“What the —— are you shovin’ for?”
After that she did not attempt to wake him again, turning her face as far away as possible when his slobbery, stertorous5 mouth puffed6 against her shoulders.
As for the seat—well, it was her first experience of sitting all night in one position, on a sort of unpadded reality. Her back ached, her neck ached, her legs ached. She was afraid of waking the man beside her, and the very fact that she dared not move was a horror in itself. She felt intolerably stiff, and her feet and hands were cold. She found herself wondering what would happen if she were to develop a desire to sneeze. Etiquette7 forbade one to sneeze in such crowded quarters. She would wake her neighbour and get sworn at.
Then the tragic absurdity8 of the whole thing struck her. It was absurd, but it was horrible. She felt an utter loathing9 of the creatures on each side of her, and her loathing raised in her an accusing anger. Who was responsible? She asked the question irritably10, only to discover that in answering it she was attacked by a disturbing suspicion that she herself, every thinking creature, was responsible for such an absurdity as this. Physical disgust proved stronger than pity. She reminded herself that animals were better cared for. There were stables, cowsheds, clean fields, where beasts could shelter under trees and hedges. Worn-out horses and diseased cattle were put out of the way. Why were not debauched human cattle got rid of cleanly upon the same scientific plan, for they were lower and far more horrible than the beasts of the field.
She was surprised that this should be what one such night seemed destined11 to teach her. These people were better dead. She could feel no pity at all for the beast who snored on her shoulder. She could not consent to justify12 his becoming what he was. Ill luck, fate, a bad heritage, these were mere13 empty phrases. She only knew that she felt contaminated, that she loathed14 these wretched, greasy15 creatures with an almost vindictive16 loathing. Her skin felt all of a creep, shrinking from their uncleanness.
As to her visions of a regenerated17 civilisation18, her theoretical compassions, what had become of them? Was she not discovering that even her ideals were personal, selective, prejudiced? These people were beyond pity. That was her impression. She found herself driven to utter the cry, “For God’s sake let us clean up the world before we begin to build up fresh ideas. This rubbish ought to be put out of the way, burnt, or buried. What is the use of being sentimental19 about it?” Pity held aloof20. She had a new understanding of Death, and saw him as the great Cleanser, the Furnaceman who threw all the unclean things into his destructor. What fools men were to try and cheat Death of his wholesome due. The children ought to be saved, the really valuable lives fought for; but this gutter21 stuff ought to be cleaned up and got rid of in grim and decent silence.
Eve never expected to sleep, but she slept for two hours, and woke up just before dawn.
It was not a comfortable awakening22. She felt cold and stiff, and her body ached, and with the return of consciousness came that wholesome horror of her neighbours, a horror that had taught her more than all the sociological essays she could have read in a lifetime. The man’s head was on her shoulder. He still spluttered and blew in his sleep.
Eve decided23 to sit it out; to go through to the bitter end. Moreover, she was curious to see the faces of these people by daylight. A strange stillness prevailed; there was no wind, and the river was running noiselessly. Once or twice the sound of regular footsteps approached, and the figure of a policeman loomed24 up and passed.
A thin light began to spread, and the whole scene about her became a study in grey. The sky was overcast25, canopied26 with ashen27 clouds that were ribbed here and there with lines of amethyst28 and white. The city seemed to rise out of a gloomy and mysterious haze29, dim, sad, and unreal. The massive buildings looked like vague grey cliffs. The spires30 were blurred31 lines, leaden coloured and unglittering. There had been a sprinkling of rain while she had slept, for the pavements were wet and her clothes damp to the touch. She shivered. It was so cold, and still, and dreary32.
The stillness had been only a relative stillness, for there were plenty of sounds to be distinguished33. A line of vans rumbled34 over one of the bridges, a train steamed into Charing35 Cross. She heard motor horns hooting36 in the scattered37 distance, and she was struck by the conceit38 that this was the dawn song of the birds of the city.
The light became hard and cold, and she wondered when her neighbours would wake. A passing policeman looked at her curiously39, seemed inclined to stop, but walked on.
