He was far from weak-hearted. In fact, few O'Reillys were that, and Johnnie had an ingrained self-assurance which might have been mistaken for impudence2, but for the winning smile that went with it. Yet all the way from Havana he had seen in his mind's eye old Sam Carter intrenched behind his flat-topped desk, and that picture had more than once caused him to forget the carefully rehearsed speech in which he intended to resign his position as an employee and his prospects3 as a son-in-law.
That desk of Mr. Carter's was always bare and orderly, cleared for action, like the deck of a battle-ship, and over it many engagements had been fought, for the man behind it never shirked a conflict. His was a vigorous and irascible temperament4, compounded of old-fashioned, slow-burning black powder and nitroglycerine—a combination of incalculable destructive power. It was a perilously5 unstable7 mixture, tool, at times nothing less than a flame served to ignite it; on other occasions the office force pussy-footed past Carter's door on felt soles, and even then the slightest jar often caused the untoward8 thing to let go. In either event there was a deafening9 roar, much smoke, and a deal of damage. O'Reilly felt sure that whatever the condition of Mr. Carter's digestion10 or the serenity11 of his mind at the beginning of their interview, the news he had to impart would serve as an effective detonator, after which it would be every man for himself. It was not the effect of his report concerning the firm's unprofitable Cuban connections which O'Reilly feared would cause the decks to heave and the ship to rock—Samuel Carter could take calmly the most disturbing financial reverse—it was the blow to his pride at learning that anybody could prefer another girl to his daughter. Johnnie shook his shoulders and stamped his feet, but the chill in his bones refused to go.
He did gain courage, however, by thinking of Rosa Varona as he had last seen her, with arms outstretched, with eyes tear-filled, with yearning12 lips aquiver at his going. The picture warmed him magically, and it was with a restored determination to make a clean breast of the matter and face the worst that he took the elevator.
The office force of the Carter Importing Company looked up when the firm's Cuban representative entered the door, but its personnel having changed as the result of one of those periodical disruptions that occurred in the inner office, he was not recognized until he presented himself to Mr. Slack, Samuel Carter's private and intimidated13 secretary.
"You're expected," said he. "Mr. Carter is waiting to see you before leaving for California."
"Seeing me won't make his trip any pleasanter," O'Reilly said, somberly.
"We were afraid you wouldn't get out of Cuba; thought we might have to get the American consul16 at work."
"Really? I didn't know I was so important."
"Oh, you're the office pet, and well you know it." Mr. Slack's pleasantry was tinged17 with envy, for he had never been able to appreciate O'Reilly. "Conditions are bad, eh?"
"Yes. Anybody can leave," the other told him. "It's getting back that's difficult. The Spaniards don't like us, and I dare say they have good reason, with all this talk of intervention18 and the secret help we're lending the Insurrectos. They held me up in Havana; tried to prove I was a spy. They were positively19 peeved20 when they failed. Snippy people, those Spaniards."
"Well, I'll tell Mr. Carter you're here." The secretary glided21 unobtrusively toward the private office, disappeared, glided softly into view again, and waggled a boneless forefinger22 invitingly23. O'Reilly went to meet his employer as a man marches to execution.
His heart sank further at the welcome he received, for the importer gave him a veritable embrace; he patted him on the back and inquired three times as to his health. O'Reilly was anything but cold now; he was perspiring24 profusely25, and he felt his collar growing limp. To shatter this old man's eager hopes would be like kicking a child in the face. Carter had never been so enthusiastic, so demonstrative; there was something almost theatrical26 in his greeting. It dismayed O'Reilly immensely to realize what a hold he must have upon his employer's affections. Although the latter had a reputation for self-control, he appeared to be in a perfect flutter now. He assumed a boisterousness27 which seemed strained and wholly out of keeping with the circumstances. His actions vaguely28 reminded the younger man of an ambling29 draft-horse trying to gallop30; and when, for the fourth time, Mr. Carter inquired solicitously31 concerning his visitor's well-being32, Johnnie's dismay turned to amazement33. With a heavy playfulness Mr. Carter at length remarked:
"Well, my boy, you made a fizzle of it, didn't you?" The tone was almost complimentary34.
"Yes, sir, I'm a bright and shining failure," O'Reilly acknowledged, hopefully.
