Peter Stock stared long into the faint film of smoke, until the launch bearing Charter ashore was lost in the shipping2. The pale, winding3 sheet was unwrapped from the beauty of morning. There was an edging of rose and gold on the far dim hills. His eyes smarted from weariness, but his mind, like an automatic thing, swept around the great circle—from the ship to the city, to the plantation4-house on the Morne and back to the ship again. He was sick of the shore, disgusted with people who would listen to M. Mondet and not to him. Miss Wyndam had refused him so often, that he was half afraid Charter would not be successful, but he was willing to wait two hours longer, for he liked the young woman immensely, liked her breeding and her brain.... He joined Laird, his first officer, on the bridge. The latter was scrutinizing5 through the glass a blotch6 of smoke on the city-front.
"What do you make of it, sir?" Laird asked.
The lenses brought to the owner a nucleus7 of red in the black bank. The rest of Saint Pierre was a gray, doll-settlement, set in the shelter of little gray hills. He could see the riven and castellated crest8 of Pelée weaving his black ribbon. It was all small, silent, and unearthly.
"That's a fire on the water-front," he said.
"That's what I made of it, sir," Laird responded.
Shortly afterward9 the trumpetings of the Monster began. The harbor grew yellowish-black. The shore crawled deeper into the shroud10, and was lost altogether. The water took on a foul11 look, as if the bed of the sea were churned with some beastly passion. The anchor-chain grew taught, mysteriously strained, and banged a tattoo12 against its steel-bound eye. Blue Peter drooping13 at the foremast, livened suddenly into a spasm14 of writhing15, like a hooked lizard16. The black, quivering columns of smoke from the funnels17 were fanned down upon the deck, adding soot18 to the white smear19 from the volcano.
"Better get the natives below—squall coming!" Peter Stock said, in a low tone to Laird, and noted20 upon the quiet, serious face of this officer, as he obeyed, an expression quite new. It was the look of a man who sees the end, and does not wince21.
The women wailed22, as the sailors hurried them below and sealed the ways after them. A deep-sea language passed over the ship. There were running feet, bells below, muffled23 cries from the native-women, quick oaths from the sailors; and then, Peter Stock felt the iron-fingers of fear about his heart—not for himself and his ship eight miles at sea, but for his good young friend and for the woman who had refused to come.
A hot, fetid breath charged the air. The ship rose and settled like a feather in a breeze; in a queer light way, as though its element were heavily charged with air, the water danced, alive with the yeast24 of worlds. The disordered sky intoned violence. Pelée had set the foundations to trembling. A step upon the bridge-ladder caused the American to turn with a start. Father Fontanel was coming up.
"Oh, this won't do at all," Peter Stock cried in French. "We're going to catch hell up here, and you don't belong."
He dashed down the ladder, and led the old man swiftly back to the cabin, where he rushed to the ports and screwed them tight with lightning fingers, led the priest to a chair and locked it in its socket25. Father Fontanel spoke26 for the first time.
"It's very good of you," he said dully, "but what of my people?"
Stock did not answer, but rushed forth27. Six feet from the cabin-door, he met the fiery28 van of the cataclysm29, and found strength to battle his way back into the cabin.... From out the shoreward darkness thundered vibrations30 which rendered soundless all that had passed before. Comets flashed by the port-holes. The Saragossa shuddered31 and fell to her starboard side.
Eight bells had just sounded when the great thunder rocked over the gray-black harbor, and the molten vitals of the Monster, wrapped in a black cloud, filled the heavens, gathered and plunged32 down upon the city and the sea. As for the ship, eight miles from the shore and twelve miles from the craters33, she seemed to have fallen from a habitable planet into the firemist of an unfinished world. She heeled over like a biscuit-tin, dipping her bridge and gunwales. She was deluged34 by blasts of steam and molten stone. Her anchor-chain gave way, and, burning in a dozen places, she was sucked inshore.
Laird was on the bridge. Plass, the second officer, on his way to the bridge, to relieve or assist Laird as the bell struck, was felled at the door of the chart-room. A sailor trying to drag the body of Plass to shelter, was overpowered by the blizzard35 of steam, gas, and molten stone, falling across the body of his officer. The ship was rolling like a runaway-buoy.
Peter Stock had been hurled36 across the cabin, but clutched the chair in which the priest was sitting, and clung to an arm of it, pinning the other to his seat. Several moments may have passed before he regained37 his feet. Though badly burned, he felt pain only in his throat and lungs, from that awful, outer breath as he regained the cabin. Firebrands still screamed into the sea outside, but the Saragossa was steadying a trifle, and vague day returned. Stock was first to reach the deck, the woodwork of which was burning everywhere. He tried to shout, but his throat was closed by the hot dust. The body of a man was hanging over the railing of the bridge. It was Laird, with his face burned away. There were others fallen.
