As for the adage4 quoted above, I take pleasure in puncturing5 it by affirming that I read in a purely6 fictional7 story the other day the line: "'Be it so,' said the policeman." Nothing so strange has yet cropped out in Truth.
When H. Ferguson Hedges, millionaire promoter, investor8 and man-about- New-York, turned his thoughts upon matters convivial9, and word of it went "down the line," bouncers took a precautionary turn at the Indian clubs, waiters put ironstone china on his favourite tables, cab drivers crowded close to the curbstone in front of all-night cafés, and careful cashiers in his regular haunts charged up a few bottles to his account by way of preface and introduction.
As a money power a one-millionaire is of small account in a city where the man who cuts your slice of beef behind the free-lunch counter rides to work in his own automobile10. But Hedges spent his money as lavishly11, loudly and showily as though he were only a clerk squandering12 a week's wages. And, after all, the bartender takes no interest in your reserve fund. He would rather look you up on his cash register than in Bradstreet.
On the evening that the material allegation of facts begins, Hedges was bidding dull care begone in the company of five or six good fellows—acquaintances and friends who had gathered in his wake.
Two deep-sea cabmen were chartered. At Columbus Circle they hove to long enough to revile15 the statue of the great navigator, unpatriotically rebuking16 him for having voyaged in search of land instead of liquids. Midnight overtook the party marooned17 in the rear of a cheap café far uptown.
Hedges was arrogant19, overriding20 and quarrelsome. He was burly and tough, iron-gray but vigorous, "good" for the rest of the night. There was a dispute—about nothing that matters—and the five-fingered words were passed—the words that represent the glove cast into the lists. Merriam played the rôle of the verbal Hotspur.
Hedges rose quickly, seized his chair, swung it once and smashed wildly down at Merriam's head. Merriam dodged21, drew a small revolver and shot Hedges in the chest. The leading roysterer stumbled, fell in a wry22 heap, and lay still.
Wade, a commuter23, had formed that habit of promptness. He juggled24 Merriam out a side door, walked him to the corner, ran him a block and caught a hansom. They rode five minutes and then got out on a dark corner and dismissed the cab. Across the street the lights of a small saloon betrayed its hectic25 hospitality.
"Go in the back room of that saloon," said Wade, "and wait. I'll go find out what's doing and let you know. You may take two drinks while I am gone—no more."
At ten minutes to one o'clock Wade returned. "Brace26 up, old chap," he said. "The ambulance got there just as I did. The doctor says he's dead. You may have one more drink. You let me run this thing for you. You've got to skip. I don't believe a chair is legally a deadly weapon. You've got to make tracks, that's all there is to it."
Merriam complained of the cold querulously, and asked for another drink. "Did you notice what big veins27 he had on the back of his hands?" he said. "I never could stand—I never could—"
"Take one more," said Wade, "and then come on. I'll see you through."
Wade kept his promise so well that at eleven o'clock the next morning Merriam, with a new suit case full of new clothes and hair-brushes, stepped quietly on board a little 500-ton fruit steamer at an East River pier28. The vessel29 had brought the season's first cargo30 of limes from Port Limon, and was homeward bound. Merriam had his bank balance of $2,800 in his pocket in large bills, and brief instructions to pile up as much water as he could between himself and New York. There was no time for anything more.
From Port Limon Merriam worked down the coast by schooner32 and sloop33 to Colon34, thence across the isthmus35 to Panama, where he caught a tramp bound for Callao and such intermediate ports as might tempt36 the discursive37 skipper from his course.
It was at La Paz that Merriam decided38 to land—La Paz the Beautiful, a little harbourless town smothered39 in a living green ribbon that banded the foot of a cloud-piercing mountain. Here the little steamer stopped to tread water while the captain's dory took him ashore40 that he might feel the pulse of the cocoanut market. Merriam went too, with his suit case, and remained.
Kalb, the vice-consul, a Græco-Armenian citizen of the United States, born in Hessen-Darmstadt, and educated in Cincinnati ward31 primaries, considered all Americans his brothers and bankers. He attached himself to Merriam's elbow, introduced him to every one in La Paz who wore shoes, borrowed ten dollars and went back to his hammock.
