gum-trees running their white nerves into the air, the random streets of flimsy bungalows, all loose from one another, and temporary seeming, the bungalows perched precariously77 on the knolls, like Japanese paper-houses, below the ridge of wire-and-tuft trees.
He had now a horror of vast super-incumbent buildings. They were a nightmare. Even the cathedrals. Huge, huge bulks that are called beauty. Beauty seemed to him like some turgid tumour78. Never again, he felt, did he want to look at London, the horrible weight of it: or at Rome with all the pressure on the hills. Horrible, inert79, man-moulded weight. Heavy as death.
No, no, the flimsy hills of Australia were like a new world, and the frail80 inconspicuousness of the landscape, that was still so clear and clean, clean of all fogginess or confusion: but the frail, aloof81, inconspicuous clarity of the landscape was like a sort of heaven—bungalows, shacks, corrugated iron and all. No wonder Australians love Australia. It is the land that as yet has made no great mistake, humanly. The horrible human mistakes of Europe. And, probably, the even worse human mistakes of America.
“Then why am I going?” he asked himself.
“Wait! Wait!” he answered himself. “You have got to go through the mistakes. You’ve got to go all round the world, and then half way round again, till you get back. Go on, go on, the world is round, and it will bring you back. Draw your ring round the world, the ring of your consciousness. Draw it round until it is complete.”
So he prepared with a quiet heart to depart.
The only person that called at Coo-ee was Jaz.
“You’re leaving us, then?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Rather suddenly at the end.”
“Perhaps. But it’s as well I should go soon if I’m going.”
“You think so? Taken against the place, have you?”
“No—the contrary. If I stay much longer I shall stay altogether.”
“Come quite to like it!” Jaz smiled slowly.
“Yes. I love it, Jaz. I don’t love people. But this place—it goes into my marrow83, and makes me feel drunk. I love Australia.”
“That’s why you leave it, eh?”
“Yes. I’m frightened. What I want to do is to go a bit further back into the bush—near some little township—have a horse and a cow of my own—and—damn everything.”
“I can quite understand the ‘damn everything’ part of it,” laughed Jaz. “You won’t do it, though.”
“I never was so tempted84 in my life. Talk about Eve tempting85 man to a fall: Australia tempts86 me. Retro me—”
Jaz was silent for a few moments.
“I’ll probably repent whatever I do,” replied Somers, “so what’s the odds88. I’ll probably repent bitterly going to America, going back to the world: when I want Australia. I want Australia as a man wants a woman. I fairly tremble with wanting it.”
“Australia?”
“Yes.”
Jaz looked at Somers with his curious, light-grey eyes.
“Then why not stop?” he said seductively.
“Not now. Not now. Some cussedness inside me. I don’t want to give in, you see. Not yet. I don’t want to give in to the place. It’s too strong. It would lure89 me quite away from myself. It would be too easy. It’s too tempting. It’s too big a stride, Jaz.”
Jaz laughed, looking back at Richard’s intense eyes.
“What a man you are, Mr Somers!” he said. “Come and live in Sydney and you won’t find it such a big jump from anywhere else.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to live in Sydney. I’d want to go back in the bush near one of the little townships. It’s like wanting a woman, Jaz. I want it.”
“Then why not do it?”
“I won’t give in, not yet. It’s like giving in to a woman; I won’t give in yet. I’ll come back later.”
Jaz suddenly looked at Richard and smiled maliciously90.
“You won’t give in, Mr Somers, will you? You won’t give in to the women, and Australia’s like a woman to you. You wouldn’t give in to Kangaroo, and he’s dead now. You won’t give in to Labour, or Socialism. Well, now, what will you do? Will you give in to America, do you think?”
“Heaven preserve me—if I’m to speak beforehand.”
“Why, Mr Somers!” laughed Jaz, “seems to me you just go round the world looking for things you’re not going to give in to. You’re as bad as we folk.”
“Oh, well, now—we’d give in to Him if we saw Him,” said Jaz, smiling with an odd winsomeness93 he sometimes had.
“All right. Well I prefer not to see, and yet to give in,” said Richard.
