When we went to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two,
Ridin’, ridin’, ridin’, two an’ two,
Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra,
All the way to Kandahar, ridin’ two an’ two.
“I’m not angry with the British public, but I wish we had a few thousand of them scattered4 among these rooks. They wouldn’t be in such a hurry to get at their morning papers then. Can’t you imagine the regulation householder—Lover of Justice, Constant Reader, Paterfamilias, and all that lot—frizzling on hot gravel5?”
“With a blue veil over his head, and his clothes in strips. Has any man here a needle? I’ve got a piece of sugar-sack.”
“I’ll lend you a packing-needle for six square inches of it then. Both my knees are worn through.”
“Why not six square acres, while you’re about it? But lend me the needle, and I’ll see what I can do with the selvage. I don’t think there’s enough to protect my royal body from the cold blast as it is. What are you doing with that everlasting6 sketch7-book of yours, Dick?”
“Study of our Special Correspondent repairing his wardrobe,” said Dick, gravely, as the other man kicked off a pair of sorely worn riding-breeches and began to fit a square of coarse canvas over the most obvious open space. He grunted8 disconsolately9 as the vastness of the void developed itself.
“Sugar-bags, indeed! Hi! you pilot man there! lend me all the sails for that whale-boat.”
A fez-crowned head bobbed up in the stern-sheets, divided itself into exact halves with one flashing grin, and bobbed down again. The man of the tattered10 breeches, clad only in a Norfolk jacket and a gray flannel11 shirt, went on with his clumsy sewing, while Dick chuckled12 over the sketch.
Some twenty whale-boats were nuzzling a sand-bank which was dotted with English soldiery of half a dozen corps13, bathing or washing their clothes. A heap of boat-rollers, commissariat-boxes, sugar-bags, and flour- and small-arm-ammunition-cases showed where one of the whale-boats had been compelled to unload hastily; and a regimental carpenter was swearing aloud as he tried, on a wholly insufficient14 allowance of white lead, to plaster up the sun-parched gaping15 seams of the boat herself.
“First the bloomin’ rudder snaps,” said he to the world in general; “then the mast goes; an’ then, s’ “help me, when she can’t do nothin’ else, she opens ’erself out like a cock-eyes Chinese lotus.”
“Exactly the case with my breeches, whoever you are,” said the tailor, without looking up. “Dick, I wonder when I shall see a decent shop again.”
There was no answer, save the incessant16 angry murmur17 of the Nile as it raced round a basalt-walled bend and foamed18 across a rock-ridge half a mile upstream. It was as though the brown weight of the river would drive the white men back to their own country. The indescribable scent19 of Nile mud in the air told that the stream was falling and the next few miles would be no light thing for the whale-boats to overpass20. The desert ran down almost to the banks, where, among gray, red, and black hillocks, a camel-corps was encamped. No man dared even for a day lose touch of the slow-moving boats; there had been no fighting for weeks past, and throughout all that time the Nile had never spared them. Rapid had followed rapid, rock rock, and island-group island-group, till the rank and file had long since lost all count of direction and very nearly of time. They were moving somewhere, they did not know why, to do something, they did not know what. Before them lay the Nile, and at the other end of it was one Gordon, fighting for the dear life, in a town called Khartoum. There were columns of British troops in the desert, or in one of the many deserts; there were yet more columns waiting to embark21 on the river; there were fresh drafts waiting at Assioot and Assuan; there were lies and rumours22 running over the face of the hopeless land from Suakin to the Sixth Cataract23, and men supposed generally that there must be some one in authority to direct the general scheme of the many movements. The duty of that particular river-column was to keep the whale-boats afloat in the water, to avoid trampling24 on the villagers’ crops when the gangs “tracked’ the boats with lines thrown from midstream, to get as much sleep and food as was possible, and, above all, to press on without delay in the teeth of the churning Nile.
With the soldiers sweated and toiled25 the correspondents of the newspapers, and they were almost as ignorant as their companions. But it was above all things necessary that England at breakfast should be amused and thrilled and interested, whether Gordon lived or died, or half the British army went to pieces in the sands. The Soudan campaign was a picturesque26 one, and lent itself to vivid word-painting. Now and again a “Special’ managed to get slain,—which was not altogether a disadvantage to the paper that employed him,—and more often the hand-to-hand nature of the fighting allowed of miraculous27 escapes which were worth telegraphing home at eighteenpence the word. There were many correspondents with many corps and columns,—from the veterans who had followed on the heels of the cavalry28 that occupied Cairo in ’82, what time Arabi Pasha called himself king, who had seen the first miserable29 work round Suakin when the sentries30 were cut up nightly and the scrub swarmed31 with spears, to youngsters jerked into the business at the end of a telegraph-wire to take the places of their betters killed or invalided32.
