"I've got some very important news for you, and want to be quiet. There's a little place where I sometimes dine—Rapaccini's, in Antioch Street. I'll meet you there at half-past seven."
I agreed, and sent a message to Chapman at the flat, telling him I would be out to dinner. It was a Wednesday night, so the House rose early. He asked me where I was dining, and I told him, but I did not mention with whom. His voice sounded very cross, for he hated a lonely meal.
It was a hot, still night, and I had had a heavy day in Court, so heavy that my private anxieties had almost slipped from my mind. I walked along the Embankment, and up Regent Street towards Oxford3 Circus. Antioch Street, as I had learned from the Directory, was in the area between Langham Place and Tottenham Court Road. I wondered vaguely4 why Macgillivray should have chosen such an out-of-the-way spot, but I knew him for a man of many whims5.
The street, when I found it, turned out to be a respectable little place, boarding-houses and architects' offices, with a few antiquity6 shops and a picture-cleaner's. The restaurant took some finding, for it was one of those discreet7 establishments, common enough in France, where no edibles8 are displayed in the British fashion, and muslin half-curtains deck the windows. Only the doormat, lettered with the proprietor9's name, remained to guide the hungry.
I gave a waiter my hat and stick, and was ushered10 into a garish11 dining-room, apparently12 full of people. A single violinist was discoursing13 music from beside the grill14. The occupants were not quite the kind one expects to find in an eating-house in a side street. The men were all in evening dress with white waistcoats, and the women looked either demi-mondaines or those who follow their taste in clothes. Various eyes looked curiously15 at me as I entered. I guessed that the restaurant had, by one of those odd freaks of Londoners, become for a moment the fashion.
The proprietor met me half way up the room. He might call himself Rapaccini, but he was obviously a German.
"Mr. Geelvrai," he nodded. "He has engaged a private room. Vill you follow, sir?"
A narrow stairway broke into the wall on the left side of the dining-room. I followed the manager up it and along a short corridor to a door which filled its end. He ushered me into a brightly lit little room where a table was laid for two.
"Mr. Geelvrai comes often here," said the manager. "He vill be late—sometimes. Everything is ready, sir. I hope you vill be pleased."
It looked inviting16 enough, but the air smelt17 stuffy18. Then I saw that, though the night was warm, the window was shut and the curtains drawn19. I pulled back the curtains, and, to my surprise, saw that the shutters20 were closed.
The manager glanced at the window. "I vill send a waiter," he said, and departed. The door seemed to shut with an odd click.
I flung myself down in one of the armchairs, for I was feeling pretty tired. The little table beckoned22 alluringly23, for I was also hungry. I remember there was a mass of pink roses on it. A bottle of champagne24, with the cork25 loose, stood in a wine-cooler on the side-board, and there was an unopened bottle beside it. It seemed to me that Macgillivray, when he dined here, did himself rather well.
The promised waiter did not arrive, and the stuffiness26 was making me very thirsty. I looked for a bell, but could not see one. My watch told me it was now a quarter to eight, but there was no sign of Macgillivray. I poured myself out a glass of champagne from the opened bottle, and was just about to drink it when my eye caught something in a corner of the room.
It was one of those little mid-Victorian corner tables—I believe they call them "what-nots"—which you will find in any boarding-house, littered up with photographs and coral and "Presents from Brighton." On this one stood a photograph in a shabby frame, and I thought I recognised it.
I crossed the room and picked it up. It showed a man of thirty, with short side-whiskers and ill-fitting jaw28 and a drooping29 moustache. The duplicate of it was in Macgillivray's cabinet. It was Mr. Routh, the ex-union leader.
There was nothing very remarkable30 about that, after all, but it gave me a nasty shock. The room now seemed a sinister31 place, as well as intolerably close. There was still no sign of the waiter to open the window, so I thought I would wait for Macgillivray downstairs.
But the door would not open. The handle would not turn. It did not seem to be locked, but rather to have shut with some kind of patent spring. I noticed that the whole thing was a powerful piece of oak, with a heavy framework, very unlike the usual flimsy restaurant doors.