Jaz glanced up at him suspiciously, from under his brows.
“And another thing,” said Richard. “I won’t give up the flag of our real civilised consciousness. I’ll give up the ideals. But not the aware, self-responsible, deep consciousness that we’ve gained. I won’t go back on that, Jaz, though Kangaroo did say I was the enemy of civilisation.”
“You don’t consider you are, then?” asked Jaz, pertinently94.
“The enemy of civilisation? Well, I’m the enemy of this machine-civilisation and this ideal civilisation. But I’m not the enemy of the deep, self-responsible consciousness in man, which is what I mean by civilisation. In that sense of civilisation, I’d fight forever for the flag, and try to carry it on into deeper, darker places. It’s an adventure, Jaz, like any other. And when you realise what you’re doing, it’s perhaps the best adventure.”
Harriet brought the tea-tray on to the verandah.
“It’s quite nice that somebody has come to see us,” she said to Jaz. “There seems such a gap, now Kangaroo is gone, and all he stood for.”
“You feel a gap, do you?” asked Jaz.
“Awful. As if the earth had opened. As for Lovat, he’s absolutely broken-hearted, and such a trial to live with.”
Jaz looked quickly and inquiringly at Somers.
Jaz only looked puzzled.
“Metaphysical!” said Harriet. “You’d think to hear him he was nothing but a tea-pot brewing96 metaphysical tea. As a matter of fact Kangaroo went awfully97 deep with him, and now he’s heart-broken, and that’s why he’s rushing to America. He’s always breaking his heart over something—anything except me. To me he’s a nether98 millstone.”
“Is that so!” said Jaz.
“But one feels awful, you know, Kangaroo dying like that. Lovat likes to show off and be so beastly high and mighty92 about things. But I know how miserable99 he is.”
They were silent for some time, and the talk drifted.
In the newspapers Somers read of a big cyclone100 off the coast of China, which had engulfed101 thousands of Chinese. This cyclone was now travelling south, lashing103 its tail over the New Hebrides, and swooping104 its paws down the thousands of miles of east coast of Australia. The monster was expected to have spent itself by the time it reached Sydney. But it hadn’t—not quite.
Down it came, in a great darkness. The sea began to have a strange yelling sound in its breakers, the black cloud came up like a wall from the sea, everywhere was dark. And the wind broke in volleys from the sea, and the rain poured as if the cyclone were a great bucket of water pouring itself endlessly down.
Richard and Harriet sat in the dark room at Coo-ee, with a big fire, and darkness raging in waters around. It was like the end of the world. The roaring snarl105 of the sea was of such volume, the volleying roar of the wind so great as to create almost a sense of silence in the room. The house was like a small cave under the water. Rain poured in waves over the dark room, and with a heaviness of spume. Though the roof came down so far and deep over the verandahs, yet the water swept in, and gurgled under the doors and in at the windows. Tiles were ripped off the verandah roof with a crash, and water splashed more heavily. For the first day there was nothing to do but to sit by the fire, and occasionally mop up the water at the seaward door. Through the long, low windows you saw only a yellow-livid fume, and over all the boom you heard the snarl of water.
They were quite cut off this day, alone, dark, in the devastation107 of water. The rain had an iciness, too, which seemed to make a shell round the house. The two beings, Harriet and Lovat, kept alone and silent in the shell of a house as in a submarine. They were black inside as out. Harriet particularly was full of a storm of black chagrin108. She had expected so much of Australia. It had been as if all her life she had been waiting to come to Australia. To a new country, to a new, unspoiled country. Oh, she hated the old world so much. London, Paris, Berlin, Rome—they all seemed to her so old, so ponderous with ancient authority and ancient dirt. Ponderous, ancient authority especially, oh, how she hated it. Freed once, she wanted a new freedom, silvery and paradisical in the atmosphere. A land with a new atmosphere, untainted by authority. Silvery, untouched freedom.