There was a little wooden hotel in the edge of a banana grove41, facing the sea, that catered42 to the tastes of the few foreigners that had dropped out of the world into the triste Peruvian town. At Kalb's introductory: "Shake hands with ––––," he had obediently exchanged manual salutations with a German doctor, one French and two Italian merchants, and three or four Americans who were spoken of as gold men, rubber men, mahogany men—anything but men of living tissue.
After dinner Merriam sat in a corner of the broad front galeria with Bibb, a Vermonter interested in hydraulic44 mining, and smoked and drank Scotch45 "smoke." The moonlit sea, spreading infinitely46 before him, seemed to separate him beyond all apprehension47 from his old life. The horrid48 tragedy in which he had played such a disastrous49 part now began, for the first time since he stole on board the fruiter, a wretched fugitive50, to lose its sharper outlines. Distance lent assuagement51 to his view. Bibb had opened the flood-gates of a stream of long-dammed discourse52, overjoyed to have captured an audience that had not suffered under a hundred repetitions of his views and theories.
"One year more," said Bibb, "and I'll go back to God's country. Oh, I know it's pretty here, and you get dolce far niente handed to you in chunks53, but this country wasn't made for a white man to live in. You've got to have to plug through snow now and then, and see a game of baseball and wear a stiff collar and have a policeman cuss you. Still, La Paz is a good sort of a pipe-dreamy old hole. And Mrs. Conant is here. When any of us feels particularly like jumping into the sea we rush around to her house and propose. It's nicer to be rejected by Mrs. Conant than it is to be drowned. And they say drowning is a delightful54 sensation."
"Many like her here?" asked Merriam.
"Not anywhere," said Bibb, with a comfortable sigh. She's the only white woman in La Paz. The rest range from a dappled dun to the colour of a b-flat piano key. She's been here a year. Comes from—well, you know how a woman can talk—ask 'em to say 'string' and they'll say 'crow's foot' or 'cat's cradle.' Sometimes you'd think she was from Oshkosh, and again from Jacksonville, Florida, and the next day from Cape55 Cod56."
"Mystery?" ventured Merriam.
"M—well, she looks it; but her talk's translucent57 enough. But that's a woman. I suppose if the Sphinx were to begin talking she'd merely say: 'Goodness me! more visitors coming for dinner, and nothing to eat but the sand which is here.' But you won't think about that when you meet her, Merriam. You'll propose to her too."
To make a hard story soft, Merriam did meet her and propose to her. He found her to be a woman in black with hair the colour of a bronze turkey's wings, and mysterious, remembering eyes that—well, that looked as if she might have been a trained nurse looking on when Eve was created. Her words and manner, though, were translucent, as Bibb had said. She spoke43, vaguely58, of friends in California and some of the lower parishes in Louisiana. The tropical climate and indolent life suited her; she had thought of buying an orange grove later on; La Paz, all in all, charmed her.
Merriam's courtship of the Sphinx lasted three months, although be did not know that he was courting her. He was using her as an antidote59 for remorse60, until he found, too late, that he had acquired the habit. During that time he had received no news from home. Wade did not know where he was; and he was not sure of Wade's exact address, and was afraid to write. He thought he had better let matters rest as they were for a while.
One afternoon he and Mrs. Conant hired two ponies61 and rode out along the mountain trail as far as the little cold river that came tumbling down the foothills. There they stopped for a drink, and Merriam spoke his piece—he proposed, as Bibb had prophesied62.
Mrs. Conant gave him one glance of brilliant tenderness, and then her face took on such a strange, haggard look that Merriam was shaken out of his intoxication63 and back to his senses.
"I beg your pardon, Florence," he said, releasing her hand; "but I'll have to hedge on part of what I said. I can't ask you to marry me, of course. I killed a man in New York—a man who was my friend—shot him down—in quite a cowardly manner, I understand. Of course, the drinking didn't excuse it. Well, I couldn't resist having my say; and I'll always mean it. I'm here as a fugitive from justice, and—I suppose that ends our acquaintance."
Mrs. Conant plucked little leaves assiduously from the low-hanging branch of a lime tree.
"I suppose so," she said, in low and oddly uneven64 tones; "but that depends upon you. I'll be as honest as you were. I poisoned my husband. I am a self-made widow. A man cannot love a murderess. So I suppose that ends our acquaintance."
She looked up at him slowly. His face turned a little pale, and he stared at her blankly, like a deaf-and-dumb man who was wondering what it was all about.
