The frigate2 remained anchored outside the mouth of the river, and the boats came up in tow of the steam launch, threading their way cautiously amongst a crowd of canoes filled with gaily3 dressed Malays. The officer in command listened gravely to the loyal speeches of Lakamba, returned the salaams4 of Abdulla, and assured those gentlemen in choice Malay of the great Rajah’s—down in Batavia—friendship and goodwill6 towards the ruler and inhabitants of this model state of Sambir.
Almayer from his verandah watched across the river the festive7 proceedings8, heard the report of brass9 guns saluting10 the new flag presented to Lakamba, and the deep murmur11 of the crowd of spectators surging round the stockade12. The smoke of the firing rose in white clouds on the green background of the forests, and he could not help comparing his own fleeting13 hopes to the rapidly disappearing vapour. He was by no means patriotically14 elated by the event, yet he had to force himself into a gracious behaviour when, the official reception being over, the naval15 officers of the Commission crossed the river to pay a visit to the solitary16 white man of whom they had heard, no doubt wishing also to catch a glimpse of his daughter. In that they were disappointed, Nina refusing to show herself; but they seemed easily consoled by the gin and cheroots set before them by the hospitable17 Almayer; and sprawling18 comfortably on the lame19 armchairs under the shade of the verandah, while the blazing sunshine outside seemed to set the great river simmering in the heat, they filled the little bungalow20 with the unusual sounds of European languages, with noise and laughter produced by naval witticisms21 at the expense of the fat Lakamba whom they had been complimenting so much that very morning. The younger men in an access of good fellowship made their host talk, and Almayer, excited by the sight of European faces, by the sound of European voices, opened his heart before the sympathising strangers, unaware22 of the amusement the recital23 of his many misfortunes caused to those future admirals. They drank his health, wished him many big diamonds and a mountain of gold, expressed even an envy of the high destinies awaiting him yet. Encouraged by so much friendliness24, the grey-headed and foolish dreamer invited his guests to visit his new house. They went there through the long grass in a straggling procession while their boats were got ready for the return down the river in the cool of the evening. And in the great empty rooms where the tepid25 wind entering through the sashless windows whirled gently the dried leaves and the dust of many days of neglect, Almayer in his white jacket and flowered sarong, surrounded by a circle of glittering uniforms, stamped his foot to show the solidity of the neatly26-fitting floors and expatiated27 upon the beauties and convenience of the building. They listened and assented28, amazed by the wonderful simplicity29 and the foolish hopefulness of the man, till Almayer, carried away by his excitement, disclosed his regret at the non-arrival of the English, “who knew how to develop a rich country,” as he expressed it. There was a general laugh amongst the Dutch officers at that unsophisticated statement, and a move was made towards the boats; but when Almayer, stepping cautiously on the rotten boards of the Lingard jetty, tried to approach the chief of the Commission with some timid hints anent the protection required by the Dutch subject against the wily Arabs, that salt water diplomat30 told him significantly that the Arabs were better subjects than Hollanders who dealt illegally in gunpowder31 with the Malays. The innocent Almayer recognised there at once the oily tongue of Abdulla and the solemn persuasiveness32 of Lakamba, but ere he had time to frame an indignant protest the steam launch and the string of boats moved rapidly down the river leaving him on the jetty, standing33 open-mouthed in his surprise and anger. There are thirty miles of river from Sambir to the gem-like islands of the estuary34 where the frigate was awaiting the return of the boats. The moon rose long before the boats had traversed half that distance, and the black forest sleeping peacefully under her cold rays woke up that night to the ringing laughter in the small flotilla provoked by some reminiscence of Almayer’s lamentable35 narrative36. Salt-water jests at the poor man’s expense were passed from boat to boat, the non-appearance of his daughter was commented upon with severe displeasure, and the half-finished house built for the reception of Englishmen received on that joyous37 night the name of “Almayer’s Folly” by the unanimous vote of the lighthearted seamen38.