And in the first months she had found this in Australia, in the silent, silvery-blue days, and the unbreathed air, and strange, remote forms of tree and creature. She had felt herself free, free, free, for the first time in her life. In the silvery pure air of this undominated continent she could swim like a fish that is just born, alone in a crystal ocean. Woman that she was she exulted109, she delighted. She had loved Coo-ee. And she just could not understand that Richard was so tense, so resistant110.
Then gradually, through the silver glisten111 of the new freedom came a dull, sinister112 vibration113. Sometimes from the interior came a wind that seemed to her evil. Out of the silver paradisical freedom untamed, evil winds could come, cold, like a stone hatchet114 murdering you. The freedom, like everything else, had two sides to it. Sometimes a heavy, reptile115-hostility116 came off the sombre land, something gruesome and infinitely117 repulsive118. It frightened her as a reptile would frighten her if it wound its cold folds around her. For the past month now Australia had been giving her these horrors. It was as if the silvery freedom suddenly turned, and showed the scaly back of a reptile, and the horrible paws.
Out of all her bird-like elation119 at this new-found freedom, freedom for her, the female, suddenly, without warning, dark revulsions struck her. Struck her, it would seem, in her deepest female self, almost in her womb. These revulsions sent her into a frenzy120. She had sudden, mad loathings of Australia. And these made her all the more frenzied121 because of her former great, radiant hopes and her silvery realisations. What, must it all be taken back from her, all this glisten of paradise, this glisten of paradise, this silvery freedom like protoplasm of life? Was it to be revoked122?
There was Richard, that hell-bird, preaching, preaching at her: “Don’t trust it. You can’t have this absolved123 sort of freedom. It’s an illusion. You can’t have this freedom absolved from control. It can’t be done. There is no stability. There will come a reaction and a devastation. Inevitable. You must have deep control from within. You must have a deep, dark weight of authority in your own soul. You must be most carefully, sternly controlled from within. You must be under the hand of the Lord. You can’t escape the dark hand of the Lord, not even in free Australia. You’ll get the devils turning on you if you try too much freedom. It can’t be done. Too much freedom means you absolve124 yourself from the hand of the Lord, and once you’re really absolved you fall a prey125 to devils, devils. You’ll see. All you white females raging for further freedom. Wait, wait till you’ve got it and see how the devils will bite you with unclean, reptile sort of mouths. Wait, you who love Australia and its freedom. Only let me leave you to the freedom, till it bites you with a sort of sewer-mouth, like all these rats. Only let me abandon you to this freedom. Only let me—”
So he had preached at her, like a dog barking, barking senselessly. And oh, how it had annoyed her.
Yet gradually, quite apart from him, it had begun to happen to her. These hateful revulsions, when Australia had turned as it were unclean to her, with an unclean sort of malevolence126. And her revulsions had possessed127 her. Then the death of Kangaroo. And now this blackness, this slew128 of water, this noise of hellish elements.
To Richard it was like being caged in with a sick tiger, to be shut up with Harriet in this watery129 cave of gloom. Like a sullen130, sick tiger, she could hardly get herself to move, the weight of her revulsion was so deep upon her. She loathed131 Australia, with wet, dark repulsion. She was black, sick with chagrin. And she hated that barking white dog of a Richard, with his yap-yap-yapping about control and authority and the hand of the Lord. She had left Europe with her teeth set in hatred132 of Europe’s ancient encumbrance70 of authority and of the withered134, repulsive weight of the Hand of the Lord, that old Jew, upon it. Undying hostility to old Europe, undying hope of the new, free lands. Especially this far Australia.
And now—and now—was the freedom all going to turn into dirty water? All the uncontrolled gentleness and uncontaminated freedom of Australia, was it going to turn and bite her like the ghastly bite of some unclean-mouthed reptile, an iguana135, a great newt? Had it already bitten her?
She was sick with revulsion, she wanted to get out, away to America which is not so sloppy136 and lovey, but hard and greedy and domineering, perhaps, but not mushy-lovey.
These three days of dark wetness, slew, and wind finished her. On the second morning there was an abatement137, and Richard rushed to the post. The boys, barefoot, bare legged in the icy water, were running to school under mackintosh capes138. Down came the rain in a wind suddenly like a great hose-pipe, and Richard got home a running, streaming pillar of water. Home into the dark room and the sulky tiger of Harriet.
