Now I am a sober and practical person, but, slender though my evidence was, it brought to my mind the most absolute conviction. I seemed to know Pitt-Heron's story as if I had heard it from his own lips—his first meeting with Lumley and their growing friendship; his initiation3 into secret and forbidden things; the revolt of the decent man, appalled4 that his freakishness had led him so far; the realisation that he could not break so easily with his past, and that Lumley held him in his power; and last, the mad flight under the pressure of overwhelming terror.
I could read, too, the purpose of that flight. He knew the Indian frontier as few men know it, and in the wild tangle6 of the Pamirs he hoped to baffle his enemy. Then from some far refuge he would send for his wife and spend the rest of his days in exile. It must have been an omnipotent7 terror to drive such a man, young, brilliant, rich, successful, to the fate of an absconding8 felon9.
But Lumley was on his trail. So I read the telegram I had picked up on the floor of the Blackheath house, and my business was to frustrate10 the pursuit. Some one must have gone to Bokhara, some creature of Lumley's, perhaps the super-butler I had met in the County Court. The telegram, for I had noted11 the date, had been received on the 27th day of May. It was now the 15th of June, so if some one had started immediately on its receipt, in all probability he would by now be in Bokhara.
I must find out who had gone and endeavour to warn Tommy. I calculated that it would have taken him seven or eight days to get from Moscow by the Transcaspian; probably he would find Pitt-Heron gone, but inquiries12 would set him on the track. I might be able to get in touch with him through the Russian officials. In any case, if Lumley were stalking Pitt-Heron, I, unknown and unsuspected, would be stalking Lumley.
The wretched letter I had written that morning had given the whole show away. Lumley knew that I was a friend of Pitt-Heron, and that I knew that he was a friend of Pitt-Heron. If my guess was right, friendship with Lumley was not a thing Charles was likely to confess to, and he would argue that my knowledge of it meant that I was in Charles's confidence. I would therefore know of his disappearance14 and its cause, and alone in London would connect it with the decorous bachelor of the Albany. My letter was a warning to him that he could not play the game unobserved, and I, too, would be suspect in his eyes.
It was no good crying over spilt milk, and Lumley's suspicions must be accepted. But I confess that the thought gave me the shivers. The man had a curious terror for me, a terror I cannot hope to analyse and reproduce for you. My bald words can give no idea of the magnetic force of his talk, the sense of brooding and unholy craft. I was proposing to match my wits against a master's, one, too, who must have at his command an organisation15 far beyond my puny16 efforts. I have said that my first feeling was that of loneliness and isolation17; my second was one of hopeless insignificance18. It was a boy's mechanical toy arrayed against a Power-House with its shining wheels and monstrous19 dynamos.
My first business was to get into touch with Tommy.
At that time I had a friend in one of the Embassies, whose acquaintance I had made on a dry-fly stream in Hampshire. I will not tell you his name, for he has since become a great figure in the world's diplomacy20, and I am by no means certain that the part he played in this tale was strictly21 in accordance with official etiquette22. I had assisted him on the legal side in some of the international worries that beset23 all Embassies, and we had reached the point of intimacy24 which is marked by the use of Christian25 names and by dining frequently together. Let us call him Monsieur Felix. He was a grave young man, slightly my senior, learned, discreet26, and ambitious, but with an engaging boyishness cropping up now and then under the official gold lace. It occurred to me that in him I might find an ally.
I reached London about eleven in the morning, and went straight to Belgrave Square. Felix I found in the little library off the big secretaries' room, a sunburnt sportsman fresh from a Norwegian salmon27 river. I asked him if he had half an hour to spare, and was told that the day was at my service.
"You know Tommy Deloraine?" I asked.
He nodded.
"And Charles Pitt-Heron?"
"I have heard of him."
"Well, here is my trouble. I have reason to believe that Tommy has joined Pitt-Heron in Bokhara. If he has, my mind will be greatly relieved, for, though I can't tell you the story, I can tell you that Pitt-Heron is in very considerable danger. Can you help me?"