"Now, don't 'yes, sir' me. We're friends, aren't we? Good! Understand, I don't blame you in the least—it's that idiotic35 revolution that spoiled our business. I can't understand those people. Lord! You did splendidly, under the circumstances."
"They have reason enough to revolt—oppression, tyranny, corruption36." O'Reilly mumbled37 the familiar words in a numb38 paralysis39 at Mr. Carter's jovial40 familiarity.
"All Latin countries are corrupt," announced the importer—"always have been and always will be. They thrive under oppression. Politics is purely41 a business proposition with those people. However, I dare say this uprising won't last long."
O'Reilly welcomed this trend of the conversation; anything was better than fulsome42 praise, and the discussion would delay the coming crash. It seemed strange, however, that Samuel Carter should take time to discourse43 about generalities. Johnnie wondered why the old man didn't get down to cases.
"It's more than an uprising, sir," he said. "The rebels have overrun the eastern end of the island, and when I left Maceo and Gomez were sweeping44 west."
"Bah! It takes money to run a war."
"They have money," desperately45 argued O'Reilly. "Marti raised more than a million dollars, and every Cuban cigar-maker in the United States gives a part of his wages every week to the cause. The best blood of Cuba is in the fight. The rebels are poorly armed, but if our Government recognizes their belligerency they'll soon fix that. Spain is about busted46; she can't stand the strain."
"I predict they'll quit fighting as soon as they get hungry. The Government is starving them out. However, they've wound up our affairs for the time being, and—" Mr. Carter carefully shifted the position of an ink-well, a calendar, and a paper-knife—"that brings us to a consideration of your and my affairs, doesn't it? Ahem! You remember our bargain? I was to give you a chance and you were to make good before you—er—planned any—er—matrimonial foolishness with my daughter."
"Yes, sir." O'Reilly felt that the moment had come for his carefully rehearsed speech, but, unhappily, he could not remember how the swan-song started. He racked his brain for the opening words.
Mr. Carter, too, was unaccountably silent. He opened his lips, then closed them. Both men, after an awkward pause, cleared their throats in unison47 and eyed each other expectantly. Another moment dragged past, then they chorused:
"I have an unpleasant—"
Each broke off at the echo of his own words.
"What's that?" inquired the importer.
"N-nothing. You were saying—"
"I was thinking how lucky it is that you and Elsa waited. Hm-m! Very fortunate." Again Mr. Carter rearranged his desk fittings. "She has deep feelings—got a conscience, too. Conscience is a fine thing in a woman—so few of 'em have it. We sometimes differ, Elsa and I, but when she sets her heart on a thing I see that she gets it, even if I think she oughtn't to have it. What's the use of having children if you can't spoil 'em, eh?" He looked up with a sort of resentful challenge, and when his listener appeared to agree with him he sighed with satisfaction. "Early marriages are silly—but she seems to think otherwise. Maybe she's right. Anyhow, she's licked me. I'm done. She wants to be married right away, before we go West. That's why I waited to see you at once. You're a sensible fellow, Johnnie—no foolishness about you. You won't object, will you? We men have to take our medicine."
"Come, come! It's tough on you, I know, but—" The fuse had begun to sputter49. Johnnie had a horrified50 vision of himself being dragged unwillingly51 to the altar. "Elsa is going to have what she wants, if I have to break something. If you'll be sensible I'll stand behind you like a father and teach you the business. I'm getting old, and Ethelbert could never learn it. Otherwise—" The old man's jaw52 set; his eyes began to gleam angrily.
"Who is—Ethelbert?" faintly inquired O'Reilly.
"Why, dammit! He's the fellow I've been telling you about. He's not so bad as he sounds; he's really a nice boy—"
"Elsa is in love with another man? Is that what you mean?"
"Good Lord, yes! Don't you understand English? I didn't think you'd take it so hard—I was going to make a place for you here in the office, but of course if—Say! What the deuce ails53 you?"
Samuel Carter stared with amazement, for the injured victim of his daughter's fickleness54 had leaped to his feet and was shaking his hand vigorously, meanwhile uttering unintelligible55 sounds that seemed to signify relief, pleasure, delight—anything except what the old man expected.
"Oh—! You have?"
