In the quadrangle of the Old Schools he glanced round at the familiar labels, blue and gold, over the iron-studded doors,—Schola Theologiae et Antiquae Philosophiae; Museum Arundelianum; Schola Musicae. And Bibliotheca Bodleiana—he paused there, to feel for the last time the vague thrill he had always felt at sight of the small and devious1 portal that had lured2 to itself, and would always lure3, so many scholars from the ends of the earth, scholars famous and scholars obscure, scholars polyglot4 and of the most diverse bents, but none of them not stirred in heart somewhat on the found threshold of the treasure-house. “How deep, how perfect, the effect made here by refusal to make any effect whatsoever5!” thought the Duke. Perhaps, after all... but no: one could lay down no general rule. He flung his mantle6 a little wider from his breast, and proceeded into Radcliffe Square.
Another farewell look he gave to the old vast horse-chestnut that is called Bishop7 Heber’s tree. Certainly, no: there was no general rule. With its towering and bulging8 masses of verdure tricked out all over in their annual finery of catkins, Bishop Heber’s tree stood for the very type of ingenuous9 ostentation10. And who should dare cavil11? who not be gladdened? Yet awful, more than gladdening, was the effect that the tree made to-day. Strangely pale was the verdure against the black sky; and the multitudinous catkins had a look almost ghostly. The Duke remembered the legend that every one of these fair white spires13 of blossom is the spirit of some dead man who, having loved Oxford14 much and well, is suffered thus to revisit her, for a brief while, year by year. And it pleased him to doubt not that on one of the topmost branches, next Spring, his own spirit would be.
“Oh, look!” cried a young lady emerging with her brother and her aunt through the gate of Brasenose.
“For heaven’s sake, Jessie, try to behave yourself,” hissed15 her brother. “Aunt Mabel, for heaven’s sake don’t stare.” He compelled the pair to walk on with him. “Jessie, if you look round over your shoulder... No, it is NOT the Vice-Chancellor. It’s Dorset, of Judas—the Duke of Dorset... Why on earth shouldn’t he?... No, it isn’t odd in the least... No, I’m NOT losing my temper. Only, don’t call me your dear boy... No, we will NOT walk slowly so as to let him pass us... Jessie, if you look round...”
Poor fellow! However fond an undergraduate be of his womenfolk, at Oxford they keep him in a painful state of tension: at any moment they may somehow disgrace him. And if throughout the long day he shall have had the added strain of guarding them from the knowledge that he is about to commit suicide, a certain measure of irritability16 must be condoned17.
Poor Jessie and Aunt Mabel! They were destined18 to remember that Harold had been “very peculiar” all day. They had arrived in the morning, happy and eager despite the menace of the sky, and—well, they were destined to reproach themselves for having felt that Harold was “really rather impossible.” Oh, if he had only confided19 in them! They could have reasoned with him, saved him—surely they could have saved him! When he told them that the “First Division” of the races was always very dull, and that they had much better let him go to it alone,—when he told them that it was always very rowdy, and that ladies were not supposed to be there—oh, why had they not guessed and clung to him, and kept him away from the river?
Well, here they were, walking on Harold’s either side, blind to fate, and only longing20 to look back at the gorgeous personage behind them. Aunt Mabel had inwardly calculated that the velvet21 of the mantle alone could not have cost less than four guineas a yard. One good look back, and she would be able to calculate how many yards there were... She followed the example of Lot’s wife; and Jessie followed hers.
“Very well,” said Harold. “That settles it. I go alone.” And he was gone like an arrow, across the High, down Oriel Street.
The two women stood staring ruefully at each other.
“Pardon me,” said the Duke, with a sweep of his plumed22 hat. “I observe you are stranded23; and, if I read your thoughts aright, you are impugning24 the courtesy of that young runagate. Neither of you, I am very sure, is as one of those ladies who in Imperial Rome took a saucy25 pleasure in the spectacle of death. Neither of you can have been warned by your escort that you were on the way to see him die, of his own accord, in company with many hundreds of other lads, myself included. Therefore, regard his flight from you as an act not of unkindness, but of tardy26 compunction. The hint you have had from him let me turn into a counsel. Go back, both of you, to the place whence you came.”