"Don't look at me like that!" she cried, as though she were in acute pain. "Curse me, or turn your back on me, but don't look that way. Am I a woman to be beaten? If I could show you—here on my arms, and on my back are scars—and it has been more than a year—scars that he made in his brutal66 rages. A holy nun67 would have risen and struck the fiend down. Yes, I killed him. The foul68 and horrible words that he hurled69 at me that last day are repeated in my ears every night when I sleep. And then came his blows, and the end of my endurance. I got the poison that afternoon. It was his custom to drink every night in the library before going to bed a hot punch made of rum and wine. Only from my fair hands would he receive it— because he knew the fumes70 of spirits always sickened me. That night when the maid brought it to me I sent her downstairs on an errand. Before taking him his drink I went to my little private cabinet and poured into it more than a tea-spoonful of tincture of aconite—enough to kill three men, so I had learned. I had drawn71 $6,000 that I had in bank, and with that and a few things in a satchel72 I left the house without any one seeing me. As I passed the library I heard him stagger up and fall heavily on a couch. I took a night train for New Orleans, and from there I sailed to the Bermudas. I finally cast anchor in La Paz. And now what have you to say? Can you open your mouth?"
Merriam came back to life.
"Florence," he said earnestly, "I want you. I don't care what you've done. If the world—"
"Ralph," she interrupted, almost with a scream, "be my world!"
Her eyes melted; she relaxed magnificently and swayed toward Merriam so suddenly that he had to jump to catch her.
Dear me! in such scenes how the talk runs into artificial prose. But it can't be helped. It's the subconscious73 smell of the footlights' smoke that's in all of us. Stir the depths of your cook's soul sufficiently74 and she will discourse in Bulwer-Lyttonese.
Merriam and Mrs. Conant were very happy. He announced their engagement at the Hotel Orilla del Mar18. Eight foreigners and four native Astors pounded his back and shouted insincere congratulations at him. Pedrito, the Castilian-mannered barkeep, was goaded75 to extra duty until his agility76 would have turned a Boston cherry-phosphate clerk a pale lilac with envy.
They were both very happy. According to the strange mathematics of the god of mutual77 affinity78, the shadows that clouded their pasts when united became only half as dense79 instead of darker. They shut the world out and bolted the doors. Each was the other's world. Mrs. Conant lived again. The remembering look left her eyes. Merriam was with her every moment that was possible. On a little plateau under a grove of palms and calabash trees they were going to build a fairy bungalow80. They were to be married in two months. Many hours of the day they had their heads together over the house plans. Their joint81 capital would set up a business in fruit or woods that would yield a comfortable support. "Good night, my world," would say Mrs. Conant every evening when Merriam left her for his hotel. They were very happy. Their love had, circumstantially, that element of melancholy82 in it that it seems to require to attain83 its supremest elevation84. And it seemed that their mutual great misfortune or sin was a bond that nothing could sever85.
One day a steamer hove in the offing. Bare-legged and bare-shouldered La Paz scampered86 down to the beach, for the arrival of a steamer was their loop-the-loop, circus, Emancipation87 Day and four-o'clock tea.
When the steamer was near enough, wise ones proclaimed that she was the Pajaro, bound up-coast from Callao to Panama.
The Pajaro put on brakes a mile off shore. Soon a boat came bobbing shoreward. Merriam strolled down on the beach to look on. In the shallow water the Carib sailors sprang out and dragged the boat with a mighty89 rush to the firm shingle90. Out climbed the purser, the captain and two passengers, ploughing their way through the deep sand toward the hotel. Merriam glanced toward them with the mild interest due to strangers. There was something familiar to him in the walk of one of the passengers. He looked again, and his blood seemed to turn to strawberry ice cream in his veins. Burly, arrogant, debonair91 as ever, H. Ferguson Hedges, the man he had killed, was coming toward him ten feet away.
When Hedges saw Merriam his face flushed a dark red. Then he shouted in his old, bluff92 way: "Hello, Merriam. Glad to see you. Didn't expect to find you out here. Quinby, this is my old friend Merriam, of New York—Merriam, Mr. Quinby."
Merriam gave Hedges and then Quinby an ice-cold hand. "Br-r-r-r!" said Hedges. "But you've got a frappéd flipper93! Man, you're not well. You're as yellow as a Chinaman. Malarial94 here? Steer95 us to a bar if there is such a thing, and let's take a prophylactic96."