Felix reflected. "That should be simple enough. I can wire in cypher to the Military Governor. The police there are pretty efficient, as you may imagine, and travellers don't come and go without being remarked. I should be able to give you an answer within twenty-four hours. But I must describe Tommy. How does one do that in telegraphese?"
"I want you to tell me another thing," I said. "You remember that Pitt-Heron has some reputation as a Central Asian traveller. Tommy, as you know, is as mad as a hatter. Suppose these two fellows at Bokhara, wanting to make a long trek28 into wild country—how would they go? You've been there, and know the lie of the land."
Felix got down a big German atlas29, and for half an hour we pored over it. From Bokhara, he said, the only routes for madmen ran to the south. East and north you got into Siberia; west lay the Transcaspian desert; but southward you might go through the Hissar range by Pamirski Post to Gilgit and Kashmir, or you might follow up the Oxus and enter the north of Afghanistan, or you might go by Merv into north-eastern Persia. The first he thought the likeliest route, if a man wanted to travel fast.
I asked him to put in his cable a suggestion about watching the Indian roads, and left him with a promise of early enlightenment.
Then I went down to the Temple, fixed30 some consultations31, and spent a quiet evening in my rooms. I had a heavy sense of impending32 disaster, not unnatural33 in the circumstances. I really cannot think what it was that held me to the job, for I don't mind admitting that I felt pretty queasy34 about it. Partly, no doubt, liking35 for Tommy and Ethel, partly regret for that unfortunate fellow Pitt-Heron, most of all, I think, dislike of Lumley. That bland36 super-man had fairly stirred my prosaic37 antipathies38.
That night I went carefully over every item in the evidence to try and decide on my next step. I had got to find out more about my enemies. Lumley I was pretty certain would baffle me, but I thought I might have a better chance with the super-butler. As it turned out I hit his trail almost at once.
Next day I was in a case at the Old Bailey. It was an important prosecution39 for fraud, and I appeared, with two leaders, for the Bank concerned. The amazing and almost incredible thing about this story of mine is the way clues kept rolling in unsolicited, and I was to get another from this dull prosecution. I suppose that the explanation is that the world is full of clues to everything, and that, if a man's mind is sharp-set on any quest, he happens to notice and take advantage of what otherwise he would miss.
My leaders were both absent the first day, and I had to examine our witnesses alone. Towards the close of the afternoon I put a fellow in the box, an oldish, drink-sodden clerk from a Cannon40 Street bucket-shop. His evidence was valuable for our case, but I was very doubtful how he would stand a cross-examination as to credit. His name was Routh, and he spoke41 with a strong North-country accent. But what caught my attention was his face. His jaw42 looked as if it had been made in two pieces which did not fit, and he had little, bright protuberant43 eyes. At my first glance I was conscious of a recollection.
He was still in the box when the Court rose, and I informed the solicitors44 that before going further I wanted a conference with the witness. I mentioned also that I should like to see him alone. A few minutes later he was brought to my chambers45, and I put one or two obvious questions on the case, till the managing clerk who accompanied him announced with many excuses that he must hurry away. Then I shut the door, gave Mr. Routh a cigar, and proceeded to conduct a private inquiry46.
He was a pathetic being, only too ready to talk. I learned the squalid details of his continuous misfortunes. He had been the son of a dissenting47 minister in Northumberland, and had drifted through half a dozen occupations till he found his present unsavoury billet. Truth was written large on his statement, he had nothing to conceal48, for his foible was folly, not crime, and he had not a rag of pride to give him reticence49. He boasted that he was a gentleman and well-educated, too, but he had never had a chance. His brother had advised him badly; his brother was too clever for a prosaic world; always through his reminiscences came this echo of fraternal admiration50 and complaint.
It was about the brother I wanted to know, and Mr. Routh was very willing to speak. Indeed, it was hard to disentangle facts from his copious51 outpourings. The brother had been an engineer and a highly successful one; had dallied52 with politics, too, and had been a great inventor. He had put Mr. Routh on to a South American speculation53, where he had made a little money but speedily lost it again. Oh, he had been a good brother in his way, and had often helped him, but he was a busy man, and his help never went quite far enough. Besides, he did not like to apply to him too often. I gathered that the brother was not a person to take liberties with.