Turning her head she found she could see the face of the man next to her. His old black bowler40 hat had fallen off and lay on the pavement. Eve studied him, fascinated by her own disgust, and by his sottish ugliness. His skin was red, blotched, and pitted like an orange, black hair a quarter of an inch long bristled41 over his jowl and upper lip. His eyelids42 and nose were unmentionable. He wore no collar, and as he lounged there she could see a great red flabby lower lip jutting43 out like the lip of a jug44. His black hair was greasy. He was wearing an old frock coat, whose lapels were all frayed45 and smeary46, as though he were in the habit of holding himself up by them.
Eve turned away with qualms47 of disgust, and glanced at the old woman. Her face, as she slept, had an expression of absurd astonishment48, the eyebrows49 raised, the mouth open. Her face looked like tallow in a dirty, wrinkled bladder. She had two moles50 on one cheek, out of which grey hairs grew. Her bonnet51 had fallen back, and her open mouth showed a few rotten black teeth.
A man at the end of the seat was the first to wake. He sat up, yawned, and blew his nose on his fingers. Then the sot next to Eve stirred. He stretched his legs, rolled his head to one side, and, being still half asleep, began to swear filthily52 in a thick, grumbling53 voice. Suddenly he sat up, turned, and stared into Eve’s face. His red brown eyes were angry and injected, the sullen54, lascivious55 eyes of a sot.
“Good mornin’!”
She caught the twinge of insolent56 raillery in his voice. Even his brutishness was surprised by the appearance of his neighbour, and he had a reputation for humour. Eve looked away.
“Didn’t know I was in such —— genteel company. Never had no luck. Suppose I’ve had m’ head on your shoulder all night and didn’t know it. Didn’t kiss me, did you, while I was sleeping like an innocent babe?”
Another face peered round at her, grinning. Then the old woman woke up, snuffled, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand.
“Bin rainin’, of course?”
Eve said that she thought it had. The old woman’s eyes seemed to be purblind58, and without curiosity. A sudden anxiety stole over her face. She felt behind her, drew out the bit of newspaper, opened it, and disclosed the fish.
The red-faced man reached for his hat and put it on with a sullen rakishness. He was looking at Eve out of the corners of his eyes. Being a drunkard, he was ugly-tempered in the morning, and the young woman had given him the cold shoulder.
“Stuck up bit of goods. Looks like the lady. Been up to it, have yer? I know all about that. Governess, eh? Some old josser of a husband and a screechin’ wife, and out yer go into the street!”
She was more struck by the vindictive, threatening way he spoke60 than by the vile61 things he said. Her impressions of the night grew more vivid and more pitiless. Something hardened in her. She felt cold and contemptuous, and quite capable of facing this human animal.
“Be quiet, please!”
“Mayn’t I speak, blast yer?”
“Goo’ lord! What the hell are you doin’ here, may I ask?”
She kept her eyes on him.
“I came here just for an experience, because I felt sorry for people, and wanted to see what a night here was like. I have learnt a good deal.”
“Ah!”
“You’ve learnt somethin’.”
“I have. I hope before long that we shall have the sense to put people like you in a lethal67 chamber68. You would be better dead, you know.”
Eve got up and walked away, knowing that in the future there would be certain creatures whom she could not pity—creatures whom she would look at with the eyes of Nature, eyes that condemn69 without pity. She wondered whether the amateurs who indulged in sentimental eugenics had ever spent a night sitting on a seat next to a degenerate70 sot. She doubted it. The reality would upset the digestion71 of the strongest sentimentalist.
She felt so stiff and cold that she started to walk briskly in the direction of Westminster. A light, drizzling72 rain began to fall, making the city and the river look even dirtier and uglier, though there is a fascination73 about London’s courtesan ugliness that makes soft Arcadian prettiness seem inane74 and unprovocative. Nor does bad weather matter so much in a city, which is a consideration in this wet little island.