The storm went on, black, all day, all night, and the next day the same, inside the house as well as out. Harriet sulked the more, like a frenzied sick tigress. The afternoon of the third day another abatement into light rain, so Richard pulled on thick boots and went out to the shore. His grass was a thin surface stream, and down the low cliffs, one cascade139 stream. The sea was enormous: wave after wave in immediate140 succession, raving yellow and crashing dull into the land. The yeast-spume was piled in hills against the cliffs, among the big rocks, and in swung the raving yellow water, in great dull blows under the land, hoarsely141 surging out of the dim yellow blank of the sea. Harriet looked at it for a few moments, shuddering142 and peering down like a sick tigress in a flood. Then she turned tail and rushed indoors.
Richard tried to walk under the cliffs. But the whole shore was ruined, changed: a whole mass of new rocks, a chaos143 of heaped boulders144, a gurgle of rushing, clayey water, and heaps of collapsed145 earth.
On the fourth day the wind had sunk, the rain was only thin, the dark sky was breaking. Gradually the storm of the sky went down. But not the sea. Its great yellow fore-fringe was a snarl of wave after wave, unceasing. And the shore was a ruin. The beach seemed to have sunk or been swept away, the shore was a catastrophe146 of rocks and boulders. Richard scrambled147 along through the dank wetness to a bit of sand, where seaweed was piled like bushes, and he could more or less walk. But soon he came to a new obstacle. The creek, which formerly149 had sunk at the edge of the beach in a long pool, and left the sloping sand all free and beautiful, had now broken through, levelled the sand, and swept in a kind of snarling150 river to the snarling waves, across the cut-out sand. The fresh-water met the waves with a snarl, and sometimes pushed on into the sea, sometimes was shoved back and heaped up with a rattle151 of angry protest. Waters against waters.
The beach never recovered, during the Somers’ stay, the river never subsided152 into the sand, the sandy foreshore never came back. It was a rocky, boulder-heaped ruin with that stream for an impasse153. Harriet would not go down to the sea any more. The waves still raved154 very high, they would not go back, and they lashed106 with a venomousness to the cliffs, to cut a man off. Richard would wander cold and alone on this inhospitable shore, looking for shells, out of the storm. And all the time the waves would lash102 up, and he would scramble148 out. It seemed to him female and vindictive155. “Beastly water, beastly water, rolling up so high. Beastly water, beastly water, rolling up so high, breaking all the shells just where they lie”—he crooned to himself, crooning a kind of war-croon, malevolent156 against the malevolence of this ocean.
Yet it was August, and spring was come, it was wattle-day in Sydney, the city full of yellow bloom of mimosa. Richard and Harriet went up to the United States Consul157, to the shipping158 office: everything very easy. But he could not bear to be in Sydney any more. He could hear Kangaroo all the time.
It was August, and spring, and hot, hot sun in a blue sky. Only the sea would not, or could not return to its old beauties. Richard preferred to go inland. The wattle-trees and the camellia-trees were full in bloom in the bungalow gardens, birds flew quickly about in the sun, the morning was quick with spring, the afternoon already hot and drowsy159 with summer. Harriet, in her soul, had now left Australia for America, so she could look at this land with new, relieved eyes again. She never more passionately160 identified herself with it as at first.
Richard hired a little two-wheeled trap, called in Australia a sulky, with a little pony, to drive into the bush. Sometimes they had gone in a motor-car, but they both much preferred the little, comfortable sulky. There sat Harriet full and beaming, and the thin Richard beside her, like any Australian couple in a shabby sulky behind a shabby pony, trotting lazily under the gum-trees of the high-road and up the steep, steep, jungle-dense161 climb of the mountain to the pass.
Nothing is lovelier than to drive into the Australian bush in spring, on a clear day: and most days are clear and hot. Up the steep climb the tree-ferns and the cabbage-palms stood dark and unlighted as ever, among the great gums. But once at the top, away from the high-road and the seaface, trotting on the yellow-brown sandy trail through the sunny, thinly scattered trees of the untouched bush, it was heaven. They splashed through a clear, clear stream, and walked up a bank into the nowhere, the pony peacefully marching.
