Before supper was over the yacht was high and dry, and when we had eaten, Davies loaded himself with cans and breakers. I was for taking my share, but he induced me to stay aboard; for I was dead tired after an unusually long and trying day, which had begun at 2 a.m., when, using a precious instalment of east wind, we had started on a complete passage of the sands from the Elbe to the Jade7. It was a barely possible feat8 for a boat of our low speed to perform in only two tides; and though we just succeeded, it was only by dint9 of tireless vigilance and severe physical strain.
“Lay out the anchor when you’ve had a smoke,” said Davies, “and keep an eye on the riding-light; it’s my only guide back.”
He lowered himself, and I heard the scrunch10 of his sea-boots as he disappeared in the darkness. It was a fine starry11 night, with a touch of frost in the air. I lit a cigar, and stretched myself on a sofa close to the glow of the stove. The cigar soon languished12 and dropped, and I dozed13 uneasily, for the riding-light was on my mind. I got up once and squinted14 at it through the half-raised skylight, saw it burning steadily15, and lay down again. The cabin lamp wanted oil and was dying down to a red-hot wick, but I was too drowsy16 to attend to it, and it went out. I lit my cigar stump17 again, and tried to keep awake by thinking. It was the first time I and Davies had been separated for so long; yet so used had we grown to freedom from interference that this would not have disturbed me in the least were it not for a sudden presentiment18 that on this first night of the second stage of our labours something would happen. All at once I heard a sound outside, a splashing footstep as of a man stepping in a puddle19. I was wide awake in an instant, but never thought of shouting “Is that you, Davies?” for I knew in a flash that it was not he. It was the slip of a stealthy man. Presently I heard another footstep—the pad of a boot on the sand—this time close to my ear, just outside the hull20; then some more, fainter and farther aft. I gently rose and peered aft through the skylight. A glimmer21 of light, reflected from below, was wavering over the mizzen-mast and bumpkin; it had nothing to do with the riding-light, which hung on the forestay. My prowler, I understood, had struck a match and was reading the name on the stern. How much farther would his curiosity carry him? The match went out, and footsteps were audible again. Then a strong, guttural voice called in German, “Yacht ahoy!” I kept silence. “Yacht ahoy!” a little louder this time. A pause, and then a vibration22 of the hull as boots scraped on it and hands grasped the gunwale. My visitor was on deck. I bobbed down, sat on the sofa, and I heard him moving along the deck, quickly and confidently, first forward to the bows, where he stopped, then back to the companion amidships. Inside the cabin it was pitch dark, but I heard his boots on the ladder, feeling for the steps. In another moment he would be in the doorway23 lighting24 his second match. Surely it was darker than before? There had been a little glow from the riding-lamp reflected on to the skylight, but it had disappeared. I looked up, realised, and made a fool of myself. In a few seconds more I should have seen my visitor face to face, perhaps had an interview: but I was new to this sort of work and lost my head. All I thought of was Davies’s last words, and saw him astray on the sands, with no light to guide him back, the tide rising, and a heavy load. I started up involuntarily, bumped against the table, and set the stove jingling25. A long step and a grab at the ladder, but just too late! I grasped something damp and greasy26, there was tugging27 and hard breathing, and I was left clasping a big sea-boot, whose owner I heard jump on to the sand and run. I scrambled28 out, vaulted29 overboard, and followed blindly by the sound. He had doubled round the bows of the yacht, and I did the same, ducked under the bowsprit, forgetting the bobstay, and fell violently on my head, with all the wind knocked out of me by a wire rope and block whose strength and bulk was one of the glories of the Dulcibella. I struggled on as soon as I got some breath, but my invisible quarry30 was far ahead. I pulled off my heavy boots, carried them, and ran in my stockings, promptly31 cutting my foot on some cockle-shells. Pursuit was hopeless, and a final stumble over a bit of driftwood sent me sprawling32 with agony in my toes.