Eve had not walked far before she discovered that she was hungry. No shops would be open yet, but in allowing some whim75 to take her across Westminster Bridge she happened on an itinerant76 coffee-stall at the corner of a side street. Her last two pennies went in a cup of coffee and two massive slabs77 of bread and butter. The keeper of the stall, a man with a very shiny and freshly shaved chin and cynical78 blue eyes, studied her rather doubtfully, as did a tram-driver and two workmen who came up for breakfast. Eve noticed that the men were watching her, behind their silence. Her presence there at such an hour was an abnormal phenomenon that caused them furiously to think.
She heard them recover their voices directly she had moved away.
“I wouldn’t mind bettin’ you that’s what she is. Dirty, low-down game they’re playing. I’ve a good mind to follow her up, and tip a copper82 the wink83.”
But the speaker remained to talk and to drink another cup of mahogany-coloured tea.
“That’s just it. These suffragette women ain’t got no notion of sport. Suppose they belong to the sort as scratches and throws lamps.”
The coffee-stall keeper interjected a question.
“What about the chaps who burnt ricks and haystacks before the Reform Bill, and the chaps who smashed machines when they first put ’em into factories?”
“Well, they burnt and broke, but they did it like men.”
“Women ain’t in the same situation.”
“Ain’t they? They can make ’emselves ’eard. Do yer think my ol’ woman goes about the ’ouse like a bleatin’ lamb? Garn, these militants84 are made all wrong inside. Fine sort of cause you’ve got when yer go sneakin’ about at three in the mornin’, settin’ empty ’ouses alight. That’s ’eroic, ain’t it?”
These men had set Eve down as a militant, and they had come precious near the truth.
She was on the edge of militancy85, impelled86 towards strenuous87 rebellion by an exasperated88 sense of the injustice89 meted90 out to women, and by brooding upon the things she herself had experienced. It was a generous impulse in the main, mingling91 some bitterness with much enthusiasm, and moving with such impetuosity that it smothered92 any sound thinking. For the moment she was abnormal. She had half starved herself, and during weeks of loneliness she had encouraged herself to quarrel with society. She did not see the pathetic absurdity of all this spiritual kicking and screaming, being more than inclined to regard it as splendid protest than as an outburst of hysteria, a fit of tantrums more suited to an ill-balanced and uneducated servant girl.
A shrill93 voice carries. The frenzied94 few have delayed so often the very reforms that they have advocated. And there is a sort of hysterical95 enthusiasm that tricks the younger and more generous spirits, and acting96 like crude alcoholic97 drink, stirs up a so-called religious revival98 or some such orgy of purblind egoism as this phenomenon of militancy. The emotions make the brain drunk, and the power of sound reasoning is lost. The fools, the fanatics99, the self-advertisers, the notoriety hunters, and the genuine idealists get huddled100 into one exclamatory, pitiable mob. And it is one of the tragic facts of life that the soul of a mob is the soul of its lowest and basest members. All the finer, subtler sensitive restraints are lost. A man of mind may find himself shouting demagogic cries next to some half drunken coal-heaver.
Now Eve Carfax was on the edge of militancy, and it was a debatable point with her whether she should begin her campaign that day. Necessity advised something of the kind, seeing that her purse was empty. Yet she could not quite convince a sensitive and individualistic pride that the breaking of a shop window or a scuffle with the police would be an adequate and suitable protest.
She walked about for an hour in the neighbourhood of Trafalgar Square, trying to escape from a treacherous101 self-consciousness that refused to suffer the adventure to be treated as an impersonal102 affair. The few people whom she passed stared rather hard, and so persistently103, that she stopped to examine herself in a shop window. A dark green blind and the plate glass made an admirable mirror. It showed her her hair straggling most disgracefully, and the feminine part of her was shocked.
Her appearance mattered. She did not realise the significance of the little thrill of shame that had flashed through her when she had looked at herself in the shop window; and even when she made her way to St. James’s Park and found an empty seat she deceived herself into believing that she had come there to think things out, and not to tidy her hair, with the help of the little mirror and the comb she carried in her vanity bag. Moreover she felt that she had been chilled on that Embankment seat, and a cold in the head is not heroic. She had her protest to make. The whole day loomed over her, big with possibilities. It made her feel very small and lonely, and cold and insecure.