Among the seniors—those who knew every shift and change in the perplexing postal33 arrangements, the value of the seediest, weediest Egyptian garron offered for sale in Cairo or Alexandria, who could talk a telegraph-clerk into amiability34 and soothe35 the ruffled36 vanity of a newly appointed staff-officer when press regulations became burdensome—was the man in the flannel shirt, the black-browed Torpenhow. He represented the Central Southern Syndicate in the campaign, as he had represented it in the Egyptian war, and elsewhere. The syndicate did not concern itself greatly with criticisms of attack and the like. It supplied the masses, and all it demanded was picturesqueness38 and abundance of detail; for there is more joy in England over a soldier who insubordinately steps out of square to rescue a comrade than over twenty generals slaving even to baldness at the gross details of transport and commissariat.
He had met at Suakin a young man, sitting on the edge of a recently abandoned redoubt about the size of a hat-box, sketching39 a clump40 of shell-torn bodies on the gravel plain.
“What are you for?” said Torpenhow. The greeting of the correspondent is that of the commercial traveller on the road.
“My own hand,” said the young man, without looking up. “Have you any tobacco?”
Torpenhow waited till the sketch was finished, and when he had looked at it said, “What’s your business here?”
“Nothing; there was a row, so I came. I’m supposed to be doing something down at the painting-slips among the boats, or else I’m in charge of the condenser41 on one of the water-ships. I’ve forgotten which.”
“You’ve cheek enough to build a redoubt with,” said Torpenhow, and took stock of the new acquaintance. “Do you always draw like that?”
The young man produced more sketches42. “Row on a Chinese pig-boat,” said he, sententiously, showing them one after another.—“Chief mate dirked by a comprador.—Junk ashore43 off Hakodate.—Somali muleteer being flogged.—Star-shelled bursting over camp at Berbera.—Slave-dhow being chased round Tajurrah Bah.—Soldier lying dead in the moonlight outside Suakin.—throat cut by Fuzzies.”
“H’m!” said Torpenhow, “can’t say I care for Verestchagin-and-water myself, but there’s no accounting44 for tastes. Doing anything now, are you?”
“No. I’m amusing myself here.”
Torpenhow looked at the aching desolation of the place. “Faith, you’ve queer notions of amusement. Got any money?”
“Enough to go on with. Look here: do you want me to do war-work?”
“I don’t. My syndicate may, though. You can draw more than a little, and I don’t suppose you care much what you get, do you?”
“Not this time. I want my chance first.”
Torpenhow looked at the sketches again, and nodded. “Yes, you’re right to take your first chance when you can get it.”
He rode away swiftly through the Gate of the Two War-Ships, rattled45 across the causeway into the town, and wired to his syndicate, “Got man here, picture-work. Good and cheap. Shall I arrange? Will do letterpress with sketches.”
The man on the redoubt sat swinging his legs and murmuring, “I knew the chance would come, sooner or later. By Gad46, they’ll have to sweat for it if I come through this business alive!”
In the evening Torpenhow was able to announce to his friend that the Central Southern Agency was willing to take him on trial, paying expenses for three months. “And, by the way, what’s your name?” said Torpenhow.
“Heldar. Do they give me a free hand?”
“They’ve taken you on chance. You must justify47 the choice. You’d better stick to me. I’m going up-country with a column, and I’ll do what I can for you. Give me some of your sketches taken here, and I’ll send ’em along.” To himself he said, “That’s the best bargain the Central southern has ever made; and they got me cheaply enough.”
So it came to pass that, after some purchase of horse-flesh and arrangements financial and political, Dick was made free of the New and Honourable48 Fraternity of war correspondents, who all possess the inalienable right of doing as much work as they can and getting as much for it as Providence49 and their owners shall please. To these things are added in time, if the brother be worthy50, the power of glib51 speech that neither man nor woman can resist when a meal or a bed is in question, the eye of a horse-cope, the skill of a cook, the constitution of a bullock, the digestion52 of an ostrich53, and an infinite adaptability54 to all circumstances. But many die before they attain55 to this degree, and the past-masters in the craft appear for the most part in dress-clothes when they are in England, and thus their glory is hidden from the multitude.
