The light night breeze fanned the brig gently to the southward, and the great blaze of light got smaller and smaller till it twinkled only on the horizon like a setting star. It set: the heavy canopy11 of smoke reflected the glare of hidden flames for a short time and then disappeared also.
She realised that with this vanishing gleam her old life departed too. Thenceforth there was slavery in the far countries, amongst strangers, in unknown and perhaps terrible surroundings. Being fourteen years old, she realised her position and came to that conclusion, the only one possible to a Malay girl, soon ripened12 under a tropical sun, and not unaware13 of her personal charms, of which she heard many a young brave warrior14 of her father’s crew express an appreciative15 admiration16. There was in her the dread17 of the unknown; otherwise she accepted her position calmly, after the manner of her people, and even considered it quite natural; for was she not a daughter of warriors18, conquered in battle, and did she not belong rightfully to the victorious19 Rajah? Even the evident kindness of the terrible old man must spring, she thought, from admiration for his captive, and the flattered vanity eased for her the pangs20 of sorrow after such an awful calamity21. Perhaps had she known of the high walls, the quiet gardens, and the silent nuns22 of the Samarang convent, where her destiny was leading her, she would have sought death in her dread and hate of such a restraint. But in imagination she pictured to herself the usual life of a Malay girl—the usual succession of heavy work and fierce love, of intrigues23, gold ornaments24, of domestic drudgery25, and of that great but occult influence which is one of the few rights of half-savage womankind. But her destiny in the rough hands of the old sea-dog, acting26 under unreasoning impulses of the heart, took a strange and to her a terrible shape. She bore it all—the restraint and the teaching and the new faith—with calm submission27, concealing28 her hate and contempt for all that new life. She learned the language very easily, yet understood but little of the new faith the good sisters taught her, assimilating quickly only the superstitious29 elements of the religion. She called Lingard father, gently and caressingly30, at each of his short and noisy visits, under the clear impression that he was a great and dangerous power it was good to propitiate31. Was he not now her master? And during those long four years she nourished a hope of finding favour in his eyes and ultimately becoming his wife, counsellor, and guide.
Those dreams of the future were dispelled32 by the Rajah Laut’s “fiat,” which made Almayer’s fortune, as that young man fondly hoped. And dressed in the hateful finery of Europe, the centre of an interested circle of Batavian society, the young convert stood before the altar with an unknown and sulky-looking white man. For Almayer was uneasy, a little disgusted, and greatly inclined to run away. A judicious33 fear of the adopted father-in-law and a just regard for his own material welfare prevented him from making a scandal; yet, while swearing fidelity34, he was concocting35 plans for getting rid of the pretty Malay girl in a more or less distant future. She, however, had retained enough of conventual teaching to understand well that according to white men’s laws she was going to be Almayer’s companion and not his slave, and promised to herself to act accordingly.
So when the Flash freighted with materials for building a new house left the harbour of Batavia, taking away the young couple into the unknown Borneo, she did not carry on her deck so much love and happiness as old Lingard was wont36 to boast of before his casual friends in the verandahs of various hotels. The old seaman37 himself was perfectly38 happy. Now he had done his duty by the girl. “You know I made her an orphan,” he often concluded solemnly, when talking about his own affairs to a scratch audience of shore loafers—as it was his habit to do. And the approbative39 shouts of his half-intoxicated auditors40 filled his simple soul with delight and pride. “I carry everything right through,” was another of his sayings, and in pursuance of that principle he pushed the building of house and godowns on the Pantai River with feverish41 haste. The house for the young couple; the godowns for the big trade Almayer was going to develop while he (Lingard) would be able to give himself up to some mysterious work which was only spoken of in hints, but was understood to relate to gold and diamonds in the interior of the island. Almayer was impatient too. Had he known what was before him he might not have been so eager and full of hope as he stood watching the last canoe of the Lingard expedition disappear in the bend up the river. When, turning round, he beheld42 the pretty little house, the big godowns built neatly43 by an army of Chinese carpenters, the new jetty round which were clustered the trading canoes, he felt a sudden elation4 in the thought that the world was his.