My first instinct was to make a deuce of a row and attract the attention of the diners below. I own I was beginning to feel badly frightened. Clearly, I had got into some sort of trap. Macgillivray's invitation might have been a hoax32, for it is not difficult to counterfeit33 a man's voice on the telephone. With an effort I forced myself into calmness. It was preposterous34 to think that anything could happen to me in a room not thirty feet from where a score or two of ordinary citizens were dining. I had only to raise my voice to bring inquirers.
Yes, but above all things I did not want a row. It would never do for a rising lawyer and a Member of Parliament to be found shouting for help in an upper chamber2 of a Bloomsbury restaurant. The worst deduction35 would be drawn from the open bottle of champagne. Besides, it might be all right after all. The door might have got stuck. Macgillivray at that very moment might be on his way up.
So I sat down and waited. Then I remembered my thirst, and stretched out my hand to the glass of champagne.
But at that instant I looked towards the window, and set down the wine untasted.
It was a very odd window. The lower end was about flush with the floor, and the hinges of the shutters seemed to be only on one side. As I stared, I began to wonder whether it was a window at all.
Next moment my doubts were solved. The window swung open like a door, and in the dark cavity stood a man.
Strangely enough, I knew him. His figure was not one that is readily forgotten.
"Good evening, Mr. Docker," I said. "Will you have a glass of champagne?"
A year before, on the South Eastern Circuit, I had appeared for the defence in a burglary case. Criminal law was not my province, but now and then I took a case to keep my hand in, for it is the best training in the world for the handling of witnesses. This case had been peculiar36. A certain Bill Docker was the accused, a gentleman who bore a bad reputation in the eyes of the police. The evidence against him was strong, but it was more or less tainted38, being chiefly that of two former accomplices—a proof that there is small truth in the proverbial honour among thieves. It was an ugly business, and my sympathies were with the accused, for though he may very well have been guilty, yet he had been the victim of a shabby trick. Anyhow, I put my back into the case, and after a hard struggle got a verdict of "Not guilty." Mr. Docker had been kind enough to express his appreciation39 of my efforts, and to ask, in a hoarse40 whisper, how I had "squared the old bird," meaning the Judge. He did not understand the subtleties41 of the English law of evidence.
He shambled into the room, a huge, hulking figure of a man, with the thickness of chest which, under happier circumstances, might have made him a terror in the prize-ring. His features wore a heavy scowl42, which slowly cleared to a flicker43 of recognition.
"By God, it's the lawyer-chap," he muttered.
"I don't mind if I do," he said. "'Ere's health!" He swallowed the wine at a gulp45, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "'Ave a drop yourself, guvnor," he added. "A glass of bubbly will cheer you up."
"Well, Mr. Docker," I said, "I hope I see you fit." I was getting wonderfully collected now that the suspense46 was over.
"Pretty fair, sir. Pretty fair. Able to do my day's work like an honest man."
"And what brings you here?"
"A little job I'm on. Some friends of mine wants you out of the road for a bit, and they've sent me to fetch you. It's a bit of luck for you that you've struck a pal47. We needn't 'ave no unpleasantness, seein' we're both what you might call men of the world."
"I appreciate the compliment," I said. "But where do you propose to take me?"
"Dunno. It's some lay near the Docks. I've got a motor-car waitin' at the back of the 'ouse."
"But supposing I don't want to go?"
"My orders hadmit no hexcuse," he said solemnly. "You're a sensible chap, and can see that in a scrap48 I could down you easy."
"Very likely," I said. "But, man, you must be mad to talk like that. Downstairs there is a dining-room fall of people. I have only to lift my voice to bring the police."
"You're a kid," he said scornfully. "Them geesers downstairs are all in the job. That was a flat-catching rig to get you up here so as you wouldn't suspect nothing. If you was to go down now—which you ain't going to be allowed to do—you wouldn't find a blamed soul in the place. I must say you're a bit softer than I 'oped after the 'andsome way you talked over the old juggins with the wig49 at Maidstone."
Mr. Docker took the bottle from the wine-cooler and filled himself another glass.