Dick followed Torpenhow wherever the latter’s fancy chose to lead him, and between the two they managed to accomplish some work that almost satisfied themselves. It was not an easy life in any way, and under its influence the two were drawn56 very closely together, for they ate from the same dish, they shared the same water-bottle, and, most binding57 tie of all, their mails went off together. It was Dick who managed to make gloriously drunk a telegraph-clerk in a palm hut far beyond the Second Cataract, and, while the man lay in bliss58 on the floor, possessed59 himself of some laboriously60 acquired exclusive information, forwarded by a confiding61 correspondent of an opposition62 syndicate, made a careful duplicate of the matter, and brought the result to Torpenhow, who said that all was fair in love or war correspondence, and built an excellent descriptive article from his rival’s riotous63 waste of words. It was Torpenhow who—but the tale of their adventures, together and apart, from Philae to the waste wilderness64 of Herawi and Muella, would fill many books. They had been penned into a square side by side, in deadly fear of being shot by over-excited soldiers; they had fought with baggage-camels in the chill dawn; they had jogged along in silence under blinding sun on indefatigable65 little Egyptian horses; and they had floundered on the shallows of the Nile when the whale-boat in which they had found a berth66 chose to hit a hidden rock and rip out half her bottom-planks.
Now they were sitting on the sand-bank, and the whale-boats were bringing up the remainder of the column.
“Yes,” said Torpenhow, as he put the last rude stitches into his over-long-neglected gear, “it has been a beautiful business.”
“The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don’t think much of either, myself.”
“You want the Euryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don’t you? and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I’m quite satisfied with my breeches.” He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner of a clown.
“It’s very pretty. Specially67 the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government Bullock Train. That’s a sack from India.”
“It’s my initials,—Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on purpose.
What the mischief68 are the camel-corps doing yonder?” Torpenhow shaded his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel.
““Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,”’ remarked Dick, calmly.
“D’you remember the picture? It’s by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy it. That scrub’s alive with enemy.”
The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry69 to come to them, and a hoarse70 shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn ridges71 and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with armed men.
Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and gesticulate joyously72. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator73 ceased his outcries, and his friends howled.
“They look like the Mahdi’s men,” said Torpenhow, elbowing himself into the crush of the square; “but what thousands of ’em there are! The tribes hereabout aren’t against us, I know.”
“Then the Mahdi’s taken another town,” said Dick, “and set all these yelping74 devils free to show us up. Lend us your glass.”
“Our scouts75 should have told us of this. We’ve been trapped,” said a subaltern. “Aren’t the camel guns ever going to begin? Hurry up, you men!”
There was no need of any order. The men flung themselves panting against the sides of the square, for they had good reason to know that whoso was left outside when the fighting began would very probably die in an extremely unpleasant fashion. The little hundred-and-fifty-pound camel-guns posted at one corner of the square opened the ball as the square moved forward by its right to get possession of a knoll76 of rising ground. All had fought in this manner many times before, and there was no novelty in the entertainment; always the same hot and stifling77 formation, the smell of dust and leather, the same boltlike rush of the enemy, the same pressure on the weakest side, the few minutes of hand-to-hand scuffle, and then the silence of the desert, broken only by the yells of those whom their handful of cavalry attempted to pursue. They had become careless. The camel-guns spoke78 at intervals79, and the square slouched forward amid the protesting of the camels. Then came the attack of three thousand men who had not learned from books that it is impossible for troops in close order to attack against breech-loading fire.
A few dropping shots heralded80 their approach, and a few horsemen led, but the bulk of the force was naked humanity, mad with rage, and armed with the spear and the sword. The instinct of the desert, where there is always much war, told them that the right flank of the square was the weakest, for they swung clear of the front. The camel-guns shelled them as they passed and opened for an instant lanes through their midst, most like those quick-closing vistas81 in a Kentish hop-garden seen when the train races by at full speed; and the infantry fire, held till the opportune82 moment, dropped them in close-packing hundreds. No civilised troops in the world could have endured the hell through which they came, the living leaping high to avoid the dying who clutched at their heels, the wounded cursing and staggering forward, till they fell—a torrent83 black as the sliding water above a mill-dam—full on the right flank of the square.
Then the line of the dusty troops and the faint blue desert sky overhead went out in rolling smoke, and the little stones on the heated ground and the tinder-dry clumps84 of scrub became matters of surpassing interest, for men measured their agonised retreat and recovery by these things, counting mechanically and hewing85 their way back to chosen pebble86 and branch. There was no semblance87 of any concerted fighting. For aught the men knew, the enemy might be attempting all four sides of the square at once. Their business was to destroy what lay in front of them, to bayonet in the back those who passed over them, and, dying, to drag down the slayer88 till he could be knocked on the head by some avenging89 gun-butt.