The shock of his burns and the terrible outer heat was beginning to overpower the commander when Pugh, the third officer, untouched by fire, appeared from below. In a horrid38, tongueless way, Stock fired the other to act, and staggered back into the cabin. Pugh shrieked39 up the hands, and set to the fires and the ship's course. Out of two officers and three sailors on deck when Pelée struck, none had lived. Peter Stock owed his life to the mute and momentary40 appearance of Father Fontanel.
The screaming of the native-women reached his ears from the hold. Father Fontanel stared at him with the most pitiful eyes ever seen in child or woman. Black clouds were rolling out to sea. Deep thunder of a righteous source answered Pelée's lamentations. The sailors were fighting fire and carrying the dead. The thin shaken voice of Pugh came from the bridge. The engines were throbbing41. Macready, Stock's personal servant, entered with a blast of heat.
"Thank God, you're alive, sir!" he said, with the little roll of Ireland on his tongue. "I was below, where better men were not.... Eight miles at sea—the long-armed divil av a mountain—what must the infightin' have been!"
Peter Stock beckoned42 him close and called huskily for lint43 and oils. Macready was back in a moment from the store-room, removed the cracked and twisted boots; cleansed44 the ashes from the face and ears of his chief; administered stimulant45 and talked incessantly46.
"It's rainin' evenchooalities out.... Ha, thim burns is not so bad, though your shoes were pretty thin, an' the deck's smeared47 with red-hot paste. It's no bit of a geyser in a dirt-pile, sure, can tell Misther Stock whin to come and whin to go."
The cabin filled with the odor of burnt flesh as he stripped the coat from Stock's shoulder, where an incandescent48 pebble49 had fallen and burned through the cloth. Ointments50 and bandages were applied51 before the owner said:
"We must be getting pretty close in the harbor?"
This corked52 Macready's effervescence. Pugh had been putting the Saragossa out to sea, since he assumed control. It hadn't occurred to the little Irishman that Mr. Stock would put back into the harbor of an island freshly-exploded.
"I dunno, sir. It's hard to see for the rain."
"Go to the door and find out".
The rain fell in sheets. Big seas were driving past, and the steady beat of the engines was audible. There was no smoke, no familiar shadow of hills, but a leaden tumult53 of sky, and the rollers of open sea beaten by a cloudburst. The commander did not need to be told. It all came back to him—Laird's body hanging over the railing of the bridge; Plass down; Pugh, a new man, in command.
"Up to the bridge, Macready, and tell Pugh for me not to be in such a damned hurry—running away from a stricken town. Tell him to put back in the roadstead where we belong."
Macready was gone several moments, and reported, "Pugh says we're short-handed; that the ship's badly-charred, but worth savin'; in short, sir, that he's not takin' orders from no valet—meanin' me."
Nature was righting herself in the brain of the American, but the problems of time and space still were mountains to him. Macready saw the gray eye harden, and knew what the next words would be before they were spoken.
"Bring Pugh here!"
It was rather a sweet duty for Macready, whose colors had been lowered by the untried officer. The latter was in a funk, if ever a seaman54 had such a seizure55. Pugh gave an order to the man at the wheel and followed the Irishman below, where he encountered the gray eye, and felt Macready behind him at the door.
"Turn back to harbor at once—full speed!"
Pugh hesitated, his small black eyes burning with terror.
"Turn back, I say! Get to hell out of here!"
"But a firefly couldn't live in there, sir——"
"Call two sailors, Macready!" Stock commanded, and when they came, added, "Put him in irons, you men!... Macready, help me to the bridge."
It was after eleven when the Saragossa regained the harbor. The terrific cloudburst had spent itself. Out from the land rolled an unctuous56 smudge, which bore suggestions of the heinous57 impartiality58 of a great conflagration59. The harbor was cluttered60 with wreckage61, a doom62 picture for the eyes of the seaman. Dimly, fitfully, through the pall63, they began to see the ghosts of the shipping—black hulls64 without helm or hope. The Saragossa vented65 a deep-toned roar, but no answer was returned, save a wailing66 echo—not a voice from the wreckage, not even the scream of a gull67. A sailor heaved the lead, and the scathed68 steamer bore into the rising heat.
Ahead was emptiness. Peter Stock, reclining upon the bridge, and suffering martyrdoms from his burns, gave up his last hope that the guns of Pelée had been turned straight seaward, sparing the city or a portion of it. Rough winds tunnelling through the smoke revealed a hint of hills shorn of Saint Pierre. A cry was wrung69 from the American's breast, and Macready hastened to his side with a glass of spirits.
"I want a boat made ready—food, medicines, bandages, two or three hundred pounds of ice covered with blankets and a tarpaulin," Stock said. "You are to take a couple of men and get in there. Get the steward70 started fitting the boat, and see that the natives are kept a bit quieter. Make 'em see the other side—if they hadn't come aboard."