Limping back, I decided that I had made a very poor beginning as an active adventurer. I had gained nothing, and lost a great deal of breath and skin, and did not even know for certain where I was. The yacht’s light was extinguished, and, even with Wangeroog Lighthouse to guide me, I found it no easy matter to find her. She had no anchor out, if the tide rose. And how was Davies to find her? After much feeble circling I took to lying flat at intervals33 in the hopes of seeing her silhouetted34 against the starry sky. This plan succeeded at last, and with relief and humility35 I boarded her, relit the riding-light, and carried off the kedge anchor. The strange boot lay at the foot of the ladder, but it told no tales when I examined it. It was eleven o’clock, past low water. Davies was cutting it fine if he was to get aboard without the dinghy’s help. But eventually he reappeared in the most prosaic36 way, exhausted37 with his heavy load, but full of talk about his visit ashore38. He began while we were still on deck.
“Look here, we ought to have settled more about what we’re to say when we’re asked questions. I chose a quiet-looking shop, but it turned out to be a sort of inn, where they were drinking pink gin—all very friendly, as usual, and I found myself under a fire of questions. I said we were on our way back to England. There was the usual rot about the smallness of the boat, etc. It struck me that we should want some other pretence39 for going so slow and stopping to explore, so I had to bring in the ducks, though goodness knows we don’t want to waste time over them. The subject wasn’t quite a success. They said it was too early—jealous, I suppose; but then two fellows spoke40 up, and asked to be taken on to help. Said they would bring their punt; without local help we should do no good. All true enough, no doubt, but what a nuisance they’d be. I got out of it——”
“It’s just as well you did,” I interposed. “We shall never be able to leave the boat by herself. I believe we’re watched,” and I related my experience.
“H’m! It’s a pity you didn’t see who it was. Confound that bobstay!” (his tactful way of reflecting on my clumsiness); “which way did he run?” I pointed41 vaguely42 into the west. “Not towards the island? I wonder if it’s someone off one of those galliots. There are three anchored in the channel over there; you can see their lights. You didn’t hear a boat pulling off?”
“You’ve done jolly well, I think,” said Davies. “If you had shouted when you first heard him we should know less still. And we’ve got a boot, which may come in useful. Anchor out all right? Let’s get below.”
We smoked and talked till the new flood, lapping softly round the Dulcibella, raised her without a jar.
Of course, I argued, there might be nothing in it. The visitor might have been a commonplace thief; an apparently44 deserted45 yacht was a tempting46 bait. Davies scouted47 this possibility from the first.
“They’re not like that in Germany,” he said. “In Holland, if you like, they’ll do anything. And I don’t like that turning out of the lantern to gain time, if we were away.”
Nor did I. In spite of my blundering in details, I welcomed the incident as the first concrete proof that the object of our quest was no mare’s nest. The next point was what was the visitor’s object? If to search, what would he have found?
“The charts, of course, with all our corrections and notes, and the log. They’d give us away,” was Davies’s instant conclusion. Not having his faith in the channel theory, I was lukewarm about his precious charts.
“After all, we’re doing nothing wrong, as you’ve often said yourself,” I said.
Still, as a true index to our mode of life they were the only things on board that could possibly compromise us or suggest that we were anything more than eccentric young Englishmen cruising for sport (witness the duck-guns) and pleasure. We had two sets of charts, German and English. The former we decided to use in practice, and to hide, together with the log, if occasion demanded. My diary, I resolved, should never leave my person. Then there were the naval48 books. Davies scanned them with a look I knew well.
“There are too many of them,” he said, in the tone of a cook fixing the fate of superfluous49 kittens. “Let’s throw them overboard. They’re very old anyhow, and I know them by heart.”
“Well, not here!” I protested, for he was laying greedy hands on the shelf; “they’ll be found at low water. In fact, I should leave them as they are. You had them when you were here before, and Dollmann knows you had them. If you return without them, it will look queer.” They were spared.
The English charts, being relatively50 useless, though more suitable to our rôle as English yachtsmen, were to be left in evidence, as shining proofs of our innocence51. It was all delightfully52 casual, I could not help thinking. A seven-ton yacht does not abound53 in (dry) hiding-places, and we were helpless against a drastic search. If there were secrets on this coast to guard, and we were suspected as spies, there was nothing to prevent an official visit and warning. There need be no prowlers scuttling54 off when alarmed, unless indeed it was thought wisest to let well alone, if we were harmless, and not to arouse suspicions where there were none. Here we lost ourselves in conjecture55. Whose agent was the prowler? If Dollmann’s, did Dollmann know now that the Dulcibella was safe, and back in the region he had expelled her from? If so, was he likely to return to the policy of violence? We found ourselves both glancing at the duck-guns strung up under the racks, and then we both laughed and looked foolish. “A war of wits, and not of duck-guns,” I opined. “Let’s look at the chart.”