It sounded horribly convincing. If I was to be kidnapped and smuggled50 away Lumley would have scored half a success. Not the whole, for, as I swiftly reflected, I had put Felix on the track of Tuke, and there was every chance that Tommy and Pitt-Heron would be saved. But for myself it looked pretty black. The more my scheme succeeded the more likely the Power-House would be to wreak51 its vengeance52 on me once I was spirited from the open-air world into its dark labyrinths53.
I made a great effort to keep my voice even and calm.
"Mr. Docker," I said. "I once did you a good turn. But for me you might be doing time now instead of drinking champagne like a gentleman. Your pals54 played you a pretty low trick, and that was why I stuck out for you. I didn't think you were the kind of man to forget a friend."
"Well, here's your chance to pay your debts. The men who employ you are my deadly enemies, and want to do me in. I'm not a match for you. You're a stronger fellow and can drag me off and hand me over to them. But if you do I'm done with. Make no mistake about that. I put it to you as a decent fellow. Are you going to go back on the man who has been a good friend to you?"
He shifted from one foot to another with his eyes on the ceiling. He was obviously in difficulties. Then he tried another glass of champagne.
"I dursn't, guv'nor. I dursn't let you go. Them I work for would cut my throat as soon as look at me. Besides, it ain't no good. If I was to go off and leave you there'd be plenty more in this 'ouse as would do the job. You're up against it, guv'nor. But take a sensible view and come with me. They don't mean you no real 'arm. I'll take my Bible oath on it. Only to keep you quiet for a bit, for you've run across one of their games. They won't do you no 'urt if you speak 'em fair. Be a sport and take it smiling-like——"
"You're afraid of them," I said.
"Yuss. I'm afraid. Black afraid. So would you be if you knew the gents. I'd rather take on the whole Rat Lane crowd—you know them as I mean—on a Saturday night, when they're out for business, than go back to my gents and say as 'ow I had shirked the job."
He shivered. "Good Lord, they'd freeze the 'eart out of a bull-pup."
"You're afraid," I said slowly. "So you're going to give me up to the men you're afraid of to do as they like with me. I never expected it of you, Bill. I thought you were the kind of lad who would send any gang to the devil before you'd go back on a pal."
"Don't say that," he said almost plaintively55. "You don't 'alf know the 'ole I'm in." His eye seemed to be wandering, and he yawned deeply.
Just then a great noise began below. I heard a voice speaking, a loud peremptory56 voice. Then my name was shouted: "Leithen! Leithen! Are you there?"
There could be no mistaking that broad Yorkshire tongue. By some miracle Chapman had followed me and was raising Cain downstairs.
My heart leaped with the sudden revulsion. "I'm here," I yelled. "Upstairs. Come up and let me out!"
Then I turned with a smile of triumph to Bill.
"My friends have come," I said. "You're too late for the job. Get back and tell your masters that."
He was swaying on his feet, and he suddenly lurched towards me. "You come along. By God, you think you've done me. I'll let you see."
His voice was growing thick and he stopped short. "What the 'ell's wrong with me?" he gasped57. "I'm goin' all queer. I..."
He was like a man far gone in liquor, but three glasses of champagne would never have touched a head like Bill's. I saw what was up with him. He was not drunk, but drugged.
"They've doped the wine," I cried. "They put it there for me to drink it and go to sleep."
There is always something which is the last straw to any man. You may insult and outrage58 him and he will bear it patiently, but touch the quick in his temper and he will turn. Apparently for Bill drugging was the unforgivable sin. His eye lost for a moment its confusion. He squared his shoulders and roared like a bull.
"Doped, by God," he cried. "Who done it?"
"The men who shut me in this room. Burst that door and you will find them."
He turned a blazing face on the locked door and hurled59 his huge weight on it. It cracked and bent60 but the lock and hinges held. I could see that sleep was overwhelming him and that his limbs were stiffening61, but his anger was still strong enough for another effort. Again he drew himself together like a big cat and flung himself on the woodwork. The hinges tore from the jambs and the whole outfit62 fell forward into the passage in a cloud of splinters and dust and broken plaster.