"I've met the dearest, sweetest"—O'Reilly choked, then began again—"the dearest, loveliest—"
"Never mind the bird-calls—don't coo! I get enough of that at home.
Don't tell me she's dearer and sweeter than Elsa. Another girl! Well,
I'll be damned! Young man, you're a fool."
"Yes, sir."
Slightly mollified by this ready acknowledgment, Mr. Carter grunted58 with relief. "Humph! It turned out better than I thought. Why, I—I was positively terrified when you walked in. And to think you didn't need any sympathy!"
"I do need that job, though. It will enable me to get married."
"Nonsense! Better wait. I don't believe in early engagements."
"Oh yes, you do."
"Well, that depends. But, say—you're a pretty nervy youth to turn down my daughter and then hold me up for a job, all in the same breath. Here! Don't dance on my rug. I ought to be offended, and I am, but—Get out while I telephone Elsa, so she can dance, too."
O'Reilly spent that evening in writing a long letter to Rosa Varona. During the next few days his high spirits proved a trial and an affront59 to Mr. Slack, who, now that his employer had departed for the West, had assumed a subdued60 and gloomy dignity to match the somber15 responsibilities of his position.
Other letters went forward by succeeding posts, and there was no doubt now, that O'Reilly's pen was tipped with magic! He tingled61 when he reread what he had written. He bade Rosa prepare for his return and their immediate62 marriage. The fun and the excitement of planning their future caused him to fill page after page with thrilling details of the flat-hunting, home-fitting excursions they would take upon their return to New York. He wrote her ecstatic descriptions of a suite63 of Grand Rapids furniture he had priced; he wasted a thousand emotional words over a set of china he had picked out, and the results of a preliminary trip into the apartment-house district required a convulsive three-part letter to relate. It is remarkable64 with what poetic65 fervor66, what strength of feeling, a lover can describe a five-room flat; with what glories he can furnish it out of a modest salary and still leave enough for a life of luxury.
But O'Reilly's letters did not always touch upon practical things; there was a wide streak67 of romance in him, and much of what he wrote was the sort of thing which romantic lovers always write—tender, foolish, worshipful thoughts which half abashed68 him when he read them over. But that Rosa would thrill to them he had no doubt, nor had he any fear that she would hesitate to leave her native land for him. O'Reilly's love was unlimited69; his trust in the girl was absolute. He knew, moreover, that she loved and trusted him. This, to be sure, was a miracle—a unique phenomenon which never ceased to amaze him. He did not dream that every man had felt the same vague wonder.
And so the time passed rapidly. But, strange to say, there came no answer to those letters. O'Reilly chafed70: he cursed the revolution which had made communication so uncertain; at length he cabled, but still the days dragged on with no result. Gradually his impatience71 gave way to apprehension72. Unreasonable73 conjectures74 besieged75 his mind and destroyed his peace.
Great was his relief, therefore, when one day a worn, stained envelope addressed in Rosa's hand was laid upon his desk. The American stamp, the Key West postmark, looked strange, but—Her first letter! O'Reilly wondered if his first letter to her could possibly have moved her as this moved him. He kissed the envelope where her lips had caressed76 it in the sealing. Then with eager fingers he broke it open.
It was a generous epistle, long and closely written, but as he read his keen delight turned to dismay, and when he had turned the last thin page his brain was in wildest turmoil77. He thought he must be dreaming. He turned sick, aching eyes upon his surroundings to prove this thing a nightmare, but the prosaic78 clink of a typewriter and the drone of a voice dictating79 quotations80 on Brazilian coffee were conclusive81 evidence to the contrary. Those pages between his thumb and finger were real. Yes, and that was Rosa's writing. Could it be that he had misunderstood anything? He turned to the beginning and attempted to read, but his hands shook so that he was obliged to lay the letter flat upon his desk.
Rosa's Spanish training had been severely82 tried. The stiff, quaint83 formality of her opening paragraphs only served to emphasize her final frightened cry for help.
MY DEARLY BELOVED,—It is with diffidence and hesitation84 that I take my pen in hand, for I fear you may consider me unduly85 forward in writing to you without solicitation86. Believe me, I appreciate the reserve which a young lady of refinement87 should practise even in her correspondence with the gentleman who has honored her with his promise of marriage, but my circumstances are such as to banish88 consideration of the social niceties.