Dick waited with Torpenhow and a young doctor till the stress grew unendurable. It was hopeless to attend to the wounded till the attack was repulsed90, so the three moved forward gingerly towards the weakest side of the square. There was a rush from without, the short hough-hough of the stabbing spears, and a man on a horse, followed by thirty or forty others, dashed through, yelling and hacking91. The right flank of the square sucked in after them, and the other sides sent help. The wounded, who knew that they had but a few hours more to live, caught at the enemy’s feet and brought them down, or, staggering into a discarded rifle, fired blindly into the scuffle that raged in the centre of the square.
Dick was conscious that somebody had cut him violently across his helmet, that he had fired his revolver into a black, foam-flecked face which forthwith ceased to bear any resemblance to a face, and that Torpenhow had gone down under an Arab whom he had tried to “collar low,” and was turning over and over with his captive, feeling for the man’s eyes. The doctor jabbed at a venture with a bayonet, and a helmetless soldier fired over Dick’s shoulder: the flying grains of powder stung his cheek. It was to Torpenhow that Dick turned by instinct. The representative of the Central Southern Syndicate had shaken himself clear of his enemy, and rose, wiping his thumb on his trousers. The Arab, both hands to his forehead, screamed aloud, then snatched up his spear and rushed at Torpenhow, who was panting under shelter of Dick’s revolver. Dick fired twice, and the man dropped limply. His upturned face lacked one eye. The musketry-fire redoubled, but cheers mingled92 with it. The rush had failed and the enemy were flying. If the heart of the square were shambles93, the ground beyond was a butcher’s shop. Dick thrust his way forward between the maddened men. The remnant of the enemy were retiring, as the few—the very few—English cavalry rode down the laggards94.
Beyond the lines of the dead, a broad blood-stained Arab spear cast aside in the retreat lay across a stump95 of scrub, and beyond this again the illimitable dark levels of the desert. The sun caught the steel and turned it into a red disc. Some one behind him was saying, “Ah, get away, you brute96!” Dick raised his revolver and pointed37 towards the desert. His eye was held by the red splash in the distance, and the clamour about him seemed to die down to a very far-away whisper, like the whisper of a level sea. There was the revolver and the red light.... and the voice of some one scaring something away, exactly as had fallen somewhere before,—a darkness that stung. He fired at random97, and the bullet went out across the desert as he muttered, “Spoilt my aim. There aren’t any more cartridges98. We shall have to run home.” He put his hand to his head and brought it away covered with blood.
“Old man, you’re cut rather badly,” said Torpenhow. “I owe you something for this business. Thanks. Stand up! I say, you can’t be ill here.”
Throughout the night, when the troops were encamped by the whale-boats, a black figure danced in the strong moonlight on the sand-bar and shouted that Khartoum the accursed one was dead,—was dead,—was dead,—that two steamers were rock-staked on the Nile outside the city, and that of all their crews there remained not one; and Khartoum was dead,—was dead,—was dead!
But Torpenhow took no heed99. He was watching Dick, who called aloud to the restless Nile for Maisie,—and again Maisie!
“Behold a phenomenon,” said Torpenhow, rearranging the blanket. “Here is a man, presumably human, who mentions the name of one woman only. And I’ve seen a good deal of delirium100, too.—Dick, here’s some fizzy drink.”
“Thank you, Maisie,” said Dick.
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收听单词发音
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1
bugles
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| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
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bugle
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| n.军号，号角，喇叭；v.吹号，吹号召集 | |
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ballad
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| n.歌谣，民谣，流行爱情歌曲 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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7
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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9
disconsolately
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| adv.悲伤地，愁闷地；哭丧着脸 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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12
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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insufficient
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| adj.(for，of)不足的，不够的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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overpass
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| n.天桥，立交桥 | |
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embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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cataract
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| n.大瀑布，奔流，洪水，白内障 | |
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trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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25
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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invalided
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| 使伤残（invalid的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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37
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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picturesqueness
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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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40
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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41
condenser
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| n.冷凝器；电容器 | |
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42
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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43
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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44
accounting
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| n.会计，会计学，借贷对照表 | |
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45
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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46
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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47
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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49
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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51
glib
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| adj.圆滑的，油嘴滑舌的 | |
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52
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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53
ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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54
adaptability
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| n.适应性 | |
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55
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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56
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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57
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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58
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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confiding
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| adj.相信人的，易于相信的v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的现在分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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indefatigable
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| adj.不知疲倦的，不屈不挠的 | |
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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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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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71
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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75
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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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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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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heralded
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| v.预示( herald的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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83
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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85
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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86
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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91
hacking
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| n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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92
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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93
shambles
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| n.混乱之处；废墟 | |
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94
laggards
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| n.落后者( laggard的名词复数 ) | |
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95
stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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97
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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98
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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99
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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100
delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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