For many weeks after this visit life in Sambir resumed its even and uneventful flow. Each day’s sun shooting its morning rays above the tree-tops lit up the usual scene of daily activity. Nina walking on the path that formed the only street in the settlement saw the accustomed sight of men lolling on the shady side of the houses, on the high platforms; of women busily engaged in husking the daily rice; of naked brown children racing39 along the shady and narrow paths leading to the clearings. Jim-Eng, strolling before his house, greeted her with a friendly nod before climbing up indoors to seek his beloved opium40 pipe. The elder children clustered round her, daring from long acquaintance, pulling the skirts of her white robe with their dark fingers, and showing their brilliant teeth in expectation of a shower of glass beads42. She greeted them with a quiet smile, but always had a few friendly words for a Siamese girl, a slave owned by Bulangi, whose numerous wives were said to be of a violent temper. Well-founded rumour43 said also that the domestic squabbles of that industrious44 cultivator ended generally in a combined assault of all his wives upon the Siamese slave. The girl herself never complained—perhaps from dictates45 of prudence46, but more likely through the strange, resigned apathy47 of half-savage48 womankind. From early morning she was to be seen on the paths amongst the houses—by the riverside or on the jetties, the tray of pastry49, it was her mission to sell, skilfully50 balanced on her head. During the great heat of the day she usually sought refuge in Almayer’s campong, often finding shelter in a shady corner of the verandah, where she squatted51 with her tray before her, when invited by Nina. For “Mem Putih” she had always a smile, but the presence of Mrs. Almayer, the very sound of her shrill52 voice, was the signal for a hurried departure.
To this girl Nina often spoke53; the other inhabitants of Sambir seldom or never heard the sound of her voice. They got used to the silent figure moving in their midst calm and white-robed, a being from another world and incomprehensible to them. Yet Nina’s life for all her outward composure, for all the seeming detachment from the things and people surrounding her, was far from quiet, in consequence of Mrs. Almayer being much too active for the happiness and even safety of the household. She had resumed some intercourse54 with Lakamba, not personally, it is true (for the dignity of that potentate55 kept him inside his stockade), but through the agency of that potentate’s prime minister, harbour master, financial adviser56, and general factotum57. That gentleman—of Sulu origin—was certainly endowed with statesmanlike qualities, although he was totally devoid58 of personal charms. In truth he was perfectly59 repulsive60, possessing only one eye and a pockmarked face, with nose and lips horribly disfigured by the small-pox. This unengaging individual often strolled into Almayer’s garden in unofficial costume, composed of a piece of pink calico round his waist. There at the back of the house, squatting61 on his heels on scattered62 embers, in close proximity63 to the great iron boiler64, where the family daily rice was being cooked by the women under Mrs. Almayer’s superintendence, did that astute65 negotiator carry on long conversations in Sulu language with Almayer’s wife. What the subject of their discourses66 was might have been guessed from the subsequent domestic scenes by Almayer’s hearthstone.
Of late Almayer had taken to excursions up the river. In a small canoe with two paddlers and the faithful Ali for a steersman he would disappear for a few days at a time. All his movements were no doubt closely watched by Lakamba and Abdulla, for the man once in the confidence of Rajah Laut was supposed to be in possession of valuable secrets. The coast population of Borneo believes implicitly67 in diamonds of fabulous68 value, in gold mines of enormous richness in the interior. And all those imaginings are heightened by the difficulty of penetrating69 far inland, especially on the north-east coast, where the Malays and the river tribes of Dyaks or Head-hunters are eternally quarrelling. It is true enough that some gold reaches the coast in the hands of those Dyaks when, during short periods of truce70 in the desultory71 warfare72, they visit the coast settlements of Malays. And so the wildest exaggerations are built up and added to on the slight basis of that fact.