The bush was in bloom, the wattles were out. Wattle, or mimosa, is the national flower of Australia. There are said to be thirty-two species. Richard found only seven as they wandered along. The little, pale, sulphur wattle with a reddish stem sends its lovely sprays so aerial out of the sand of the trail, only a foot or two high, but such a delicate, spring-like thing. The thorny162 wattle with its fuzzy pale balls tangles164 on the banks. Then beautiful heath-plants with small bells, like white heather, stand in tall, straight tufts, and above them the gold sprays of the intensely gold bush mimosa, with here and there, on long, thin stalks like hairs almost, beautiful blue flowers, with gold grains, three-petalled, like reed-flowers, and blue, blue with a touch of Australian darkness. Then comes a hollow, desolate165 bare place with empty greyness and a few dead, charred166 gum-trees, where there has been a bush-fire. At the side of this bare place great flowers, twelve feet high, like sticky dark lilies in bulb-buds at the top of the shaft167, dark, blood-red. Then over another stream, and scattered bush once more, and the last queer, gold red bushes of the bottle-brush tree, like soft-bristly golden bottle-brushes standing168 stiffly up, and the queer black-boys on one black leg with a tuft of dark-green spears, sending up the high stick of a seed-stalk, much taller than a man. And here and there the gold bushes of wattle with their narrow dark leaves.
Richard turned and they plunged169 into the wild grass and strange bushes, following the stream. By the stream the mimosa was all gold, great gold bushes full of spring fire rising over your head, and the scent171 of the Australian spring, and the most ethereal of all golden bloom, the plumy, many-balled wattle, and the utter loneliness, the manlessness, the untouched blue sky overhead, the gaunt, lightless gum-trees rearing a little way off, and sound of strange birds, vivid ones of strange, brilliant birds that flit round. Save for that, and for some weird172 frog-like sound, indescribable, the age-unbroken silence of the Australian bush.
But it is wonderful, out of the sombreness of gum-trees, that seem the same, hoary173 for ever, and that are said to begin to wither133 from the centre the moment they are mature—out of the hollow bush of gum-trees and silent heaths, all at once, in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes174 and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush. And the perfume in all the air that might be heaven, and the unutterable stillness, save for strange bright birds and flocks of parrots, and the motionlessness, save for a stream and butterflies and some small brown bees. Yet a stillness, and a manlessness, and an elation, the bush flowering at the gates of heaven.
Somers and Harriet left the pony and clambered along the stream, past trees of the grey, feathery leaved wattle, most sumptuous175 of all in soft gold in the sky, and bushes of the grey-hard, queer-leaved wattle, on to the thick green of strange trees narrowing into the water. The water slithered rushing over steep rocks. The two scrambled down, and along after the water, to an abrupt176 edge. There the water fell in a great roar down a solid rock, and broke and rushed into a round, dark pool, dark, still, fathomless177, low down in a gruesome dark cup in the bush, with rocks coming up to the trees. In this tarn178 the stream disappeared. There was no outlet179. Rock and bush shut it in. The river just dived into the ground.
It was a dark, frightening place, famous for snakes. Richard hoped the snakes were still sleeping. But there was a horror of them in the air, rising from the tangled180 undergrowth, from under the fallen trees, the gum-trees that crashed down into the great ferns, eaten out by white ants.
In this place already the Christmas bells were blooming, like some great heath with hanging, bright red bells tipped with white. Other more single bell-flowers, a little bit like foxgloves, but stiff and sharp. All the flowers stiff, sharp, like crystals of colour come opaque181 out of the sombre, stiff, bristly bush plants.
Harriet had arm-fulls of bloom, gold plumage of many branches of different wattles, and the white heather, the scarlet182 bells, with the deep-blue reed-blobs. The sulky with all the bloom looked like a corner of paradise. And as they trotted183 home through the bush evening was coming, the gold sun slanting184. But Richard kept jumping out from among the flowers, to plunge170 into the brake for a new flower. And the little pony looked round watching him impatiently and displeased185. But it was a gentle, tolerant, Australian little beast, with untold186 patience. Only Harriet was frightened of the coming dusk.