“Thank you SO much,” said Aunt Mabel, with what she took to be great presence of mind. “MOST kind of you. We’ll do JUST what you tell us. Come, Jessie dear,” and she hurried her niece away with her.
Something in her manner of fixing him with her eye had made the Duke suspect what was in her mind. Well, she would find out her mistake soon enough, poor woman. He desired, however, that her mistake should be made by no one else. He would give no more warnings.
Tragic27 it was for him, in Merton Street, to see among the crowd converging28 to the meadows so many women, young and old, all imprescient, troubled by nothing but the thunder that was in the air, that was on the brows of their escorts. He knew not whether it was for their escorts or for them that he felt the greater pity; and an added load for his heart was the sense of his partial responsibility for what impended29. But his lips were sealed now. Why should he not enjoy the effect he was creating?
It was with a measured tread, as yesterday with Zuleika, that he entered the avenue of elms. The throng30 streamed past from behind him, parting wide, and marvelling31 as it streamed. Under the pall32 of this evil evening his splendour was the more inspiring. And, just as yesterday no man had questioned his right to be with Zuleika, so to-day there was none to deem him caparisoned too much. All the men felt at a glance that he, coming to meet death thus, did no more than the right homage33 to Zuleika—aye, and that he made them all partakers in his own glory, casting his great mantle over all commorients. Reverence34 forbade them to do more than glance. But the women with them were impelled35 by wonder to stare hard, uttering sharp little cries that mingled36 with the cawing of the rooks overhead. Thus did scores of men find themselves shamed like our friend Harold. But this, you say, was no more than a just return for their behaviour yesterday, when, in this very avenue, so many women were almost crushed to death by them in their insensate eagerness to see Miss Dobson.
To-day by scores of women it was calculated not only that the velvet of the Duke’s mantle could not have cost less than four guineas a yard, but also that there must be quite twenty-five yards of it. Some of the fair mathematicians37 had, in the course of the past fortnight, visited the Royal Academy and seen there Mr. Sargent’s portrait of the wearer, so that their estimate now was but the endorsement38 of an estimate already made. Yet their impression of the Duke was above all a spiritual one. The nobility of his face and bearing was what most thrilled them as they went by; and those of them who had heard the rumour39 that he was in love with that frightfully flashy-looking creature, Zuleika Dobson, were more than ever sure there wasn’t a word of truth in it.
As he neared the end of the avenue, the Duke was conscious of a thinning in the procession on either side of him, and anon he was aware that not one undergraduate was therein. And he knew at once—did not need to look back to know—why this was. SHE was coming.
Yes, she had come into the avenue, her magnetism40 speeding before her, insomuch that all along the way the men immediately ahead of her looked round, beheld41 her, stood aside for her. With her walked The MacQuern, and a little bodyguard42 of other blest acquaintances; and behind her swayed the dense43 mass of the disorganised procession. And now the last rank between her and the Duke was broken, and at the revealed vision of him she faltered44 midway in some raillery she was addressing to The MacQuern. Her eyes were fixed45, her lips were parted, her tread had become stealthy. With a brusque gesture of dismissal to the men beside her, she darted46 forward, and lightly overtook the Duke just as he was turning towards the barges48.
“May I?” she whispered, smiling round into his face.
His shoulder-knots just perceptibly rose.
“There isn’t a policeman in sight, John. You’re at my mercy. No, no; I’m at yours. Tolerate me. You really do look quite wonderful. There, I won’t be so impertinent as to praise you. Only let me be with you. Will you?”
The shoulder-knots repeated their answer.
“You needn’t listen to me; needn’t look at me—unless you care to use my eyes as mirrors. Only let me be seen with you. That’s what I want. Not that your society isn’t a boon49 in itself, John. Oh, I’ve been so bored since I left you. The MacQuern is too, too dull, and so are his friends. Oh, that meal with them in Balliol! As soon as I grew used to the thought that they were going to die for me, I simply couldn’t stand them. Poor boys! it was as much as I could do not to tell them I wished them dead already. Indeed, when they brought me down for the first races, I did suggest that they might as well die now as later. Only they looked very solemn and said it couldn’t possibly be done till after the final races. And oh, the tea with them! What have YOU been doing all the afternoon? Oh John, after THEM, I could almost love you again. Why can’t one fall in love with a man’s clothes? To think that all those splendid things you have on are going to be spoilt—all for me. Nominally50 for me, that is. It is very wonderful, John. I do appreciate it, really and truly, though I know you think I don’t. John, if it weren’t mere51 spite you feel for me—but it’s no good talking about that. Come, let us be as cheerful as we may be. Is this the Judas house-boat?”