Alas89! What events have followed your departure from Matanzas! What misfortunes have overtaken Esteban and me. That happiness could be so swiftly succeeded by misery90, that want could follow plenty, that peril6 could tread so closely upon the heels of safety! Where to begin, how to tell you, I scarcely know; my hand shakes, my eyes are blinded—nor dare I trust myself to believe that this letter will ever reach you, for we are refugees, Esteban and I—fugitives, outcasts, living in the manigua with Asensio and Evangelina, former slaves of our father. Such poverty, such indescribable circumstances! But they were our only friends and they took us in when we were homeless, so we love them.
I see you stare at these words. I hear you say, "That Rosa has gone mad, like her wicked stepmother!" Indeed, sometimes I think I have. But, no. I write facts. It is a relief to put them down, even though you never read them. Good Asensio will take this letter on his horse to the Insurrecto camp, many miles away, and there give it to Colonel Lopez, our only friend, who promises that in some mysterious way it will escape the eyes of our enemies and reach your country. Yes, we have enemies! We, who have harmed no one. Wait until I tell you.
But if this letter reaches you—and I send it with a prayer—what then? I dare not think too long of that, for the hearts of men are not like the hearts of women. What will you say when you learn that the Rosa Varona whom you favored with your admiration91 is not the Rosa of to-day? I hear you murmur92, "The girl forgets herself!" But, oh, the standards of yesterday are gone and my reserve is gone, too! I am a hunted creature.
O'Reilly felt a great pain in his breast at the thought that Rosa had for an instant doubted him. But she did not really doubt; those misgivings93 were but momentary94; the abandon of her appeal showed that in her heart of hearts she knew his love to be unshakable.
She had compelled herself to start with the death of Dona Isabel and to give him a succinct95 account of all that had followed. O'Reilly read the story, fascinated. Here, amid these surroundings, with the rattle96 of typewriters and the tinkle97 of telephone-bells in his ears, it all seemed wholly improbable, fancifully unreal—like the workings of some turgid melodrama98.
That is how we came to live with Asensio and his wife [the letter went on]. Imagine it! A bohio, hidden away far up the Yumuri, and so insignificant99 as to escape attention. We are no longer people of consequence or authority; our safety depends upon our inconspicuousness. We hide as do the timid animals, though nature has not given us their skill in avoiding danger. I do not like the wilderness100; it frightens me. At night I hear things rustling101 through the thatch102 above my head; in the morning my feet touch a bare earthen floor. We live on fruits and vegetables from Evangelina's garden, with now and then a fowl103 or a bite of meat when Asensio is fortunate. Esteban does not seem to mind, but I cannot accommodate myself to these barbarous surroundings. Sometimes I bite my tongue to keep from complaining, for that, I know, would grieve him.
The whole country is in chaos104. There is no work—nothing but suspicion, hatred105, and violence. Oh, what desolation this war has wrought106! Esteban has already become a guerrillero. He has stolen a cow, and so we have milk for our coffee; but there is only a handful of coffee left, and little hope of more. Marauding bands of Spaniards are everywhere, and the country people tell atrocious tales about them. How will it end? How long before they will discover us and the worst will happen?
Soon after our arrival Esteban went to the camp of Colonel Lopez to arrange for us to join his army, but returned heart-broken. It was impossible, it seems, on my account. Conditions with the patriots107 are worse than with us here, and the colonel acknowledged frankly108 that he could not be burdened with a woman in his command. So Esteban has given up for the present his dream of fighting, and devotes himself to protecting me. You see there is no sanctuary109, no help but his right arm. The towns are in Spanish hands, the manigua is infested110 with lawless men, and there is no place in which to hide me. So I feel myself a burden. Esteban has plans to arm a band of his own. I am numb with dread111 of what it may lead to, for his hatred is centered upon Cueto, that false servant whose wickedness reduced us to this extremity112. Esteban is so young and reckless. If only you were here to counsel him.