The reader is already familiar with the general aspect of this singular region, and I need only remind him that the mainland is that district of Prussia which is known as East Friesland. It is a [See Map B] short, flat-topped peninsula, bounded on the west by the Ems estuary56 and beyond that by Holland, and on the east by the Jade estuary; a low-lying country, containing great tracts57 of marsh58 and heath, and few towns of any size; on the north side none. Seven islands lie off the coast. All, except Borkum, which is round, are attenuated59 strips, slightly crescent-shaped, rarely more than a mile broad, and tapering60 at the ends; in length averaging about six miles, from Norderney and Juist, which are seven and nine respectively, to little Baltrum, which is only two and a half.
Of the shoal spaces which lie between them and the mainland, two-thirds dry at low-water, and the remaining third becomes a system of lagoons whose distribution is controlled by the natural drift of the North Sea as it forces its way through the intervals between the islands. Each of these intervals resembles the bar of a river, and is obstructed61 by dangerous banks, over which the sea pours at every tide scooping62 out a deep pool. This fans out and ramifies to east and west as the pent-up current frees itself, encircles the islands, and spreads over the intervening flats. But the farther it penetrates63 the less coursing force it has, and as a result no island is girt completely by a low-water channel. About midway at the back of each of them is a “watershed”, only covered for five or six hours out of the twelve. A boat, even of the lightest draught64, navigating65 behind the islands must choose its moment for passing these. As to navigability, the North Sea Pilot sums up the matter in these dry terms: “The channels dividing these islands from each other and the shore afford to the small craft of the country the means of communication between the Ems and the Jade, to which description of vessels66 only they are available.” The islands are dismissed with a brief note or two about beacons67 and lights.
The more I looked at the chart the more puzzled I became. The islands were evidently mere68 sandbanks, with a cluster of houses and a church on each, the only hint of animation69 in their desolate70 ensemble71 being the occasional word “Bade-strand”, suggesting that they were visited in the summer months by a handful of townsfolk for the sea-bathing. Norderney, of course, was conspicuous72 in this respect; but even its town, which I know by repute as a gay and fashionable watering-place, would be dead and empty for some months in the year, and could have no commercial importance. No man could do anything on the mainland coast—a monotonous73 line of dyke74 punctuated75 at intervals by an infinitesimal village. Glancing idly at the names of these villages, I noticed that they most of them ended in siel—a repulsive76 termination, that seemed appropriate to the whole region. There were Carolinensiel, Bensersiel, etc. Siel means either a sewer77 or a sluice78, the latter probably in this case, for I noticed that each village stood at the outlet79 of a little stream which evidently carried off the drainage of the lowlands behind. A sluice, or lock, would be necessary at the mouth, for at high tide the land is below the level of the sea. Looking next at the sands outside, I noticed that across them and towards each outlet a line of booms was marked, showing that there was some sort of tidal approach to the village, evidently formed by the scour80 of the little stream.
“Are we going to explore those?” I asked Davies.
“I don’t see the use,” he answered; “they only lead to those potty little places. I suppose local galliots use them.”
“How about your torpedo-boats and patrol-boats?”
“They might, at certain tides. But I can’t see what value they’d be, unless as a refuge for a German boat in the last resort. They lead to no harbours. Wait! There’s a little notch81 in the dyke at Neuharlingersiel and Dornumersiel, which may mean some sort of a quay82 arrangement, but what’s the use of that?”
“We may as well visit one or two, I suppose?”
“I suppose so; but we don’t want to be playing round villages. There’s heaps of really important work to do, farther out.”
“Well, what do you make of this coast?”
Davies had nothing but the same old theory, but he urged it with a force and keenness that impressed me more deeply than ever.
“Look at those islands!” he said. “They’re clearly the old line of coast, hammered into breaches83 by the sea. The space behind them is like an immense tidal harbour, thirty miles by five, and they screen it impenetrably. It’s absolutely made for shallow war-boats under skilled pilotage. They can nip in and out of the gaps, and dodge84 about from end to end. On one side is the Ems, on the other the big estuaries85. It’s a perfect base for torpedo-craft.”