"Quinby and I," explained Hedges, puffing98 through the slippery sand, "are looking out along the coast for some investments. We've just come up from Concepción and Valparaiso and Lima. The captain of this subsidized ferry boat told us there was some good picking around here in silver mines. So we got off. Now, where is that café, Merriam? Oh, in this portable soda99 water pavilion?"
Leaving Quinby at the bar, Hedges drew Merriam aside.
"Now, what does this mean?" he said, with gruff kindness. "Are you sulking about that fool row we had?"
"Well, you didn't, and I'm not," said Hedges. "That fool young ambulance surgeon told Wade I was a candidate for a coffin101 just because I'd got tired and quit breathing. I laid up in a private hospital for a month; but here I am, kicking as hard as ever. Wade and I tried to find you, but couldn't. Now, Merriam, shake hands and forget it all. I was as much to blame as you were; and the shot really did me good—I came out of the hospital as healthy and fit as a cab horse. Come on; that drink's waiting."
"Old man," said Merriam, brokenly, "I don't know how to thank you—I—well, you know—"
"Oh, forget it," boomed Hedges. "Quinby'll die of thirst if we don't join him."
Bibb was sitting on the shady side of the gallery waiting for the eleven-o'clock breakfast. Presently Merriam came out and joined him. His eye was strangely bright.
"Bibb, my boy," said he, slowly waving his hand, "do you see those mountains and that sea and sky and sunshine?—they're mine, Bibbsy—all mine."
"You go in," said Bibb, "and take eight grains of quinine, right away. It won't do in this climate for a man to get to thinking he's Rockefeller, or James O'Neill either."
Inside, the purser was untying102 a great roll of newspapers, many of them weeks old, gathered in the lower ports by the Pajaro to be distributed at casual stopping-places. Thus do the beneficent voyagers scatter103 news and entertainment among the prisoners of sea and mountains.
Tio Pancho, the hotel proprietor104, set his great silver-rimmed anteojos upon his nose and divided the papers into a number of smaller rolls. A barefooted muchacho dashed in, desiring the post of messenger.
"Bien venido," said Tio Pancho. "This to Señora Conant; that to el Doctor S-S-Schlegel—Dios! what a name to say!—that to Señor Davis—one for Don Alberto. These two for the Casa de Huespedes, Numero 6, en la calle de las Buenas Gracias. And say to them all, muchacho, that the Pajaro sails for Panama at three this afternoon. If any have letters to send by the post, let them come quickly, that they may first pass through the correo."
Mrs. Conant received her roll of newspapers at four o'clock. The boy was late in delivering them, because he had been deflected105 from his duty by an iguana106 that crossed his path and to which he immediately gave chase. But it made no hardship, for she had no letters to send.
She was idling in a hammock in the patio88 of the house that she occupied, half awake, half happily dreaming of the paradise that she and Merriam had created out of the wrecks107 of their pasts. She was content now for the horizon of that shimmering108 sea to be the horizon of her life. They had shut out the world and closed the door.
Merriam was coming to her house at seven, after his dinner at the hotel. She would put on a white dress and an apricot-coloured lace mantilla, and they would walk an hour under the cocoanut palms by the lagoon109. She smiled contentedly110, and chose a paper at random111 from the roll the boy had brought.
At first the words of a certain headline of a Sunday newspaper meant nothing to her; they conveyed only a visualized112 sense of familiarity. The largest type ran thus: "Lloyd B. Conant secures divorce." And then the subheadings: "Well-known Saint Louis paint manufacturer wins suit, pleading one year's absence of wife." "Her mysterious disappearance113 recalled." "Nothing has been heard of her since."
Twisting herself quickly out of the hammock, Mrs. Conant's eye soon traversed the half-column of the "Recall." It ended thus: "It will be remembered that Mrs. Conant disappeared one evening in March of last year. It was freely rumoured114 that her marriage with Lloyd B. Conant resulted in much unhappiness. Stories were not wanting to the effect that his cruelty toward his wife had more than once taken the form of physical abuse. After her departure a full bottle of tincture of aconite, a deadly poison, was found in a small medicine cabinet in her bedroom. This might have been an indication that she meditated115 suicide. It is supposed that she abandoned such an intention if she possessed116 it, and left her home instead."