Almayer in his quality of white man—as Lingard before him—had somewhat better relations with the up-river tribes. Yet even his excursions were not without danger, and his returns were eagerly looked for by the impatient Lakamba. But every time the Rajah was disappointed. Vain were the conferences by the rice-pot of his factotum Babalatchi with the white man’s wife. The white man himself was impenetrable—impenetrable to persuasion73, coaxing74, abuse; to soft words and shrill revilings; to desperate beseechings or murderous threats; for Mrs. Almayer, in her extreme desire to persuade her husband into an alliance with Lakamba, played upon the whole gamut75 of passion. With her soiled robe wound tightly under the armpits across her lean bosom76, her scant77 grayish hair tumbled in disorder78 over her projecting cheek-bones, in suppliant79 attitude, she depicted80 with shrill volubility the advantages of close union with a man so good and so fair dealing81.
“Why don’t you go to the Rajah?” she screamed. “Why do you go back to those Dyaks in the great forest? They should be killed. You cannot kill them, you cannot; but our Rajah’s men are brave! You tell the Rajah where the old white man’s treasure is. Our Rajah is good! He is our very grandfather, Datu Besar! He will kill those wretched Dyaks, and you shall have half the treasure. Oh, Kaspar, tell where the treasure is! Tell me! Tell me out of the old man’s surat where you read so often at night.”
On those occasions Almayer sat with rounded shoulders bending to the blast of this domestic tempest, accentuating82 only each pause in the torrent83 of his wife’s eloquence84 by an angry growl85, “There is no treasure! Go away, woman!” Exasperated86 by the sight of his patiently bent87 back, she would at last walk round so as to face him across the table, and clasping her robe with one hand she stretched the other lean arm and claw-like hand to emphasise88, in a passion of anger and contempt, the rapid rush of scathing89 remarks and bitter cursings heaped on the head of the man unworthy to associate with brave Malay chiefs. It ended generally by Almayer rising slowly, his long pipe in hand, his face set into a look of inward pain, and walking away in silence. He descended90 the steps and plunged91 into the long grass on his way to the solitude92 of his new house, dragging his feet in a state of physical collapse93 from disgust and fear before that fury. She followed to the head of the steps, and sent the shafts94 of indiscriminate abuse after the retreating form. And each of those scenes was concluded by a piercing shriek96, reaching him far away. “You know, Kaspar, I am your wife! your own Christian97 wife after your own Blanda law!” For she knew that this was the bitterest thing of all; the greatest regret of that man’s life.
All these scenes Nina witnessed unmoved. She might have been deaf, dumb, without any feeling as far as any expression of opinion went. Yet oft when her father had sought the refuge of the great dusty rooms of “Almayer’s Folly,” and her mother, exhausted98 by rhetorical efforts, squatted wearily on her heels with her back against the leg of the table, Nina would approach her curiously99, guarding her skirts from betel juice besprinkling the floor, and gaze down upon her as one might look into the quiescent100 crater101 of a volcano after a destructive eruption102. Mrs. Almayer’s thoughts, after these scenes, were usually turned into a channel of childhood reminiscences, and she gave them utterance103 in a kind of monotonous104 recitative—slightly disconnected, but generally describing the glories of the Sultan of Sulu, his great splendour, his power, his great prowess; the fear which benumbed the hearts of white men at the sight of his swift piratical praus. And these muttered statements of her grandfather’s might were mixed up with bits of later recollections, where the great fight with the “White Devil’s” brig and the convent life in Samarang occupied the principal place. At that point she usually dropped the thread of her narrative, and pulling out the little brass cross, always suspended round her neck, she contemplated105 it with superstitious106 awe107. That superstitious feeling connected with some vague talismanic108 properties of the little bit of metal, and the still more hazy109 but terrible notion of some bad Djinns and horrible torments110 invented, as she thought, for her especial punishment by the good Mother Superior in case of the loss of the above charm, were Mrs. Almayer’s only theological luggage for the stormy road of life. Mrs. Almayer had