But the world had to be conquered first, and its conquest was not so easy as he thought. He was very soon made to understand that he was not wanted in that corner of it where old Lingard and his own weak will placed him, in the midst of unscrupulous intrigues and of a fierce trade competition. The Arabs had found out the river, had established a trading post in Sambir, and where they traded they would be masters and suffer no rival. Lingard returned unsuccessful from his first expedition, and departed again spending all the profits of the legitimate44 trade on his mysterious journeys. Almayer struggled with the difficulties of his position, friendless and unaided, save for the protection given to him for Lingard’s sake by the old Rajah, the predecessor45 of Lakamba. Lakamba himself, then living as a private individual on a rice clearing, seven miles down the river, exercised all his influence towards the help of the white man’s enemies, plotting against the old Rajah and Almayer with a certainty of combination, pointing clearly to a profound knowledge of their most secret affairs. Outwardly friendly, his portly form was often to be seen on Almayer’s verandah; his green turban and gold-embroidered jacket shone in the front rank of the decorous throng46 of Malays coming to greet Lingard on his returns from the interior; his salaams47 were of the lowest, and his hand-shakings of the heartiest49, when welcoming the old trader. But his small eyes took in the signs of the times, and he departed from those interviews with a satisfied and furtive50 smile to hold long consultations51 with his friend and ally, Syed Abdulla, the chief of the Arab trading post, a man of great wealth and of great influence in the islands.
It was currently believed at that time in the settlement that Lakamba’s visits to Almayer’s house were not limited to those official interviews. Often on moonlight nights the belated fishermen of Sambira saw a small canoe shooting out from the narrow creek52 at the back of the white man’s house, and the solitary53 occupant paddle cautiously down the river in the deep shadows of the bank; and those events, duly reported, were discussed round the evening fires far into the night with the cynicism of expression common to aristocratic Malays, and with a malicious54 pleasure in the domestic misfortunes of the Orang Blando—the hated Dutchman. Almayer went on struggling desperately, but with a feebleness of purpose depriving him of all chance of success against men so unscrupulous and resolute55 as his rivals the Arabs. The trade fell away from the large godowns, and the godowns themselves rotted piecemeal56. The old man’s banker, Hudig of Macassar, failed, and with this went the whole available capital. The profits of past years had been swallowed up in Lingard’s exploring craze. Lingard was in the interior—perhaps dead—at all events giving no sign of life. Almayer stood alone in the midst of those adverse57 circumstances, deriving58 only a little comfort from the companionship of his little daughter, born two years after the marriage, and at the time some six years old. His wife had soon commenced to treat him with a savage contempt expressed by sulky silence, only occasionally varied59 by a flood of savage invective60. He felt she hated him, and saw her jealous eyes watching himself and the child with almost an expression of hate. She was jealous of the little girl’s evident preference for the father, and Almayer felt he was not safe with that woman in the house. While she was burning the furniture, and tearing down the pretty curtains in her unreasoning hate of those signs of civilisation61, Almayer, cowed by these outbursts of savage nature, meditated62 in silence on the best way of getting rid of her. He thought of everything; even planned murder in an undecided and feeble sort of way, but dared do nothing—expecting every day the return of Lingard with news of some immense good fortune. He returned indeed, but aged63, ill, a ghost of his former self, with the fire of fever burning in his sunken eyes, almost the only survivor7 of the numerous expedition. But he was successful at last! Untold64 riches were in his grasp; he wanted more money—only a little more torealise a dream of fabulous65 fortune. And Hudig had failed! Almayer scraped all he could together, but the old man wanted more. If Almayer could not get it he would go to Singapore—to Europe even, but before all to Singapore; and he would take the little Nina with him. The child must be brought up decently. He had good friends in Singapore who would take care of her and have her taught properly. All would be well, and that girl, upon whom the old seaman seemed to have transferred all his former affection for the mother, would be the richest woman in the East—in the world even. So old Lingard shouted, pacing the verandah with his heavy quarter-deck step, gesticulating with a smouldering cheroot; ragged67, dishevelled, enthusiastic; and Almayer, sitting huddled68 up on a pile of mats, thought with dread of the separation with the only human being he loved—with greater dread still, perhaps, of the scene with his wife, the savage tigress deprived of her young. She will poison me, thought the poor wretch69, well aware of that easy and final manner of solving the social, political, or family problems in Malay life.