“The Judas barge47,” said the Duke, irritated by a mistake which but yesterday had rather charmed him.
As he followed his companion across the plank52, there came dully from the hills the first low growl53 of the pent storm. The sound struck for him a strange contrast with the prattle54 he had perforce been listening to.
“Thunder,” said Zuleika over her shoulder.
“Evidently,” he answered.
Half-way up the stairs to the roof, she looked round. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“Forgive me,” he said, “my gesture was not a summons. The raft is for men.”
“What do you want to do on it?”
“To wait there till the races are over.”
“But—what do you mean? Aren’t you coming up on to the roof at all? Yesterday—”
“Oh, I see,” said the Duke, unable to repress a smile. “But to-day I am not dressed for a flying-leap.”
Zuleika put a finger to her lips. “Don’t talk so loud. Those women up there will hear you. No one must ever know I knew what was going to happen. What evidence should I have that I tried to prevent it? Only my own unsupported word—and the world is always against a woman. So do be careful. I’ve thought it all out. The whole thing must be SPRUNG on me. Don’t look so horribly cynical57... What was I saying? Oh yes; well, it doesn’t really matter. I had it fixed in my mind that you—but no, of course, in that mantle you couldn’t. But why not come up on the roof with me meanwhile, and then afterwards make some excuse and—” The rest of her whisper was lost in another growl of thunder.
“I would rather make my excuses forthwith,” said the Duke. “And, as the races must be almost due now, I advise you to go straight up and secure a place against the railing.”
“It will look very odd, my going all alone into a crowd of people whom I don’t know. I’m an unmarried girl. I do think you might—”
“Good-bye,” said the Duke.
Again Zuleika raised a warning finger.
“Good-bye, John,” she whispered. “See, I am still wearing your studs. Good-bye. Don’t forget to call my name in a loud voice. You promised.”
“Yes.”
“And,” she added, after a pause, “remember this. I have loved but twice in my life; and none but you have I loved. This, too: if you hadn’t forced me to kill my love, I would have died with you. And you know it is true.”
“Yes.” It was true enough.
Courteously58 he watched her up the stairs.
As she reached the roof, she cried down to him from the throng, “Then you will wait down there to take me home afterwards?”
He bowed silently.
The raft was even more crowded than yesterday, but way was made for him by Judasians past and present. He took his place in the centre of the front row.
At his feet flowed the fateful river. From the various barges the last punt-loads had been ferried across to the towing-path, and the last of the men who were to follow the boats in their course had vanished towards the starting-point. There remained, however, a fringe of lesser59 enthusiasts60. Their figures stood outlined sharply in that strange dark clearness which immediately precedes a storm.
Would Judas bump Magdalen? Opinion on the raft seemed to be divided. But the sanguine62 spirits were in a majority.
“If I were making a book on the event,” said a middle-aged63 clergyman, with that air of breezy emancipation64 which is so distressing65 to the laity66, “I’d bet two to one we bump.”
“You demean your cloth, sir,” the Duke would have said, “without cheating its disabilities,” had not his mouth been stopped by a loud and prolonged thunder-clap.
In the hush67 thereafter, came the puny68 sound of a gunshot. The boats were starting. Would Judas bump Magdalen? Would Judas be head of the river?
Strange, thought the Duke, that for him, standing69 as he did on the peak of dandyism, on the brink70 of eternity71, this trivial question of boats could have importance. And yet, and yet, for this it was that his heart was beating. A few minutes hence, an end to victors and vanquished72 alike; and yet...
A sudden white vertical73 streak74 slid down the sky. Then there was a consonance to split the drums of the world’s ears, followed by a horrific rattling75 as of actual artillery—tens of thousands of gun-carriages simultaneously76 at the gallop77, colliding, crashing, heeling over in the blackness.