I asked him what he was doing now.
"Ah," said Mr. Routh, "that is what I wish I could tell you. I will not conceal from you that for the moment I am in considerable financial straits, and this case, though my hands are clean enough, God knows, will not make life easier for me. My brother is a mysterious man, whose business often takes him abroad. I have never known even his address, for I write always to a London office from which my communications are forwarded. I only know that he is in some big electrical business, for I remember that he once let drop the remark that he was in charge of some power station. No, I do not think it is in London, probably somewhere abroad. I heard from him a fortnight ago, and he told me he was just leaving England for a couple of months. It is very annoying, for I want badly to get into touch with him."
"Do you know, Mr. Routh," I said, "I believe I have met your brother. Is he like you in any way?"
"We have a strong family resemblance, but he is taller and slimmer. He has been more prosperous, and has lived a healthier life, you see."
"Do you happen to know," I asked, "if he ever uses another name? I don't think that the man I knew was called Routh."
The clerk flushed. "I think it highly unlikely that my brother would use an alias. He has done nothing to disgrace a name of which we are proud."
I told him that my memory had played me false, and we parted on very good terms. He was an innocent soul, one of those people that clever rascals54 get to do their dirty work for them. But there was no mistaking the resemblance. There, without the brains and force and virility55, went my super-butler of Blackheath, who passed under the name of Tuke.
The clerk had given me the name of the office to whose address he had written to his brother. I was not surprised to find that it was that of the firm of stockbrokers56 for whom I was still acting57 in the bearer-bonds case where I had heard Pavia's name.
I rang up the partner whom I knew and told him a very plausible58 story of having a message for one of Mr. Pavia's servants, and asked him if he were in touch with them and could forward letters. He made me hold the line, and then came back and told me that he had forwarded letters for Tuke, the butler, and one Routh who was a groom59 or footman. Tuke had gone abroad to join his master and he did not know his address. But he advised me to write to the White Lodge60.
I thanked him and rang off. That was settled anyhow. Tuke's real name was Routh, and it was Tuke who had gone to Bokhara.
My next step was to ring up Macgillivray at Scotland Yard and get an appointment in half an hour's time. Macgillivray had been at the Bar—I had read in his chambers—and was now one of the heads of the Criminal Investigation61 Department. I was about to ask him for information which he was in no way bound to give me, but I presumed on our old acquaintance.
I asked him first whether he had ever heard of a secret organisation which went under the name of the Power-House. He laughed out loud at my question.
"I should think we have several hundreds of such pet names on our records," he said. "Everything from the Lodge of the Baldfaced Ravens62 to Solomon's Seal No. X. Fancy nomenclature is the relaxation63 of the tired anarchist64, and matters very little. The dangerous fellows have no names, no numbers even, which we can get hold of. But I'll get a man to look up our records. There may be something filed about your Power-House."
My second question he answered differently. "Routh! Routh! Why, yes, there was a Routh we had dealings with a dozen years ago, when I used to go the North-Eastern circuit. He was a trade-union official who bagged the funds, and they couldn't bring him to justice because of the ridiculous extra-legal status they possess. He knew it, and played their own privileges against them. Oh, yes, he was a very complete rogue65. I once saw him at a meeting in Sunderland, and I remember his face—sneering eyes, diabolically66 clever mouth, and with it all as smug as a family butler. He has disappeared from England—at least we haven't heard of him for some years, but I can show you his photograph."
Macgillivray took from a lettered cabinet a bundle of cards, selected one and tossed it towards me. It was that of a man of thirty or so, with short side-whiskers and a drooping67 moustache. The eyes, the ill-fitting jaw, and the brow were those of my friend, Mr. Tuke, brother and patron of the sorrowful Mr. Routh, who had already that afternoon occupied my attention.
Macgillivray promised to make certain inquiries, and I walked home in a state of elation68. Now I knew for certain who had gone to Bokhara, and I knew something, too, of the traveller's past. A discredited69 genius was the very man for Lumley's schemes—one who asked for nothing better than to use his brains outside the ring-fence of convention. Somewhere in the wastes of Turkestan the ex-trade-union official was in search of Pitt-Heron. I did not fancy that Mr. Tuke would be very squeamish.