It was Mr. Docker's final effort. He lay on the top of the wreckage63 he had made, like Samson among the ruins of Gaza, a senseless and slumbering64 hulk.
I picked up the unopened bottle of champagne—it was the only weapon available—and stepped over his body. I was beginning to enjoy myself amazingly.
As I expected, there was a man in the corridor, a little fellow in waiter's clothes, with a tweed jacket instead of a dress coat. If he had a pistol I knew I was done, but I gambled upon the disinclination of the management for the sound of shooting.
He had a knife, but he never had a chance to use it. My champagne bottle descended65 on his head and he dropped like a log.
There were men coming upstairs—not Chapman, for I still heard his hoarse shouts in the dining-room. If they once got up they could force me back through that hideous66 room by the door through which Docker had come, and in five minutes I should be in their motor-car.
There was only one thing to do. I jumped from the stair-head right down among them. I think there were three, and my descent toppled them over. We rolled in a wild, whirling mass and cascaded67 into the dining-room, where my head bumped violently on the parquet68.
I expected a bit of a grapple, but none came. My wits were pretty woolly, but I managed to scramble69 to my feet. The heels of my enemies were disappearing up the staircase. Chapman was pawing my ribs70 to discover if there were any bones broken. There was not another soul in the room except two policemen who were pushing their way in from the street.
Chapman was flushed and breathing heavily: his coat had a big split down the seams at the shoulder, but his face was happy as a child's.
I caught his arm and spoke71 in his ear. "We've got to get out of this at once. How can we square these policemen? There must be no inquiry72 and nothing in the papers. Do you hear?"
"That's all right," said Chapman. "These bobbies are friends of mine, two good lads from Wensleydale. On my road here I told them to give me a bit of law and follow me, for I thought they might be wanted. They didn't come too soon to spoil sport, for I've been knocking furriners about for ten minutes. You seem to have been putting up a tidy scrap yourself."
"Let's get home first," I said, for I was beginning to think of the bigger thing.
I wrote a chit for Macgillivray which I asked one of the constables73 to take to Scotland Yard. It was to beg that nothing should be done yet in the business of the restaurant, and above all that nothing should get into the papers. Then I asked the other to see us home. It was a queer request for two able-bodied men to make on a summer evening in the busiest part of London, but I was taking no chances. The Power-House had declared war on me, and I knew it would be war without quarter.
I was in a fever to get out of that place. My momentary74 lust75 of battle had gone, and every stone of that building seemed to me a threat. Chapman would have liked to spend a happy hour rummaging76 through the house, but the gravity of my face persuaded him. The truth is I was bewildered. I could not understand the reason of this sudden attack. Lumley's spies must long ago have told him enough to connect me with the Bokhara business. My visits to the Embassy alone were sufficient proof. But now he must have found out something new, something which startled him, or else there had been wild doings in Turkestan.
I won't forget that walk home in a hurry. It was a fine July twilight77. The streets were full of the usual crowd, shop-girls in thin frocks, promenading78 clerks, and all the flotsam of a London summer. You would have said it was the safest place on earth. But I was glad we had the policeman with us, who at the end of one beat passed us on to his colleague, and I was glad of Chapman. For I am morally certain I would never have got home alone.
The queer thing is that there was no sign of trouble till we got into Oxford Street. Then I became aware that there were people on those pavements who knew all about me. I first observed it at the mouth of one of those little dark side-alleys which run up into mews and small dingy79 courts. I found myself being skilfully80 edged away from Chapman into the shadow, but I noticed it in time and butted81 my way back to the pavement. I couldn't make out who the people were who hustled82 me. They seemed nondescripts of all sorts, but I fancied there were women among them.
This happened twice, and I got wary83, but I was nearly caught before we reached Oxford Circus. There was a front of a big shop rebuilding, and the usual wooden barricade84 with a gate. Just as we passed it there was a special throng85 on the pavement and I, being next the wall, got pushed against the gate. Suddenly it gave and I was pressed inward. I was right inside before I realised my danger, and the gate was closing. There must have been people there, but I could see nothing in the gloom.