If only you were here—Oh, my dearest Juan! If only you were here—to take me in your arms and banish this ever constant terror at my heart. If only you were here to tell me that you love me still in spite of my misfortune. See! The tears are falling as I write. My eyes are dim, my fingers trace uncertain letters on the sheet, and I can only steady them when I remember that you promised to return. You WILL return, will you not? I could not write like this if I were sure that you would read these lines. My nightly prayer—But I will not tell you of my prayers, for fate may guide this letter to you, after all, and the hearts of men do change. In those dark hours when my doubts arise I try to tell myself that you will surely come and search me out.
Sometimes I play a game with Evangelina—our only game. We gather wild flowers. We assort the few belongings113 that I managed to bring with me and I array myself for you. And then I smile and laugh for a little while, and she tells me I am beautiful enough to please you. But the flowers fade, and I know that beauty, too, will fade in such surroundings. What then? I ask myself.
When you return to Cuba—see, my faith is strong again—avoid Matanzas, for your own sake and mine. Don Mario wanted to marry me to save me this exile. But I refused; I told him I was pledged to you, and he was furious. He is powerful; he would balk114 you, and there is always room for one more in San Severino. Pancho Cueto, too, living in luxury upon the fruits of his crime, would certainly consider you a menace to his security. You see how cunning my love for you has made me?
If I could come to you, I would, but I am marked. So if you still desire me you must search me out. You will? I pin my faith to that as to the Cross. To doubt would be to perish. If we should have to find another hiding-place, and that is always likely, you can learn of our whereabouts from Colonel Lopez.
Alas! If you had asked me to go with you that day! I would have followed you, for my heart beat then as it beats to-day, for you alone.
The candle is burning low and it will soon be daylight, and then this letter must begin its long, uncertain journey. I must creep into my bed now, to pray and then to dream. It is cold, before the dawn, and the thatch above me rustles115. I am very poor and sad and lonely, O'Reilly, but my cheeks are full and red; my lips could learn to smile again, and you would not be ashamed of me.
Asensio is rising. He goes to find his horse and I must close. God grant this reaches you, some time, somehow. I trust the many blots116 upon the paper will not give you a wrong impression of my writing, for I am neat, and I write nicely; only now the ink is poor and there is very little of it. There is little of anything, here at Asensio's house, except tears. Of those I fear there are too many to please you, my Juan, for men do not like tears. Therefore I try to smile as I sign myself,
Your loving and your faithful
ROSA.
O God! Come quickly, if you love me.
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收听单词发音
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1
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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9
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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somber
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| adj.昏暗的，阴天的，阴森的，忧郁的 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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peeved
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| adj.恼怒的，不高兴的v.（使）气恼，（使）焦躁，（使）愤怒( peeve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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forefinger
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invitingly
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perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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profusely
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| ad.abundantly | |
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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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boisterousness
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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complimentary
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| adj.赠送的，免费的，赞美的，恭维的 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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numb
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paralysis
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| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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42
fulsome
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| adj.可恶的，虚伪的，过分恭维的 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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46
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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48
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
sputter
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| n.喷溅声；v.喷溅 | |
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50
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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51
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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52
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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53
ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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54
fickleness
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| n.易变；无常；浮躁；变化无常 | |
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55
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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58
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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59
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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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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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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67
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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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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71
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caressed
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| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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quotations
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| n.引用( quotation的名词复数 )；[商业]行情（报告）；（货物或股票的）市价；时价 | |
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conclusive
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| adj.最后的，结论的；确凿的，消除怀疑的 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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83
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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solicitation
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| n.诱惑；揽货；恳切地要求；游说 | |
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refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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94
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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95
succinct
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| adj.简明的，简洁的 | |
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96
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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97
tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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98
melodrama
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| n.音乐剧；情节剧 | |
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99
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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100
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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101
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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102
thatch
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| vt.用茅草覆盖…的顶部；n.茅草(屋) | |
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103
fowl
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| n.家禽，鸡，禽肉 | |
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104
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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105
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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106
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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107
patriots
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| 爱国者，爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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108
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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109
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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110
infested
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| adj.为患的，大批滋生的（常与with搭配）v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 )；遍布于 | |
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111
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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112
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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113
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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114
balk
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| n.大方木料；v.妨碍；不愿前进或从事某事 | |
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115
rustles
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| n.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的名词复数 )v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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116
blots
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| 污渍( blot的名词复数 )； 墨水渍； 错事； 污点 | |
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