So at length they were slipping down the steep slopes again, between the dense, creeper-tangled jungle and tree ferns, dark, chilly187. They passed a family moving from nowhere to nowhere, two colts trotting beside the wagon188. And they came out at last at the bottom, to the lost, flickering189 little township, at nightfall.
At home, with all the house full of blossom, but fluffy190 gold wattle-bloom, they sat at tea in the pleasant room, the bright fire burning, eating boiled eggs and toast. And they looked at one another—and Richard uttered the unspoken thought:
“Do you wish you were staying?”
“I—I,” stammered191 Harriet, “if I had three lives, I’d wish to stay. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever known.”
“I know,” he answered, laughing. “If one could live a hundred years. But since one has only a short time—”
They were both silent. The flowers there in the room were like angel-presences, something out of heaven. The bush! The wonderful Australia.
Yet the day came to go: to give up the keys, and leave the lonely, bare Coo-ee to the next comers. Even the sea had gone flowery again at last. And everybody was so simple, so kindly192, at the departure. Harriet felt she would leave behind her forever something of herself, in that Coo-ee home. And he knew that one of his souls would stand forever out on those rocks beyond the jetty, towards Bulli, advanced into the sea, with the dark magic of the tor standing just inland.
The journey to Sydney was so spring-warm and beautiful, in the fresh morning. The bush now and then glowed gold, and there were almond and apricot trees near the little wooden bungalows, and by the railway unknown flowers, magenta193 and yellow and white, among the rocks. The frail, wonderful Australian spring, coming out of all the gummy hardness and sombreness of the bush.
Sydney, and the warm harbour. They crossed over once more in the blue afternoon. Kangaroo dead. Sydney lying on its many-lobed194 blue harbour, in the Australian spring. The many people, all seeming dissolved in the blue air. Revolution—nothingnesses. Nothing could ever matter.
On the last morning Victoria and Jaz’s wife came to see the Somers off. The ship sailed at ten. The sky was all sun, the boat reared her green paint and red funnel195 to the sun. Down below in the dark shadow of the wharf196 stood all those who were to be left behind, saying good-bye, standing down in the shadow under the ship and the wharf, their faces turned up to the passengers who hung over the rail. A whole crowd of people down on the wharf, with white uplifted faces, and one little group of quiet Chinese.
Everybody had bought streamers, rolls of coloured paper ribbon, and now the passengers leaning over the rail of the lower and middle decks tossed the unwinding rolls to their friends below. So this was the last tie, this ribbon of coloured paper. Somers had a yellow and a red one: Victoria held the end of the red streamer, Jaz’s wife the end of the yellow. Harriet had blue and green streamers. And from the side of the ship a whole glittering tangle163 of these colours connecting the departing with the remaining, a criss-cross of brilliant colour that seemed to glitter like a rainbow in the beams of the sun, as it rose higher, shining in between the ship and the wharf shed, touching197 the faces of the many people below.
The gangway was hoisted—the steamer gave long hoots198. Only the criss-crossing web of brilliant streamers went from the hands of the departing to the hands of those who would be left behind. There was a sort of silence: the calling seemed to die out. And already before the cables were cast loose, the gulf seemed to come. Richard held fast to the two streamers, and looked down at the faces of the two women, who held the other ends of his paper threads. He felt a deep pang199 in his heart, leaving Australia, that strange country that a man might love so hopelessly. He felt another heart-string going to break like the streamers, leaving Australia, leaving his own British connection. The darkness that comes over the heart at the moment of departure darkens the eyes too, and the last scene is remote, remote, detached inside a darkness.
So now, when the cables were cast loose, and the ship slowly left the side of the wharf and drew gradually towards the easier waters of the harbour, there was a little gulf of water between the ship and the wharf. The streamers lengthened200 out, they glittered and twinkled across the space almost like music, so many-coloured. And then the engines were going, and the crowd on the wooden quay201 began to follow slowly, slowly, holding the frail streamers carefully, like the ends of a cloud, following slowly down the quay as the ship melted from shadow to the sun beyond.