at least something tangible111 to cling to, but Nina, brought up under the Protestant wing of the proper Mrs. Vinck, had not even a little piece of brass to remind her of past teaching. And listening to the recital of those savage glories, those barbarous fights and savage feasting, to the story of deeds valorous, albeit112 somewhat bloodthirsty, where men of her mother’s race shone far above the Orang Blanda, she felt herself irresistibly113 fascinated, and saw with vague surprise the narrow mantle114 of civilised morality, in which good-meaning people had wrapped her young soul, fall away and leave her shivering and helpless as if on the edge of some deep and unknown abyss. Strangest of all, this abyss did not frighten her when she was under the influence of the witch-like being she called her mother. She seemed to have forgotten in civilised surroundings her life before the time when Lingard had, so to speak, kidnapped her from Brow. Since then she had had Christian teaching, social education, and a good glimpse of civilised life. Unfortunately her teachers did not understand her nature, and the education ended in a scene of humiliation115, in an outburst of contempt from white people for her mixed blood. She had tasted the whole bitterness of it and remembered distinctly that the virtuous116 Mrs. Vinck’s indignation was not so much directed against the young man from the bank as against the innocent cause of that young man’s infatuation. And there was also no doubt in her mind that the principal cause of Mrs. Vinck’s indignation was the thought that such a thing should happen in a white nest, where her snow-white doves, the two Misses Vinck, had just returned from Europe, to find shelter under the maternal117 wing, and there await the coming of irreproachable118 men of their destiny. Not even the thought of the money so painfully scraped together by Almayer, and so punctually sent for Nina’s expenses, could dissuade119 Mrs. Vinck from her virtuous resolve. Nina was sent away, and in truth the girl herself wanted to go, although a little frightened by the impending120 change. And now she had lived on the river for three years with a savage mother and a father walking about amongst pitfalls121, with his head in the clouds, weak, irresolute122, and unhappy. She had lived a life devoid of all the decencies of civilisation124, in miserable125 domestic conditions; she had breathed in the atmosphere of sordid126 plottings for gain, of the no less disgusting intrigues127 and crimes for lust41 or money; and those things, together with the domestic quarrels, were the only events of her three years’ existence. She did not die from despair and disgust the first month, as she expected and almost hoped for. On the contrary, at the end of half a year it had seemed to her that she had known no other life. Her young mind having been unskilfully permitted to glance at better things, and then thrown back again into the hopeless quagmire128 of barbarism, full of strong and uncontrolled passions, had lost the power to discriminate95. It seemed to Nina that there was no change and no difference. Whether they traded in brick godowns or on the muddy river bank; whether they reached after much or little; whether they made love under the shadows of the great trees or in the shadow of the cathedral on the Singapore promenade129; whether they plotted for their own ends under the protection of laws and according to the rules of Christian conduct, or whether they sought the gratification of their desires with the savage cunning and the unrestrained fierceness of natures as innocent of culture as their own immense and gloomy forests, Nina saw only the same manifestations130 of love and hate and of sordid greed chasing the uncertain dollar in all its multifarious and vanishing shapes. To her resolute123 nature, however, after all these years, the savage and uncompromising sincerity131 of purpose shown by her Malay kinsmen132 seemed at last preferable to the sleek133 hypocrisy134, to the polite disguises, to the virtuous pretences135 of such white people as she had had the misfortune to come in contact with. After all it was her life; it was going to be her life, and so thinking she fell more and more under the influence of her mother. Seeking, in her ignorance, a better side to that life, she listened with avidity to the old woman’s tales of the departed glories of the Rajahs, from whose race she had sprung, and she became gradually more indifferent, more contemptuous of the white side of her descent represented by a feeble and traditionless father.