Hazily104, and with a vague audacity105 that had now deserted106 her, she had assured herself that she would strike her blow when the hour came; but now that she was face to face with the necessity she found that she was afraid. Even her scorn of her own fear could not whip her into action. Her more sensitive and spiritual self shrank from the crude publicity107 of the ordeal108. If she did the thing she had contemplated109 doing, she knew that she would be hustled110 and roughly handled. She saw herself with torn clothes and tumbled hair. The police would rescue and arrest her. She would be charged, convicted, and sent to prison.
She did not fear pain, but she did fear the inevitable111 and vulgar scuffle, the rough male hands, the humiliation112 of being at the mercy of a crowd. Something prouder than her pride of purpose rose up and refused to prostitute itself in such a scrimmage. She knew how some of these women had been handled, and as she sat there in the hush113 of the early morning she puzzled over the psychological state of those who had dared to outrage114 public opinion. Either they were supreme115 enthusiasts116 or women with the souls of fishwives, or drunk with zeal117, like those most offensive of zealots, the early Christians118, who scolded, spat119, and raved120 until they had exasperated some Roman magistrate121 into presenting them with martyrdom. She discovered that she had not that sort of courage or effrontery122. The hot, physical smell of the ordeal disgusted her.
Yet Nature was to decide the question for her, and the first interposition of that beneficent tyrant123 began to manifest itself as soon as the stimulating124 effect of the hot coffee had worn off. Eve felt chilly125, an indefinable restlessness and a feeling of malaise stole over her. She left the seat in the park, and walking briskly to warm herself, came into Pall126 Mall by way of Buckingham Gate. The rush of the day was beginning. She had been conscious of the deepening roar of the traffic while she had been sitting over yonder, and now it perplexed127 her, pressed upon her with a savage128 challenge.
She had thought to throw the straw of herself into this torrent129 of strenuous materialism130. For the moment she was very near to laughter, near twitting herself with an accusation131 of egregious132 egoism. Yet it was the ego—the intimate, inward I—that was in the ascendant. The hurrying figures that passed her on the pavement made her recoil133 into her impressionable individualism. She felt like a hyper-sensitive child, shy of being stared at or of being spoken to. The hurry and the noise bothered her. Her head began to ache. Her will power flagged. She was feverish134.
Eve walked and walked. There seemed nothing for her to do in this feverish city, but to walk and to go on walking. A significant languor135 took possession of her. She was conscious of feeling very tired, not merely with physical tiredness, but with an utter weariness of spirit. Her mind refused to go on working. It refused to face any responsibility, to consider any enterprise.
It surprised her that she did not grow hungry. On the contrary, the sight of food in a window nauseated her. Her head ached more, and her lips felt dry. Flushes of heat went over her, alternating with tremors136 of cold. Her body felt limp. Her legs did not seem to be there, even though she went on walking aimlessly along the pavements. The faces of the people whom she passed began to appear grotesque137 and sinister138. Nothing seemed very real. Even the sound of the traffic came from a long way off. By twelve o’clock she was just an underfed young woman with a temperature, a young woman who should have been in bed.
Eve never quite knew how the idea came to her. She just found it there quite suddenly, filling the whole lumen of her consciousness. She would go and speak to the rosy-faced suffragette who sold papers at the corner of Southampton Row. She did not realise that she had surrendered, or that Nature might be playing with her as a wise mother plays with a child.
Eve was quite innocently confident that the young woman would be there. The neatly139 dressed, compact figure seemed to enlarge itself, and to dominate the very city. Eve went up Shaftesbury Avenue, and along New Oxford140 Street. She was nearly run over at one crossing. A taxi driver had to jam on his brakes. She did not notice his angry, expostulatory glare.
“Now then, miss, wake up!”