I dined at the club and left early. Going home, I had an impression that I was being shadowed.
You know the feeling that some one is watching you, a sort of sensation which the mind receives without actual evidence. If the watcher is behind where you can't see him you have a cold feeling between your shoulders. I daresay it is a legacy70 from the days when the cave-man had to look pretty sharp to keep from getting his enemy's knife between the ribs71.
It was a bright summer evening, and Piccadilly had its usual crowd of motor-cars and busses and foot passengers. I halted twice, once in St. James's Street and once at the corner of Stratton Street, and retraced72 my steps for a bit, and each time I had the impression that some one a hundred yards or so off had done the same. My instinct was to turn round and face him, whoever he was, but I saw that that was foolishness. Obviously in such a crowd I could get no certainty in the matter, so I put it out of my mind.
I spent the rest of the evening in my rooms, reading cases and trying to keep my thoughts off Central Asia. About ten I was rung up on the telephone by Felix. He had had his answer from Bokhara. Pitt-Heron had left with a small caravan73 on June 2d by the main road through the Hissar range. Tommy had arrived on June 10th and on the 12th had set off with two servants on the same trail. Travelling the lighter74 of the two, he should have overtaken Pitt-Heron by the 15th at latest.
That was yesterday, and my mind was immensely relieved. Tommy in such a situation was a tower of strength, for, whatever his failings in politics, I knew no one I would rather have with me to go tiger-shooting.
Next day the sense of espionage75 increased. I was in the habit of walking down to the Temple by way of Pall5 Mall and the Embankment, but, as I did not happen to be in Court that morning, I resolved to make a detour76 and test my suspicions. There seemed to be nobody in Down Street as I emerged from my flat, but I had not walked five yards before, turning back, I saw a man enter from the Piccadilly end, while another moved across the Hertford Street opening. It may have been only my imagination, but I was convinced that these were my watchers.
I walked up Park Lane, for it seemed to me that by taking the Tube at the Marble Arch Station I could bring matters to the proof. I have a knack77 of observing small irrelevant78 details, and I happened to have noticed that a certain carriage in the train which left Marble Arch about 9.30 stopped exactly opposite the exit at the Chancery Lane Station, and by hurrying up the passage one could just catch the lift which served an earlier train and so reach the street before any of the other travellers.
I performed this manoeuvre79 with success, caught the early lift, reached the street and took cover behind a pillar-box from which I could watch the exit of passengers from the stairs. I judged that my tracker, if he missed me below, would run up the stairs rather than wait for the lift. Sure enough, a breathless gentleman appeared, who scanned the street eagerly, and then turned to the lift to watch the emerging passengers. It was clear that the espionage was no figment of my brain.
I walked slowly to my chambers and got through the day's work as best I could, for my mind was preoccupied80 with the unpleasant business in which I found myself entangled81. I would have given a year's income to be honestly quit of it, but there seemed to be no way of escape. The maddening thing was that I could do so little. There was no chance of forgetting anxiety in strenuous82 work. I could only wait with the patience at my command, and hope for the one chance in a thousand which I might seize. I felt miserably83 that it was no game for me. I had never been brought up to harry84 wild beasts and risk my neck twice a day at polo like Tommy Deloraine. I was a peaceful, sedentary man, a lover of a quiet life, with no appetite for perils85 and commotions86. But I was beginning to realize that I was very obstinate87.
At four o'clock I left the Temple and walked to the Embassy. I had resolved to banish88 the espionage from my mind, for that was the least of my difficulties.
Felix gave me an hour of his valuable time. It was something that Tommy had joined Pitt-Heron, but there were other matters to be arranged in that far country. The time had come, in my opinion, to tell him the whole story.