To his great surprise she took the news very quietly, giving only him and Lingard a furtive glance, and saying not a word. This, however, did not prevent her the next day from jumping into the river and swimming after the boat in which Lingard was carrying away the nurse with the screaming child. Almayer had to give chase with his whale-boat and drag her in by the hair in the midst of cries and curses enough to make heaven fall. Yet after two days spent in wailing70, she returned to her former mode of life, chewing betel-nut, and sitting all day amongst her women in stupefied idleness. She aged very rapidly after that, and only roused herself from her apathy71 to acknowledge by a scathing72 remark or an insulting exclamation73 the accidental presence of her husband. He had built for her a riverside hut in the compound where she dwelt in perfect seclusion74. Lakamba’s visits had ceased when, by a convenient decree of Providence75 and the help of a little scientific manipulation, the old ruler of Sambir departed this life. Lakamba reigned76 in his stead now, having been well served by his Arab friends with the Dutch authorities. Syed Abdulla was the great man and trader of the Pantai. Almayer lay ruined and helpless under the close-meshed net of their intrigues, owing his life only to his supposed knowledge of Lingard’s valuable secret. Lingard had disappeared. He wrote once from Singapore saying the child was well, and under the care of a Mrs. Vinck, and that he himself was going to Europe to raise money for the great enterprise. “He was coming back soon. There would be no difficulties,” he wrote; “people would rush in with their money.” Evidently they did not, for there was only one letter more from him saying he was ill, had found no relation living, but little else besides. Then came a complete silence. Europe had swallowed up the Rajah Laut apparently77, and Almayer looked vainly westward78 for a ray of light out of the gloom of his shattered hopes. Years passed, and the rare letters from Mrs. Vinck, later on from the girl herself, were the only thing to be looked to to make life bearable amongst the triumphant79 savagery80 of the river. Almayer lived now alone, having even ceased to visit his debtors81 who would not pay, sure of Lakamba’s protection. The faithful Sumatrese Ali cooked his rice and made his coffee, for he dared not trust any one else, and least of all his wife. He killed time wandering sadly in the overgrown paths round the house, visiting the ruined godowns where a few brass82 guns covered with verdigris83 and only a few broken cases of mouldering66 Manchester goods reminded him of the good early times when all this was full of life and merchandise, and he overlooked a busy scene on the river bank, his little daughter by his side. Now the up-country canoes glided84 past the little rotten wharf85 of Lingard and Co., to paddle up the Pantai branch, and cluster round the new jetty belonging to Abdulla. Not that they loved Abdulla, but they dared not trade with the man whose star had set. Had they done so they knew there was no mercy to be expected from Arab or Rajah; no rice to be got on credit in the times of scarcity86 from either; and Almayer could not help them, having at times hardly enough for himself. Almayer, in his isolation87 and despair, often envied his near neighbour the Chinaman, Jim-Eng, whom he could see stretched on a pile of cool mats, a wooden pillow under his head, an opium88 pipe in his nerveless fingers. He did not seek, however, consolation89 in opium—perhaps it was too expensive—perhaps his white man’s pride saved him from that degradation90; but most likely it was the thought of his little daughter in the far-off Straits Settlements. He heard from her oftener since Abdulla bought a steamer, which ran now between Singapore and the Pantai settlement every three months or so. Almayer felt himself nearer his daughter. He longed to see her, and planned a voyage to Singapore, but put off his departure from year to year, always expecting some favourable91 turn of fortune. He did not want to meet her with empty hands and with no words of hope on his lips. He could not take her back into that savage life to which he was condemned92 himself. He was also a little afraid of her. What would she think of him? He reckoned the years. A grown woman. A civilised woman, young and hopeful; while he felt old and hopeless, and very much like those savages93 round him. He asked himself what was going to be her future. He could not answer that question yet, and he dared not face her. And yet he longed after her. He hesitated for years.