Mrs. Conant slowly dropped the paper, and sat on a chair, clasping her hands tightly.
"Let me think—O God!—let me think," she whispered. "I took the bottle with me . . . I threw it out of the window of the train . . . I— . . . there was another bottle in the cabinet . . . there were two, side by side—the aconite—and the valerian that I took when I could not sleep . . . If they found the aconite bottle full, why—but, he is alive, of course—I gave him only a harmless dose of valerian . . . I am not a murderess in fact . . . Ralph, I—O God, don't let this be a dream!"
She went into the part of the house that she rented from the old Peruvian man and his wife, shut the door, and walked up and down her room swiftly and feverishly117 for half an hour. Merriam's photograph stood in a frame on a table. She picked it up, looked at it with a smile of exquisite118 tenderness, and—dropped four tears on it. And Merriam only twenty rods away! Then she stood still for ten minutes, looking into space. She looked into space through a slowly opening door. On her side of the door was the building material for a castle of Romance—love, an Arcady of waving palms, a lullaby of waves on the shore of a haven119 of rest, respite120, peace, a lotus land of dreamy ease and security—a life of poetry and heart's ease and refuge. Romanticist, will you tell me what Mrs. Conant saw on the other side of the door? You cannot?—that is, you will not? Very well; then listen.
She saw herself go into a department store and buy five spools121 of silk thread and three yards of gingham to make an apron122 for the cook. "Shall I charge it, ma'am?" asked the clerk. As she walked out a lady whom she met greeted her cordially. "Oh, where did you get the pattern for those sleeves, dear Mrs. Conant?" she said. At the corner a policeman helped her across the street and touched his helmet. "Any callers?" she asked the maid when she reached home. "Mrs. Waldron," answered the maid, "and the two Misses Jenkinson." "Very well," she said. "You may bring me a cup of tea, Maggie."
Mrs. Conant went to the door and called Angela, the old Peruvian woman. "If Mateo is there send him to me." Mateo, a half-breed, shuffling123 and old but efficient, came.
"Is there a steamer or a vessel of any kind leaving this coast to-night or to-morrow that I can get passage on?" she asked.
Mateo considered.
"At Punta Reina, thirty miles down the coast, señora," he answered, "there is a small steamer loading with cinchona and dyewoods. She sails for San Francisco to-morrow at sunrise. So says my brother, who arrived in his sloop to-day, passing by Punta Reina."
"You must take me in that sloop to that steamer to-night. Will you do that?"
"Perhaps—" Mateo shrugged124 a suggestive shoulder. Mrs. Conant took a handful of money from a drawer and gave it to him.
"Get the sloop ready behind the little point of land below the town," she ordered. "Get sailors, and be ready to sail at six o'clock. In half an hour bring a cart partly filled with straw into the patio here, and take my trunk to the sloop. There is more money yet. Now, hurry."
For one time Mateo walked away without shuffling his feet.
"Angela," cried Mrs. Conant, almost fiercely, "come and help me pack. I am going away. Out with this trunk. My clothes first. Stir yourself. Those dark dresses first. Hurry."
From the first she did not waver from her decision. Her view was clear and final. Her door had opened and let the world in. Her love for Merriam was not lessened125; but it now appeared a hopeless and unrealizable thing. The visions of their future that had seemed so blissful and complete had vanished. She tried to assure herself that her renunciation was rather for his sake than for her own. Now that she was cleared of her burden—at least, technically—would not his own weigh too heavily upon him? If she should cling to him, would not the difference forever silently mar and corrode126 their happiness? Thus she reasoned; but there were a thousand little voices calling to her that she could feel rather than hear, like the hum of distant, powerful machinery—the little voices of the world, that, when raised in unison127, can send their insistent128 call through the thickest door.
Once while packing, a brief shadow of the lotus dream came back to her. She held Merriam's picture to her heart with one hand, while she threw a pair of shoes into the trunk with her other.
At six o'clock Mateo returned and reported the sloop ready. He and his brother lifted the trunk into the cart, covered it with straw and conveyed it to the point of embarkation129. From there they transferred it on board in the sloop's dory. Then Mateo returned for additional orders.