It was the male voice, the voice of organised society. “Wake up; move along in the proper groove141, or stand and be run over!” The words passed over and beyond her. It was a feverish dream walk to the corner of Southampton Row. Then she found herself talking to the young woman who sold papers.
“I meant to do something. I’m not strong enough. I have been out all night on the Embankment.”
She was conscious of a strong presence near her; of a pleasant practical voice speaking.
“Why, you’re ill! Have you had anything to eat?”
“Some coffee and bread and butter at half-past five. I have been walking about.”
“Good gracious! You’re feverish! Let me feel.”
She gripped a hot hand.
“Thought so. Have you any money?”
To Eve money presented itself as something that was yellow and detestable. It was part of the heat in her brain.
“No. I spent the last of it this morning. I want to explain——”
The paper-seller put a hand under Eve’s arm.
“Look here, you’ll faint if you stay out here much longer. I’ll take you to friends. Of course, you are one of us?”
“I have been trying to earn a living, and to keep my pride.”
“A thing that men generally manage to make impossible!”
They had to wait for some traffic to pass, and to Eve the street seemed full of vague glare and confusion. She was aware of a firm grip on her arm, and of the nearness of something that was comforting and protective. She wanted to sink down into some soft, soothing142 substance, to drink unlimited143 cold water, and not to be bothered.
The body had decided it. There was to be no spasm144 of physical protest. Nature had determined145 that Eve should go to bed.
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收听单词发音
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1
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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nauseating
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| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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stertorous
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| adj.打鼾的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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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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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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regenerated
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| v.新生，再生( regenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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canopied
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| adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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amethyst
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| n.紫水晶 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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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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blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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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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charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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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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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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smeary
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| 弄脏的 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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50
moles
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| 防波堤( mole的名词复数 )； 鼹鼠； 痣； 间谍 | |
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51
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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52
filthily
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| adv.污秽地，丑恶地，不洁地 | |
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53
grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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54
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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55
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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56
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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57
facetious
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| adj.轻浮的，好开玩笑的 | |
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58
purblind
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| adj.半盲的；愚笨的 | |
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59
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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60
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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61
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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62
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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63
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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65
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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66
nauseated
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| adj.作呕的，厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
lethal
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| adj.致死的；毁灭性的 | |
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68
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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69
condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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70
degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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71
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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72
drizzling
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| 下蒙蒙细雨，下毛毛雨( drizzle的现在分词 ) | |
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73
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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74
inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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75
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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76
itinerant
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| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
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77
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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78
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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79
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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80
militant
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| adj.激进的，好斗的；n.激进分子，斗士 | |
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81
sneaks
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| abbr.sneakers (tennis shoes) 胶底运动鞋（网球鞋）v.潜行( sneak的第三人称单数 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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82
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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83
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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84
militants
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| 激进分子，好斗分子( militant的名词复数 ) | |
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85
militancy
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| n.warlike behavior or tendency | |
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86
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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87
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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88
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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89
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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90
meted
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| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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91
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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92
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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93
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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94
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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95
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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96
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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97
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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98
revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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99
fanatics
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| 狂热者，入迷者( fanatic的名词复数 ) | |
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100
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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101
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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102
impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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103
persistently
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| ad.坚持地；固执地 | |
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104
hazily
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| ad. vaguely, not clear | |
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105
audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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106
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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107
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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108
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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109
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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110
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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111
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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112
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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113
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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114
outrage
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| n.暴行，侮辱，愤怒；vt.凌辱，激怒 | |
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115
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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116
enthusiasts
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| n.热心人，热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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117
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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118
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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119
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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120
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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121
magistrate
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| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
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122
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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123
tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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124
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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125
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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126
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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127
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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128
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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129
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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130
materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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131
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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132
egregious
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| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
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133
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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134
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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135
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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136
tremors
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| 震颤( tremor的名词复数 )； 战栗； 震颤声； 大地的轻微震动 | |
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137
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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138
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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139
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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140
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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141
groove
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| n.沟，槽；凹线，（刻出的）线条，习惯 | |
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142
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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143
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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144
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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145
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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