"Mother av God," Macready muttered as he went about these affairs. "I could bake a potatie here, sure, in the holla av my hand. What, thin, must it be in that pit of destruction?" He feared Pelée less, however, than the gray eye, and the fate of Pugh.
The launch had not returned from taking Charter ashore, so one of the life-boats was put into commission. The German, Ernst, and another sailor of Macready's choice, were shortly ready to set out.
"You know why I'm not with you, men," the commander told them at the last moment. "It isn't that I couldn't stand it in the boat, but there's a trip ashore for you to make, and there's no walking for me on these puff-balls for weeks to come. Macready, you know Mr. Charter. He had time to reach the Palms before hell broke loose. I want you to go there and bring him back alive—and a woman who'll be with him! Also report to me regarding conditions in the city. That's all. Lower away."
A half-hour later, the little boat was forced to return to the ship. The sailor was whimpering at the oars71; the lips of Ernst were twisted in agony; while Macready was silent, sign enough of his failing endurance. Human vitality72 could not withstand the withering73 draughts74 of heat. At noon, another amazing downpour of rain came to the aid of Peter Stock who, granting that the little party had encountered conditions which flesh could not conquer, had, nevertheless, been chafing75 furiously. At two in the afternoon, a second start was made.
Deeper and deeper in toward the gray low beach the little boat was pulled, its occupants the first to look upon the heaped and over-running measure of Saint Pierre's destruction. The three took turns at the oars. Fear and suffering brought out a strange feminine quality in the sailor, not of cowardice76; rather he seemed beset78 by visionary terrors. Rare running-mates were Macready and Ernst, odd as two white men can be, but matched to a hair in courage. The German bent79 to his work, a grim stolid80 mechanism81. Macready jerked at the oars, and found breath and energy remaining to assail82 the world, the flesh and the devil, which was Pugh, with his barbed and invariably glib83 tongue. How many times the blue eyes of the German rolled back under the lids, and his grip relaxed upon the oars; how many times the whipping tongue of Macready mumbled84, forgetting its object, while his senses reeled against the burning walls of his brain; how many times the sailor hoarsely85 commanded them to look through the fog for figures which alone he saw—only God and these knew. But the little boat held its prow86 to the desolate87 shore.
They gained the Sugar Landing at last, or the place where it had been, and strange sounds came from the lips of Ernst, as he pointed88 to the hulk of the Saragossa's launch, burned to the water-line. It had been in his care steadily89 until its last trip. Gray-covered heaps were sprawled90 upon the shore, some half-covered by the incoming tide, others entirely91 awash. Pelée had brought down the city; and the fire-tiger had rushed in at the kill. He was hissing92 and crunching93 still, under the ruins. The sailor moaned and covered his face.
"There's nothing alive!" he repeated with dreadful stress.
"What else would you look for—here at the very fut av the mountain?" Macready demanded. "Wait till we get over the hill, and you'll hear the birds singin' an' the naygurs laughin' in the fields an' wonderin' why the milkman don't come."
The market-place near the shore was filled with the stones from the surrounding buildings, hurled there as dice77 from a box. Smoke and steam oozed94 from every ruin. The silence was awful as the sight of death. The streets of the city were effaced95. Saint Pierre had been felled and altered, as the Sioux women once altered the corpses96 of the slain97 whites. There was no discernible way up the Morne. Breathing piles of debris98 barred every passage. Under one of these, a clock suddenly struck three—an irreverent survival carrying on its shocking business beneath the collapsed99 walls of a burned and beaten city, frightening them hideously100. It would have been impossible to traverse Rue101 Victor Hugo had the way been clear, since a hundred feet from the shore or less, they encountered a zone of unendurable heat.
"I could die happy holdin' Pugh here," Macready gasped102. "Do you think hell is worse than this, Ernst, barrin' the effrontery103 of the question? Ha—don't step there!"
He yanked the German away from a puddle104 of uncongealed stuff, hot as running metal.... The sailor screamed. He had stepped upon what seemed to be an ash-covered stone. It was soft, springy, and vented a wheezy sigh. Rain and rock-dust had smeared all things alike in this gray roasting shambles105.
"Won't somebody say something?" the sailor cried in a momentary silence.
"It looks like rain, ma'm," Macready offered.
They had been forced back into the boat, and were skirting the shore around by the Morne. Saint Pierre had rushed to the sea—at the last. The volcano had found the women with the children, as all manner of visitations find them—and the men a little apart. Pelée had not faltered106. There was nothing to do by the way, no lips to moisten, no voice of pain to hush107, no dying thing to ease. There was not an insect-murmur in the air, nor a crawling thing upon the beach, not a moving wing in the hot, gray sky—a necropolis, shore of death absolute.