Almayer’s difficulties were by no means diminished by the girl’s presence in Sambir. The stir caused by her arrival had died out, it is true, and Lakamba had not renewed his visits; but about a year after the departure of the man-of-war boats the nephew of Abdulla, Syed Reshid, returned from his pilgrimage to Mecca, rejoicing in a green jacket and the proud title of Hadji. There was a great letting off of rockets on board the steamer which brought him in, and a great beating of drums all night in Abdulla’s compound, while the feast of welcome was prolonged far into the small hours of the morning. Reshid was the favourite nephew and heir of Abdulla, and that loving uncle, meeting Almayer one day by the riverside, stopped politely to exchange civilities and to ask solemnly for an interview. Almayer suspected some attempt at a swindle, or at any rate something unpleasant, but of course consented with a great show of rejoicing. Accordingly the next evening, after sunset, Abdulla came, accompanied by several other grey-beards and by his nephew. That young man—of a very rakish and dissipated appearance—affected the greatest indifference136 as to the whole of the proceedings. When the torch-bearers had grouped themselves below the steps, and the visitors had seated themselves on various lame chairs, Reshid stood apart in the shadow, examining his aristocratically small hands with great attention. Almayer, surprised by the great solemnity of his visitors, perched himself on the corner of the table with a characteristic want of dignity quickly noted137 by the Arabs with grave disapproval138. But Abdulla spoke now, looking straight past Almayer at the red curtain hanging in the doorway139, where a slight tremor140 disclosed the presence of women on the other side. He began by neatly complimenting Almayer upon the long years they had dwelt together in cordial neighbourhood, and called upon Allah to give him many more years to gladden the eyes of his friends by his welcome presence. He made a polite allusion141 to the great consideration shown him (Almayer) by the Dutch “Commissie,” and drew thence the flattering inference of Almayer’s great importance amongst his own people. He—Abdulla—was also important amongst all the Arabs, and his nephew Reshid would be heir of that social position and of great riches. Now Reshid was a Hadji. He was possessor of several Malay women, went on Abdulla, but it was time he had a favourite wife, the first of the four allowed by the Prophet. And, speaking with well-bred politeness, he explained further to the dumbfounded Almayer that, if he would consent to the alliance of his offspring with that true believer and virtuous man Reshid, she would be the mistress of all the splendours of Reshid’s house, and first wife of the first Arab in the Islands, when he—Abdulla—was called to the joys of Paradise by Allah the All-merciful. “You know, Tuan,” he said, in conclusion, “the other women would be her slaves, and Reshid’s house is great. From Bombay he has brought great divans142, and costly143 carpets, and European furniture. There is also a great looking-glass in a frame shining like gold. What could a girl want more?” And while Almayer looked upon him in silent dismay Abdulla spoke in a more confidential144 tone, waving his attendants away, and finished his speech by pointing out the material advantages of such an alliance, and offering to settle upon Almayer three thousand dollars as a sign of his sincere friendship and the price of the girl.
Poor Almayer was nearly having a fit. Burning with the desire of taking Abdulla by the throat, he had but to think of his helpless position in the midst of lawless men to comprehend the necessity of diplomatic conciliation145. He mastered his impulses, and spoke politely and coldly, saying the girl was young and as the apple of his eye. Tuan Reshid, a Faithful and a Hadji, would not want an infidel woman in his harem; and, seeing Abdulla smile sceptically at that last objection, he remained silent, not trusting himself to speak more, not daring to refuse point-blank, nor yet to say anything compromising. Abdulla understood the meaning of that silence, and rose to take leave with a grave salaam5. He wished his friend Almayer “a thousand years,” and moved down the steps, helped dutifully by Reshid. The torch-bearers shook their torches, scattering146 a shower of sparks into the river, and the cortege moved off, leaving Almayer agitated147 but greatly relieved by their departure. He dropped into a chair and watched the glimmer148 of the lights amongst the tree trunks till they disappeared and complete silence succeeded the tramp of feet and the murmur of voices. He did not move till the curtain rustled149 and Nina came out on the verandah and sat in the rocking-chair, where she used to spend many hours every day. She gave a slight rocking motion to her seat, leaning back with half-closed eyes, her long hair shading her face from the smoky light of the lamp on the table. Almayer looked at her furtively150, but the face was as impassible as ever. She turned her head slightly towards her father, and, speaking, to his great surprise, in English, asked—
“Was that Abdulla here?”
“Yes,” said Almayer—“just gone.”
“And what did he want, father?”