The telling was a huge relief to my mind. He did not laugh at me as I had half feared, but took the whole thing as gravely as possible. In his profession, I fancy, he had found too many certainties behind suspicions to treat anything as trivial. The next step, he said, was to warn the Russian police of the presence of the man called Saronov and the super-butler. Happily we had materials for the description of Tuke or Routh, and I could not believe that such a figure would be hard to trace. Felix cabled again in cypher, asking that the two should be watched, more especially if there was reason to believe that they had followed Tommy's route. Once more we got out the big map and discussed the possible ways. It seemed to me a land created by Providence89 for surprises, for the roads followed the valleys, and to the man who travelled light there must be many short cuts through the hills.
I left the Embassy before six o'clock and, crossing the Square engrossed90 with my own thoughts, ran full into Lumley.
I hope I played my part well, though I could not repress a start of surprise. He wore a grey morning-coat and a white top-hat and looked the image of benevolent91 respectability.
"Ah, Mr. Leithen," he said, "we meet again."
I murmured something about my regrets at my early departure three days ago, and added the feeble joke that I wished he would hurry on his Twilight92 of Civilisation, for the burden of it was becoming too much for me.
He looked me in the eyes with all the friendliness93 in the world. "So you have not forgotten our evening's talk? You owe me something, my friend, for giving you a new interest in your profession."
"I owe you much," I said, "for your hospitality, your advice, and your warnings."
"I am going to make a call in Grosvenor Place," he said, "and shall beg in return the pleasure of your company. So you know my young friend, Pitt-Heron?"
With an ingenuous95 countenance96 I explained that he had been at Oxford97 with me and that we had common friends.
"A brilliant young man," said Lumley. "Like you, he has occasionally cheered an old man's solitude98. And he has spoken of me to you?"
"Yes," I said, lying stoutly99. "He used to tell me about your collections." (If Lumley knew Charles well he would find me out, for the latter would not have crossed the road for all the treasures of the Louvre.)
"Ah, yes, I have picked up a few things. If ever you should care to see them I should be honoured. You are a connoisseur100? Of a sort? You interest me for I should have thought your taste lay in other directions than the dead things of art. Pitt-Heron is no collector. He loves life better than art, as a young man should. A great traveller our friend—the Laurence Oliphant or Richard Burton of our day."
We stopped at a house in Grosvenor Place, and he relinquished101 my arm. "Mr. Leithen," he said, "a word from one who wishes you no ill. You are a friend of Pitt-Heron, but where he goes you cannot follow. Take my advice and keep out of his affairs. You will do no good to him, and you may bring yourself into serious danger. You are a man of sense, a practical man, so I speak to you frankly102. But, remember, I do not warn twice."
He took off his glasses, and his light, wild eyes looked me straight in the face. All benevolence103 had gone, and something implacable and deadly burned in them. Before I could say a word in reply he shuffled104 up the steps of the house and was gone....
该作者的其它作品
《Greenmantle绿斗篷》
《The Thirty-nine Steps》
该作者的其它作品
《Greenmantle绿斗篷》
《The Thirty-nine Steps》
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alias
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| n.化名；别名；adv.又名 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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absconding
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的现在分词 ) | |
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felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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frustrate
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| v.使失望；使沮丧；使厌烦 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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folly
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disappearance
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organisation
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| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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isolation
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insignificance
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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diplomacy
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strictly
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etiquette
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beset
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intimacy
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Christian
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salmon
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trek
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atlas
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fixed
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consultations
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impending
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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queasy
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liking
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bland
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prosaic
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antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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prosecution
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cannon
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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42
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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protuberant
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| adj.突出的，隆起的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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46
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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dallied
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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54
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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virility
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| n.雄劲，丈夫气 | |
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stockbrokers
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| n.股票经纪人( stockbroker的名词复数 ) | |
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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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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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ravens
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| n.低质煤；渡鸦( raven的名词复数 ) | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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anarchist
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| n.无政府主义者 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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diabolically
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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discredited
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| 不足信的，不名誉的 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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71
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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74
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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detour
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| n.绕行的路，迂回路；v.迂回，绕道 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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81
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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85
perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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commotions
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| n.混乱，喧闹，骚动( commotion的名词复数 ) | |
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87
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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89
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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91
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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92
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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93
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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94
tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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96
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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97
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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98
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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99
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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100
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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101
relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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102
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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103
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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104
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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