It was no time for false pride. I yelled to Chapman and the next second his burly shoulder was in the gap. The hustlers vanished and I seemed to hear a polite voice begging my pardon.
After that Chapman and I linked arms and struck across Mayfair. But I did not feel safe till I was in the flat with the door bolted.
We had a long drink and I stretched myself in an armchair, for I was as tired as if I had come out of a big game of Rugby football.
"I owe you a good deal, old man," I said. "I think I'll join the Labour Party. You can tell your fellows to send me their whips. What possessed86 you to come to look for me?"
The explanation was simple. I had mentioned the restaurant in my telephone message, and the name had awakened87 a recollection in Chapman's mind. He could not fix it at first, but by and by he remembered that the place had cropped up in the Routh case. Routh's London headquarters had been at the restaurant in Antioch Street. As soon as he remembered this he got into a taxi and descended at the corner of the street, where by sheer luck he fell in with his Wensleydale friends.
He said he had marched into the restaurant and found it empty, but for an ill-favoured manager, who denied all knowledge of me. Then fortunately he chose to make certain by shouting my name, and heard my answer. After that he knocked the manager down, and was presently assaulted by several men whom he described as "furrin' muck." They had knives, of which he made very little, for he seems to have swung a table as a battering88 ram27 and left sore limbs behind him.
He was on the top of his form. "I haven't enjoyed anything so much since I was a lad at school," he informed me. "I was beginning to think your Power-House was a wash-out, but Lord I it's been busy enough to-night. This is what I call life!"
My spirits could not keep pace with his. The truth is that I was miserably89 puzzled—not afraid so much as mystified. I couldn't make out this sudden dead-set at me. Either they knew more than I bargained for or I knew far too little.
"It's all very well," I said, "but I don't see how this is going to end. We can't keep up the pace long. At this rate it will be only a matter of hours till they get me."
We pretty well barricaded90 ourselves in the flat, and, at his earnest request, I restored to Chapman his revolver. Then I got the clue I had been longing91 for.
It was about eleven o'clock, while we were sitting smoking, when the telephone bell rang. It was Felix who spoke.
"I have news for you," he said. "The hunters have met the hunted and one of the hunters is dead. The other is a prisoner in our hands. He has confessed."
It had been black murder in intent. The frontier police had shadowed the two men into the cup of a glen where they met Tommy and Pitt-Heron. The four had spoken together for a little, and then Tuke had fired deliberately92 at Charles and had grazed his ear. Whereupon Tommy had charged him and knocked the pistol from his hand. The assailant had fled, but a long shot from the police on the hillside had toppled him over. Tommy had felled Saronov with his fists, and the man had abjectly93 surrendered. He had confessed, Felix said, but what the confession94 was he did not know.
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1
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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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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antiquity
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| n.古老；高龄；古物，古迹 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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edibles
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| 可以吃的，可食用的( edible的名词复数 )； 食物 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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discoursing
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| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
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grill
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| n.烤架，铁格子，烤肉；v.烧，烤，严加盘问 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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stuffiness
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| n.不通风，闷热；不通气 | |
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ram
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| (random access memory)随机存取存储器 | |
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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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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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hoax
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| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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deduction
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| n.减除，扣除，减除额；推论，推理，演绎 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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tainted
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| adj.腐坏的；污染的；沾污的；感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 )；使污染；败坏；被污染，腐坏，败坏 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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42
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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43
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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46
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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47
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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48
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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wig
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| n.假发 | |
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50
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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51
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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52
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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53
labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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54
pals
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| n.朋友( pal的名词复数 )；老兄；小子；（对男子的不友好的称呼）家伙 | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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58
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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59
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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62
outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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63
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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cascaded
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| 级联的 | |
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parquet
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| n.镶木地板 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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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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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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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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constables
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| n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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76
rummaging
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的现在分词 )； 海关检查 | |
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77
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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promenading
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| v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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81
butted
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| 对接的 | |
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82
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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83
wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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84
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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88
battering
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| n.用坏，损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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89
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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90
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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91
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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92
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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abjectly
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| 凄惨地； 绝望地； 糟透地； 悲惨地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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