They climbed the cliffs to the north of the Palms, glanced down through the smoke at the city—sunken like a toothless mouth. Even the Morne was a husk divested108 of its fruit. Pelée had cut the cane109-fields, sucked the juices and left the blasted stalks in his paste. The old plantation-house pushed forth no shadow of an outline. It might be felled or lost in the smoky distance. The nearer landmarks110 were gone—homes that had brightened the heights in their day, whose windows had flashed the rays of the afternoon sun as it rode down oversea—levelled like the fields of cane. Pelée had swept far and left only his shroud, and the heaps upon the way, to show that the old sea-road, so white, so beautiful, had been the haunt of man. The mangoes had lost their vesture; the palms were gnarled and naked fingers pointing to the pitiless sky.
Macready had known this highway in the mornings, when joy was not dead, when the songs of the toilers and the laughter of children glorified111 the fields; in the white moonlight, when the sea-winds met and mingled112 with the spice from tropic hills, and the fragrance113 from the jasmine and rose-gardens.... He stared ahead now, wetting his puffed114 and tortured lips. They had passed the radius115 of terrific heat, but he was thinking of the waiting gray eye, when he returned without the man and the woman.
"It'll be back to the bunkers for Dinny," he muttered.... "Ernst, ye goat, you're intertainin', you're loquenchus."
They stepped forward swiftly now. There was not a hope that the mountain had shown mercy at the journey's end.... They would find whom they sought down like the others, and the great house about them. Still, there was a vague God to whom Macready had prayed once or twice in his life—a God who had the power to strike blasphemers dead, to still tempests, light volcanic116 fuses and fell Babylons. To this God he muttered a prayer now....
The ruins of the plantation house wavered forth from the fog. The sailor plucked at Macready's sleeve, and Ernst mumbled thickly that they might as well get back aboard.... But the Irishman stood forth from them; and in that smoky gloom, desolate as the first day, before Light was turned upon the Formless Void, bayed the names of Charter and the woman.
Then the answer:
Macready made a mental appointment with his God, and yelled presently: "Didn't I tell you 'twould take more than the sphit of a mountain to singe118 the hair of him?... Are you hurted, sir?"
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1
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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2
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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plantation
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| n.种植园，大农场 | |
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scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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7
nucleus
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| n.核，核心，原子核 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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9
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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11
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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tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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13
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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funnels
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| 漏斗( funnel的名词复数 )； （轮船，火车等的）烟囱 | |
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soot
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| n.煤烟，烟尘；vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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yeast
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| n.酵母；酵母片；泡沫；v.发酵；起泡沫 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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cataclysm
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| n.洪水，剧变，大灾难 | |
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vibrations
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| n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 )；震动；感受；（偏离平衡位置的）一次性往复振动 | |
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31
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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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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craters
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| n.火山口( crater的名词复数 )；弹坑等 | |
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deluged
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| v.使淹没( deluge的过去式和过去分词 )；淹没；被洪水般涌来的事物所淹没；穷于应付 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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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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regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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41
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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42
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
lint
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| n.线头；绷带用麻布，皮棉 | |
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44
cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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46
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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47
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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48
incandescent
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| adj.遇热发光的， 白炽的，感情强烈的 | |
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49
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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50
ointments
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| n.软膏( ointment的名词复数 )；扫兴的人；煞风景的事物；药膏 | |
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51
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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52
corked
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| adj.带木塞气味的，塞着瓶塞的v.用瓶塞塞住( cork的过去式 ) | |
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53
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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54
seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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55
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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56
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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57
heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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58
impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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59
conflagration
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| n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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60
cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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61
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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62
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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63
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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hulls
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| 船体( hull的名词复数 )； 船身； 外壳； 豆荚 | |
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65
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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67
gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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68
scathed
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| v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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70
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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71
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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72
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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73
withering
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| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
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74
draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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75
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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76
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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77
dice
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| n.骰子；vt.把（食物）切成小方块，冒险 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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79
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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80
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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81
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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82
assail
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| v.猛烈攻击，抨击，痛斥 | |
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83
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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84
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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86
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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87
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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88
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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89
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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90
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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92
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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crunching
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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96
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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97
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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98
debris
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| n.瓦砾堆，废墟，碎片 | |
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99
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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100
hideously
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| adv.可怕地，非常讨厌地 | |
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101
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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102
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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103
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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104
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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105
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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106
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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107
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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108
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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109
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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110
landmarks
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| n.陆标( landmark的名词复数 )；目标；（标志重要阶段的）里程碑 ~ (in sth)；有历史意义的建筑物（或遗址） | |
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111
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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112
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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113
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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114
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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115
radius
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| n.半径，半径范围；有效航程，范围，界限 | |
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116
volcanic
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| adj.火山的；象火山的；由火山引起的 | |
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117
cistern
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| n.贮水池 | |
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118
singe
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| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
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