Mrs. Conant was ready. She had settled all business matters with Angela, and was impatiently waiting. She wore a long, loose black-silk duster that she often walked about in when the evenings were chilly130. On her head was a small round hat, and over it the apricot-coloured lace mantilla.
Dusk had quickly followed the short twilight131. Mateo led her by dark and grass-grown streets toward the point behind which the sloop was anchored. On turning a corner they beheld132 the Hotel Orilla del Mar three streets away, nebulously aglow133 with its array of kerosene134 lamps.
Mrs. Conant paused, with streaming eyes. "I must, I must see him once before I go," she murmured in anguish135. But even then she did not falter136 in her decision. Quickly she invented a plan by which she might speak to him, and yet make her departure without his knowing. She would walk past the hotel, ask some one to call him out and talk a few moments on some trivial excuse, leaving him expecting to see her at her home at seven.
She unpinned her hat and gave it to Mateo. "Keep this, and wait here till I come," she ordered. Then she draped the mantilla over her head as she usually did when walking after sunset, and went straight to the Orilla del Mar.
"Tio Pancho," she said, with a charming smile, "may I trouble you to ask Mr. Merriam to come out for just a few moments that I may speak with him?"
Tio Pancho bowed as an elephant bows.
"Buenas tardes, Señora Conant," he said, as a cavalier talks. And then he went on, less at his ease:
"But does not the señora know that Señor Merriam sailed on the Pajaro for Panama at three o'clock of this afternoon?"
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dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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puncturing
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的现在分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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purely
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fictional
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investor
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convivial
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automobile
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lavishly
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squandering
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| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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broker
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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revile
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rebuking
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marooned
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mar
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arrogant
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overriding
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dodged
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wry
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commuter
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juggled
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| v.歪曲( juggle的过去式和过去分词 )；耍弄；有效地组织；尽力同时应付（两个或两个以上的重要工作或活动） | |
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hectic
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brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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27
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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29
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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30
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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31
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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32
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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33
sloop
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| n.单桅帆船 | |
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34
colon
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| n.冒号，结肠，直肠 | |
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35
isthmus
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| n.地峡 | |
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36
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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37
discursive
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| adj.离题的，无层次的 | |
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38
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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39
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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40
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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41
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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42
catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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43
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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44
hydraulic
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| adj.水力的；水压的，液压的；水力学的 | |
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45
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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46
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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47
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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48
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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49
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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50
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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51
assuagement
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| n.缓和；减轻；缓和物 | |
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52
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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53
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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54
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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55
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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56
cod
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| n.鳕鱼；v.愚弄；哄骗 | |
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57
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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58
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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59
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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60
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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61
ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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64
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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65
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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66
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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67
nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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68
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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69
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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70
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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71
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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72
satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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73
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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74
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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75
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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76
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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77
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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78
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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79
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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80
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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81
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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82
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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83
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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84
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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85
sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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86
scampered
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| v.蹦蹦跳跳地跑，惊惶奔跑( scamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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88
patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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89
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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90
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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91
debonair
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| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
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92
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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93
flipper
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| n. 鳍状肢，潜水用橡皮制鳍状肢 | |
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94
malarial
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| 患疟疾的，毒气的 | |
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95
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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96
prophylactic
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| adj.预防疾病的；n.预防疾病 | |
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97
comatose
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| adj.昏睡的，昏迷不醒的 | |
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98
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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99
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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100
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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101
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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102
untying
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| untie的现在分词 | |
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103
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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104
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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105
deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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106
iguana
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| n.美洲大蜥蜴，鬣鳞蜥 | |
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107
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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108
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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109
lagoon
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| n.泻湖，咸水湖 | |
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110
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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111
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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112
visualized
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| 直观的，直视的 | |
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113
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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114
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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115
meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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116
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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117
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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118
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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119
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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120
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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121
spools
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| n.（绕线、铁线、照相软片等的）管( spool的名词复数 )；络纱；纺纱机；绕圈轴工人v.把…绕到线轴上（或从线轴上绕下来）( spool的第三人称单数 )；假脱机（输出或输入） | |
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122
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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123
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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124
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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125
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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126
corrode
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| v.使腐蚀，侵蚀，破害；v.腐蚀，被侵蚀 | |
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127
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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128
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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129
embarkation
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| n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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130
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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131
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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132
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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133
aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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134
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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135
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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136
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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137
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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