His hesitation94 was put an end to by Nina’s unexpected appearance in Sambir. She arrived in the steamer under the captain’s care. Almayer beheld her with surprise not unmixed with wonder. During those ten years the child had changed into a woman, black-haired, olive-skinned, tall, and beautiful, with great sad eyes, where the startled expression common to Malay womankind was modified by a thoughtful tinge95 inherited from her European ancestry96. Almayer thought with dismay of the meeting of his wife and daughter, of what this grave girl in European clothes would think of her betel-nut chewing mother, squatting97 in a dark hut, disorderly, half naked, and sulky. He also feared an outbreak of temper on the part of that pest of a woman he had hitherto managed to keep tolerably quiet, thereby98 saving the remnants of his dilapidated furniture. And he stood there before the closed door of the hut in the blazing sunshine listening to the murmur99 of voices, wondering what went on inside, wherefrom all the servant-maids had been expelled at the beginning of the interview, and now stood clustered by the palings with half-covered faces in a chatter100 of curious speculation101. He forgot himself there trying to catch a stray word through the bamboo walls, till the captain of the steamer, who had walked up with the girl, fearing a sunstroke, took him under the arm and led him into the shade of his own verandah: where Nina’s trunk stood already, having been landed by the steamer’s men. As soon as Captain Ford102 had his glass before him and his cheroot lighted, Almayer asked for the explanation of his daughter’s unexpected arrival. Ford said little beyond generalising in vague but violent terms upon the foolishness of women in general, and of Mrs. Vinck in particular.
“You know, Kaspar,” said he, in conclusion, to the excited Almayer, “it is deucedly awkward to have a half-caste girl in the house. There’s such a lot of fools about. There was that young fellow from the bank who used to ride to the Vinck bungalow103 early and late. That old woman thought it was for that Emma of hers. When she found out what he wanted exactly, there was a row, I can tell you. She would not have Nina—not an hour longer—in the house. Fact is, I heard of this affair and took the girl to my wife. My wife is a pretty good woman—as women go—and upon my word we would have kept the girl for you, only she would not stay. Now, then! Don’t flare104 up, Kaspar. Sit still. What can you do? It is better so. Let her stay with you. She was never happy over there. Those two Vinck girls are no better than dressed-up monkeys. They slighted her. You can’t make her white. It’s no use you swearing at me. You can’t. She is a good girl for all that, but she would not tell my wife anything. If you want to know, ask her yourself; but if I was you I would leave her alone. You are welcome to her passage money, old fellow, if you are short now.” And the skipper, throwing away his cigar, walked off to “wake them up on board,” as he expressed it.
Almayer vainly expected to hear of the cause of his daughter’s return from his daughter’s lips. Not that day, not on any other day did she ever allude105 to her Singapore life. He did not care to ask, awed106 by the calm impassiveness of her face, by those solemn eyes looking past him on the great, still forests sleeping in majestic107 repose108 to the murmur of the broad river. He accepted the situation, happy in the gentle and protecting affection the girl showed him, fitfully enough, for she had, as she called it, her bad days when she used to visit her mother and remain long hours in the riverside hut, coming out as inscrutable as ever, but with a contemptuous look and a short word ready to answer any of his speeches. He got used even to that, and on those days kept quiet, although greatly alarmed by his wife’s influence upon the girl. Otherwise Nina adapted herself wonderfully to the circumstances of a half-savage and miserable109 life. She accepted without question or apparent disgust the neglect, the decay, the poverty of the household, the absence of furniture, and the preponderance of rice diet on the family table. She lived with Almayer in the little house (now sadly decaying) built originally by Lingard for the young couple. The Malays eagerly discussed her arrival. There were at the beginning crowded levées of Malay women with their children, seeking eagerly after “Ubat” for all the ills of the flesh from the young Mem Putih. In the cool of the evening grave Arabs in long white shirts and yellow sleeveless jackets walked slowly on the dusty path by the riverside towards Almayer’s gate, and made solemn calls upon that Unbeliever under shallow pretences110 of business, only to get a glimpse of the young girl in a highly decorous manner. Even Lakamba came out of his stockade111 in a great pomp of war canoes and red umbrellas, and landed on the rotten little jetty of Lingard and Co. He came, he said, to buy a couple of brass guns as a present to his friend the chief of Sambir Dyaks; and while Almayer, suspicious but polite, busied himself in unearthing112 the old popguns in the godowns, the Rajah sat on an armchair in the verandah, surrounded by his respectful retinue113 waiting in vain for Nina’s appearance. She was in one of her bad days, and remained in her mother’s hut watching with her the ceremonious proceedings114 on the verandah. The Rajah departed, baffled but courteous115, and soon Almayer began to reap the benefit of improved relations with the ruler in the shape of the recovery of some debts, paid to him with many apologies and many a low salaam48 by debtors till then considered hopelessly insolvent116. Under these improving circumstances Almayer brightened up a little. All was not lost perhaps. Those Arabs and Malays saw at last that he was a man of some ability, he thought. And he began, after his manner, to plan great things, to dream of great fortunes for himself and Nina. Especially for Nina! Under these vivifying impulses he asked Captain Ford to write to his friends in England making inquiries117 after Lingard. Was he alive or dead? If dead, had he left any papers, documents; any indications or hints as to his great enterprise? Meantime he had found amongst the rubbish in one of the empty rooms a note-book belonging to the old adventurer. He studied the crabbed118 handwriting of its pages and often grew meditative119 over it. Other things also woke him up from his apathy. The stir made in the whole of the island by the establishment of the British Borneo Company affected120 even the sluggish121 flow of the Pantai life. Great changes were expected; annexation122 was talked of; the Arabs grew civil. Almayer began building his new house for the use of the future engineers, agents, or settlers of the new Company. He spent every available guilder on it with a confiding123 heart. One thing only disturbed his happiness: his wife came out of her seclusion, importing her green jacket, scant124 sarongs, shrill125 voice, and witch-like appearance, into his quiet life in the small bungalow. And his daughter seemed to accept that savage intrusion into their daily existence with wonderful equanimity126. He did not like it, but dared say nothing.
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1
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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wed
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| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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redoubtable
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| adj.可敬的；可怕的 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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caressingly
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| 爱抚地，亲切地 | |
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propitiate
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| v.慰解，劝解 | |
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dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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approbative
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| 批准的，认可的；赞许的，表示满意的 | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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41
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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42
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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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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44
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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salaams
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| （穆斯林的）额手礼，问安，敬礼( salaam的名词复数 ) | |