Then, and yet more awful, silence; the little earth cowering78 voiceless under the heavens’ menace. And, audible in the hush now, a faint sound; the sound of the runners on the towing-path cheering the crews forward, forward.
And there was another faint sound that came to the Duke’s ears. It he understood when, a moment later, he saw the surface of the river alive with infinitesimal fountains.
Rain!
His very mantle was aspersed79. In another minute he would stand sodden80, inglorious, a mock. He didn’t hesitate.
“Zuleika!” he cried in a loud voice. Then he took a deep breath, and, burying his face in his mantle, plunged81.
Full on the river lay the mantle outspread. Then it, too, went under. A great roll of water marked the spot. The plumed hat floated.
There was a confusion of shouts from the raft, of screams from the roof. Many youths—all the youths there—cried “Zuleika!” and leapt emulously headlong into the water. “Brave fellows!” shouted the elder men, supposing rescue-work. The rain pelted82, the thunder pealed83. Here and there was a glimpse of a young head above water—for an instant only.
Shouts and screams now from the infected barges on either side. A score of fresh plunges84. “Splendid fellows!”
Meanwhile, what of the Duke? I am glad to say that he was alive and (but for the cold he had caught last night) well. Indeed, his mind had never worked more clearly than in this swift dim underworld. His mantle, the cords of it having come untied85, had drifted off him, leaving his arms free. With breath well-pent, he steadily86 swam, scarcely less amused than annoyed that the gods had, after all, dictated87 the exact time at which he should seek death.
I am loth to interrupt my narrative88 at this rather exciting moment—a moment when the quick, tense style, exemplified in the last paragraph but one, is so very desirable. But in justice to the gods I must pause to put in a word of excuse for them. They had imagined that it was in mere irony89 that the Duke had said he could not die till after the bumping-races; and not until it seemed that he stood ready to make an end of himself had the signal been given by Zeus for the rain to fall. One is taught to refrain from irony, because mankind does tend to take it literally90. In the hearing of the gods, who hear all, it is conversely unsafe to make a simple and direct statement. So what is one to do? The dilemma91 needs a whole volume to itself.
But to return to the Duke. He had now been under water for a full minute, swimming down stream; and he calculated that he had yet another full minute of consciousness. Already the whole of his past life had vividly92 presented itself to him—myriads of tiny incidents, long forgotten, now standing out sharply in their due sequence. He had mastered this conspectus in a flash of time, and was already tired of it. How smooth and yielding were the weeds against his face! He wondered if Mrs. Batch93 had been in time to cash the cheque. If not, of course his executors would pay the amount, but there would be delays, long delays, Mrs. Batch in meshes94 of red tape. Red tape for her, green weeds for him—he smiled at this poor conceit95, classifying it as a fair sample of merman’s wit. He swam on through the quiet cool darkness, less quickly now. Not many more strokes now, he told himself; a few, only a few; then sleep. How was he come here? Some woman had sent him. Ever so many years ago, some woman. He forgave her. There was nothing to forgive her. It was the gods who had sent him—too soon, too soon. He let his arms rise in the water, and he floated up. There was air in that over-world, and something he needed to know there before he came down again to sleep.
Had he risen in mid-stream, the keel of the Magdalen boat might have killed him. The oars97 of Magdalen did all but graze his face. The eyes of the Magdalen cox met his. The cords of the Magdalen rudder slipped from the hands that held them; whereupon the Magdalen man who rowed “bow” missed his stroke.
An instant later, just where the line of barges begins, Judas had bumped Magdalen.
A crash of thunder deadened the din12 of the stamping and dancing crowd on the towing-path. The rain was a deluge98 making land and water as one.
And the conquered crew, and the conquering, both now had seen the face of the Duke. A white smiling face, anon it was gone. Dorset was gone down to his last sleep.
Victory and defeat alike forgotten, the crews staggered erect99 and flung themselves into the river, the slender boats capsizing and spinning futile100 around in a melley of oars.
From the towing-path—no more din there now, but great single cries of “Zuleika!”—leapt figures innumerable through rain to river. The arrested boats of the other crews drifted zigzag101 hither and thither102. The dropped oars rocked and clashed, sank and rebounded103, as the men plunged across them into the swirling104 stream.