One by one the streamers broke and fluttered loose and fell bright and dead on the water. The slow crowd, slow as a funeral, was at the end, the far end of the quay, holding the last streamers. But the ship inexorably drifted out, and every coloured strip was broken: the crowd stood alone at the end of the wharf, the side of the vessel202 was fluttering with bright, broken ends.
So, it was time to take out handkerchiefs and wave across space. Few people wept. Somers waved and waved his orange silk kerchief in the blue air. Farewell! Farewell! Farewell Victoria and Jaz’s wife, farewell Australia, farewell Britain and the great Empire. Farewell! Farewell! The last streamers blowing away, like broken attachments203, broken heartstrings. The crowd on the wharf gone tiny in the sun, and melting away as the ship turned.
Richard watched the Observatory204 go by: then the Circular Quay, with all its ferry-wharves, and a Nippon steamer lying at her berth3, and a well-known, big buff and black P. and O. boat at the P. and O. wharf, looking so like India. Then that was gone too, and the Governor’s Palace, and the castellated Conservatorium of Music on its hill, where Richard had first seen Jack—the Palace Gardens, and the blue inlet where the Australian “Fleet” lay comfortably rusting21. Then they drifted across harbour, nearer to the wild-seeming slope, like bush, where the Zoo is. And then they began to wait, to hang round.
There ahead was the open gate of the harbour, the low Heads with the South Lighthouse, and the Pacific beyond, breaking white. On the left was Manly82, where Harriet had lost her yellow scarf. And then the tram going to Narrabeen, where they had first seen Jaz. Behind was the great lobed harbour, so blue, and Sydney rather inconspicuous on the south hills, with its one or two sky-scrapers. And already, the blue water all round, and a thing of the past.
It was midday before they got out of the Heads, out of the harbour into the open sea. The sun was hot, the wind cold. There were not very many passengers in the first class: and nobody who looked possible to the Somers pair. Richard sat in the sun watching the dark coast of Australia, so sombre, receding205. Harriet watched the two seamen206 casting rubbish overboard: such a funny assortment207 of rubbish. The iron sank in the deep, dark water, the wood and straw and cardboard drearily208 floated. The low Sydney Heads were not far off.
Lovat watched till he could see the dark of the mountain, far away, behind Coo-ee. He was almost sure of the shape. He thought of the empty house—the sunny grass in front—the sunny foreshore with its new rocks—the township behind, the dark tor, the bush, the Australian spring. The sea seemed dark and cold and inhospitable.
It was only four days to New Zealand, over a cold, dark, inhospitable sea.
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1
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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2
berths
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| n.（船、列车等的）卧铺( berth的名词复数 )；（船舶的）停泊位或锚位；差事；船台vt.v.停泊( berth的第三人称单数 )；占铺位 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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7
grumble
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| vi.抱怨；咕哝；n.抱怨，牢骚；咕哝，隆隆声 | |
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haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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bungalows
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| n.平房( bungalow的名词复数 )；单层小屋，多于一层的小屋 | |
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11
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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12
shanties
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| n.简陋的小木屋( shanty的名词复数 )；铁皮棚屋；船工号子；船歌 | |
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13
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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14
props
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| 小道具； 支柱( prop的名词复数 )； 支持者； 道具； （橄榄球中的）支柱前锋 | |
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15
corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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16
zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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18
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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19
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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fowls
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| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
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21
rusting
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| n.生锈v.（使）生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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22
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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23
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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24
pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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25
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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26
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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27
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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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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29
knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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31
lagoons
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| n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 )；潟湖；（大湖或江河附近的）小而浅的淡水湖；温泉形成的池塘 | |
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32
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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33
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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35
swoops
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| 猛扑，突然下降( swoop的名词复数 ) | |
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36
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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37
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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38
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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39
fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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40
scaly
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| adj.鱼鳞状的；干燥粗糙的 | |
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41
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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42
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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43
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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44
aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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45
footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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46
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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47
screeching
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| v.发出尖叫声( screech的现在分词 )；发出粗而刺耳的声音；高叫 | |
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48
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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49
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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50
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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51
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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52
promiscuous
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| adj.杂乱的，随便的 | |
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53
solitariness
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| n.隐居；单独 | |
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54
inquisitiveness
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| 好奇，求知欲 | |
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55
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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56
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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57
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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58
disintegration
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| n.分散，解体 | |
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59
herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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60
promiscuity
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| n.混杂，混乱；（男女的）乱交 | |
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61
slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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62
toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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63
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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64
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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65
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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66
yoked
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| 结合（yoke的过去式形式） | |
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67
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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68
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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69
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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70
encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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71
encumbrances
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| n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 )；累赘；妨碍；阻碍 | |
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72
amorphousness
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| 无结构性 | |
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73
amorphous
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| adj.无定形的 | |
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74
provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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75
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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76
shacks
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| n.窝棚，简陋的小屋( shack的名词复数 ) | |
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77
precariously
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| adv.不安全地；危险地；碰机会地；不稳定地 | |
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78
tumour
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| n.(tumor)(肿)瘤，肿块 | |
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79
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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80
frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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81
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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82
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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83
marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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84
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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85
tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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86
tempts
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| v.引诱或怂恿（某人）干不正当的事( tempt的第三人称单数 )；使想要 | |
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87
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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88
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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89
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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90
maliciously
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| adv.有敌意地 | |
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91
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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92
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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93
winsomeness
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94
pertinently
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| 适切地 | |