“He wanted to buy you for Reshid,” answered Almayer, brutally151, his anger getting the better of him, and looking at the girl as if in expectation of some outbreak of feeling. But Nina remained apparently152 unmoved, gazing dreamily into the black night outside.
“Be careful, Nina,” said Almayer, after a short silence and rising from his chair, “when you go paddling alone into the creeks153 in your canoe. That Reshid is a violent scoundrel, and there is no saying what he may do. Do you hear me?”
She was standing now, ready to go in, one hand grasping the curtain in the doorway. She turned round, throwing her heavy tresses back by a sudden gesture.
“Do you think he would dare?” she asked, quickly, and then turned again to go in, adding in a lower tone, “He would not dare. Arabs are all cowards.”
Almayer looked after her, astonished. He did not seek the repose154 of his hammock. He walked the floor absently, sometimes stopping by the balustrade to think. The lamp went out. The first streak155 of dawn broke over the forest; Almayer shivered in the damp air. “I give it up,” he muttered to himself, lying down wearily. “Damn those women! Well! If the girl did not look as if she wanted to be kidnapped!”
And he felt a nameless fear creep into his heart, making him shiver again.
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1
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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frigate
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| n.护航舰，大型驱逐舰 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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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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goodwill
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| n.善意，亲善，信誉，声誉 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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10
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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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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stockade
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| n.栅栏，围栏；v.用栅栏防护 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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patriotically
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| 爱国地；忧国地 | |
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naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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witticisms
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| n.妙语，俏皮话( witticism的名词复数 ) | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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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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expatiated
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| v.详述，细说( expatiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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diplomat
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| n.外交官，外交家；能交际的人，圆滑的人 | |
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gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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persuasiveness
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| 说服力 | |
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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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estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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opium
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| n.鸦片；adj.鸦片的 | |
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41
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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42
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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43
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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44
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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45
dictates
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| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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46
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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47
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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48
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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49
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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50
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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51
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；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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52
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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53
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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54
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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55
potentate
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| n.统治者；君主 | |
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56
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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57
factotum
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| n.杂役；听差 | |
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58
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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59
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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60
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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61
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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62
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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63
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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64
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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65
astute
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| adj.机敏的，精明的 | |
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66
discourses
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| 论文( discourse的名词复数 )； 演说； 讲道； 话语 | |
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67
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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68
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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69
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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70
truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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71
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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72
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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73
persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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74
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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75
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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76
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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77
scant
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| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
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78
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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79
suppliant
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| adj.哀恳的；n.恳求者，哀求者 | |
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80
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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81
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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82
accentuating
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| v.重读( accentuate的现在分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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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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84
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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85
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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86
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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87
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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88
emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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89
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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90
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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91
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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92
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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93
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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94
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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95
discriminate
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| v.区别，辨别，区分；有区别地对待 | |
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96
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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97
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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98
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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99
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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100
quiescent
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| adj.静止的，不活动的，寂静的 | |
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101
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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102
eruption
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| n.火山爆发；（战争等）爆发；（疾病等）发作 | |
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103
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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104
monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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105
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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106
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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107
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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108
talismanic
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| adj.护身符的，避邪的 | |
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109
hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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110
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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111
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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112
albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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113
irresistibly
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| adv.无法抵抗地，不能自持地；极为诱惑人地 | |
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114
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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115
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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116
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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117
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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118
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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119
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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120
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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121
pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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122
irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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123
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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124
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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125
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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126
sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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127
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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128
quagmire
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| n.沼地 | |
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129
promenade
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| n./v.散步 | |
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130
manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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131
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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132
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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133
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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134
hypocrisy
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| n.伪善，虚伪 | |
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135
pretences
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| n.假装( pretence的名词复数 )；作假；自命；自称 | |
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136
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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137
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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138
disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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139
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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140
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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141
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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142
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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143
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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144
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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145
conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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146
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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147
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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148
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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149
rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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151
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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152
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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153
creeks
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| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
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154
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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155
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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