And over all this confusion and concussion105 of men and man-made things crashed the vaster discords106 of the heavens; and the waters of the heavens fell ever denser107 and denser, as though to the aid of waters that could not in themselves envelop108 so many hundreds of struggling human forms.
All along the soaked towing-path lay strewn the horns, the rattles109, the motor-hooters, that the youths had flung aside before they leapt. Here and there among these relics110 stood dazed elder men, staring through the storm. There was one of them—a grey-beard—who stripped off his blazer, plunged, grabbed at some live man, grappled him, was dragged under. He came up again further along stream, swam choking to the bank, clung to the grasses. He whimpered as he sought foot-hold in the slime. It was ill to be down in that abominable111 sink of death.
Abominable, yes, to them who discerned there death only; but sacramental and sweet enough to the men who were dying there for love. Any face that rose was smiling.
The thunder receded112; the rain was less vehement113: the boats and the oars had drifted against the banks. And always the patient river bore its awful burden towards Iffley.
As on the towing-path, so on the youth-bereft rafts of the barges, yonder, stood many stupefied elders, staring at the river, staring back from the river into one another’s faces.
Dispeopled now were the roofs of the barges. Under the first drops of the rain most of the women had come huddling114 down for shelter inside; panic had presently driven down the rest. Yet on one roof one woman still was. A strange, drenched115 figure, she stood bright-eyed in the dimness; alone, as it was well she should be in her great hour; draining the lees of such homage as had come to no woman in history recorded.
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1
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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4
polyglot
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| adj.通晓数种语言的；n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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6
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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7
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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8
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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9
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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11
cavil
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| v.挑毛病，吹毛求疵 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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condoned
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| v.容忍，宽恕，原谅( condone的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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impugning
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| v.非难，指谪( impugn的现在分词 )；对…有怀疑 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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tardy
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| adj.缓慢的，迟缓的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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converging
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| adj.收敛[缩]的，会聚的，趋同的v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的现在分词 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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impended
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| v.进行威胁，即将发生( impend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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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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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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mathematicians
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| 数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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38
endorsement
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| n.背书；赞成，认可，担保；签(注)，批注 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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40
magnetism
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| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
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41
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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42
bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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43
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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44
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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45
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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46
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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47
barge
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| n.平底载货船，驳船 | |
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48
barges
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| 驳船( barge的名词复数 ) | |
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49
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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50
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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51
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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52
plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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53
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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54
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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55
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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56
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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57
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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58
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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59
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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60
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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61
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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62
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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63
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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64
emancipation
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| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
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65
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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66
laity
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| n.俗人；门外汉 | |
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67
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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68
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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69
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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70
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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71
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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72
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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73
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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74
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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75
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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76
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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77
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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78
cowering
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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aspersed
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| v.毁坏（名誉），中伤，诽谤( asperse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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81
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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82
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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83
pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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84
plunges
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| n.跳进，投入vt.使投入，使插入，使陷入vi.投入，跳进，陷入v.颠簸( plunge的第三人称单数 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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85
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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86
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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87
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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88
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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89
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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90
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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91
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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92
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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93
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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94
meshes
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| 网孔( mesh的名词复数 )； 网状物； 陷阱； 困境 | |
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95
conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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96
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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97
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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98
deluge
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| n./vt.洪水，暴雨，使泛滥 | |
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99
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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100
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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101
zigzag
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| n.曲折，之字形；adj.曲折的，锯齿形的；adv.曲折地，成锯齿形地；vt.使曲折；vi.曲折前行 | |
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102
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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103
rebounded
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| 弹回( rebound的过去式和过去分词 )； 反弹； 产生反作用； 未能奏效 | |
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104
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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105
concussion
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| n.脑震荡；震动 | |
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106
discords
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| 不和（discord的复数形式） | |
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107
denser
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| adj. 不易看透的, 密集的, 浓厚的, 愚钝的 | |
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108
envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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109
rattles
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| （使）发出格格的响声， （使）作嘎嘎声( rattle的第三人称单数 )； 喋喋不休地说话； 迅速而嘎嘎作响地移动，堕下或走动； 使紧张，使恐惧 | |
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110
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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111
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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112
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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113
vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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114
huddling
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| n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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115
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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