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95
wryly
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| adv. 挖苦地，嘲弄地 | |
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96
brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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97
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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98
nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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99
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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100
cyclone
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| n.旋风，龙卷风 | |
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101
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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103
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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104
swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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105
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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106
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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107
devastation
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| n.毁坏；荒废；极度震惊或悲伤 | |
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108
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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109
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
resistant
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| adj.(to)抵抗的，有抵抗力的 | |
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111
glisten
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| vi.（光洁或湿润表面等）闪闪发光，闪闪发亮 | |
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112
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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113
vibration
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| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
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114
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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115
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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116
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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117
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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118
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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119
elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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120
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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121
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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122
revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
absolved
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的过去式和过去分词 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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124
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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125
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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126
malevolence
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| n.恶意，狠毒 | |
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127
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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128
slew
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| v.（使）旋转；n.大量，许多 | |
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129
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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130
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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131
loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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132
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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133
wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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134
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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135
iguana
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| n.美洲大蜥蜴，鬣鳞蜥 | |
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136
sloppy
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| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
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137
abatement
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| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
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138
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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139
cascade
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| n.小瀑布，喷流；层叠；vi.成瀑布落下 | |
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140
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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141
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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142
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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143
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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144
boulders
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| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
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145
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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146
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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147
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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148
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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149
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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150
snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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151
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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152
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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153
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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154
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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155
vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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156
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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157
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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158
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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159
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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160
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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161
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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162
thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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163
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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164
tangles
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| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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165
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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166
charred
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| v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式)；烧焦 | |
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167
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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168
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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169
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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170
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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171
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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172
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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173
hoary
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| adj.古老的；鬓发斑白的 | |
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174
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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175
sumptuous
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| adj.豪华的，奢侈的，华丽的 | |
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176
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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177
fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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178
tarn
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| n.山中的小湖或小潭 | |
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179
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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180
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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181
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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182
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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183
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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184
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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185
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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186
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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187
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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188
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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189
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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190
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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191
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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192
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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193
magenta
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| n..紫红色（的染料）；adj.紫红色的 | |
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194
lobed
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| adj.浅裂的，叶状的 | |
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195
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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196
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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197
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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198
hoots
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| 咄，啐 | |
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199
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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200
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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201
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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202
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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203
attachments
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| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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204
observatory
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| n.天文台，气象台，瞭望台，观测台 | |
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205
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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206
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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207
assortment
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| n.分类，各色俱备之物，聚集 | |
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208
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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