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salaam
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| n.额手之礼，问安，敬礼；v.行额手礼 | |
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49
heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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50
furtive
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| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
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51
consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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52
creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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53
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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54
malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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55
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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56
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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57
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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58
deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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59
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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60
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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61
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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62
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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63
aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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64
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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65
fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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66
mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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67
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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68
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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69
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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70
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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71
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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72
scathing
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| adj.（言词、文章）严厉的，尖刻的；不留情的adv.严厉地，尖刻地v.伤害，损害（尤指使之枯萎）( scathe的现在分词) | |
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73
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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74
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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75
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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76
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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77
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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78
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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79
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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80
savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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81
debtors
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| n.债务人，借方( debtor的名词复数 ) | |
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82
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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83
verdigris
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| n.铜锈；铜绿 | |
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84
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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85
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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86
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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87
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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88
opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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89
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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90
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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91
favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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92
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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93
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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94
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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95
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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96
ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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97
squatting
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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98
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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99
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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100
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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101
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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102
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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103
bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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104
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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105
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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106
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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108
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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109
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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110
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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111
stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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112
unearthing
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| 发掘或挖出某物( unearth的现在分词 )； 搜寻到某事物，发现并披露 | |
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113
retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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114
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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115
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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116
insolvent
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| adj.破产的，无偿还能力的 | |
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117
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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118
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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120
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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121
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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122
annexation
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| n.吞并，合并 | |
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123
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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124
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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125
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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126
equanimity
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| n.沉着，镇定 | |
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