“We go on exploring, then, in the same way?”
“Yes; keeping a sharp look-out, though. Remember, we shall always be in sight of land now.”
“What’s the glass doing?”
“Higher than for a long time. I hope it won’t bring fog. I know this district is famous for fogs, and fine weather at this time of the year is bad for them anywhere. I would rather it blew, if it wasn’t for exploring those gaps, where an on-shore wind would be nasty. Six-thirty to-morrow; not later. I think I’ll sleep in the saloon for the future, after what happened to-night.”
点击收听单词发音
1 fawn | |
n.未满周岁的小鹿;v.巴结,奉承 | |
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2 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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3 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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4 replenish | |
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满 | |
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5 spire | |
n.(教堂)尖顶,尖塔,高点 | |
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6 lagoons | |
n.污水池( lagoon的名词复数 );潟湖;(大湖或江河附近的)小而浅的淡水湖;温泉形成的池塘 | |
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7 jade | |
n.玉石;碧玉;翡翠 | |
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8 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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9 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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10 scrunch | |
v.压,挤压;扭曲(面部) | |
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11 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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12 languished | |
长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 ); 受折磨; 变得(越来越)衰弱; 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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13 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 squinted | |
斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 ); 眯着眼睛; 瞟; 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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15 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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16 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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17 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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18 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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19 puddle | |
n.(雨)水坑,泥潭 | |
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20 hull | |
n.船身;(果、实等的)外壳;vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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21 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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22 vibration | |
n.颤动,振动;摆动 | |
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23 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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24 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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25 jingling | |
叮当声 | |
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26 greasy | |
adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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27 tugging | |
n.牵引感v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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28 scrambled | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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29 vaulted | |
adj.拱状的 | |
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30 quarry | |
n.采石场;v.采石;费力地找 | |
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31 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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32 sprawling | |
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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33 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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34 silhouetted | |
显出轮廓的,显示影像的 | |
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35 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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36 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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37 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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38 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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39 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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40 spoke | |
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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41 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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42 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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43 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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44 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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45 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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46 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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47 scouted | |
寻找,侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 ); 物色(优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等) | |
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48 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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49 superfluous | |
adj.过多的,过剩的,多余的 | |
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50 relatively | |
adv.比较...地,相对地 | |
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51 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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52 delightfully | |
大喜,欣然 | |
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53 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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54 scuttling | |
n.船底穿孔,打开通海阀(沉船用)v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 );快跑,急走 | |
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55 conjecture | |
n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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56 estuary | |
n.河口,江口 | |
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57 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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58 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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59 attenuated | |
v.(使)变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)变薄;(使)变小;减弱 | |
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60 tapering | |
adj.尖端细的 | |
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61 obstructed | |
阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 ); 堵塞; 阻碍; 阻止 | |
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62 scooping | |
n.捞球v.抢先报道( scoop的现在分词 );(敏捷地)抱起;抢先获得;用铲[勺]等挖(洞等) | |
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63 penetrates | |
v.穿过( penetrate的第三人称单数 );刺入;了解;渗透 | |
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64 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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65 navigating | |
v.给(船舶、飞机等)引航,导航( navigate的现在分词 );(从海上、空中等)横越;横渡;飞跃 | |
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66 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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67 beacons | |
灯塔( beacon的名词复数 ); 烽火; 指路明灯; 无线电台或发射台 | |
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68 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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69 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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70 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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71 ensemble | |
n.合奏(唱)组;全套服装;整体,总效果 | |
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72 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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73 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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74 dyke | |
n.堤,水坝,排水沟 | |
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75 punctuated | |
v.(在文字中)加标点符号,加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 );不时打断某事物 | |
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76 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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77 sewer | |
n.排水沟,下水道 | |
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78 sluice | |
n.水闸 | |
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79 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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80 scour | |
v.搜索;擦,洗,腹泻,冲刷 | |
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81 notch | |
n.(V字形)槽口,缺口,等级 | |
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82 quay | |
n.码头,靠岸处 | |
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83 breaches | |
破坏( breach的名词复数 ); 破裂; 缺口; 违背 | |
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84 dodge | |
v.闪开,躲开,避开;n.妙计,诡计 | |
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85 estuaries | |
(江河入海的)河口,河口湾( estuary的名词复数 ) | |
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86 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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