“Clear the outer ring!” cried Jackson, standing2 up beside the ropes with a big silver watch in his hand.
“Ss-whack! ss-whack! ss-whack!” went the horse-whips—for a number of the spectators, either driven onwards by the pressure behind or willing to risk some physical pain on the chance of getting a better view, had crept under the ropes and formed a ragged3 fringe within the outer ring. Now, amidst roars of laughter from the crowd and a shower of blows from the beaters-out, they dived madly back, with the ungainly haste of frightened sheep blundering through a gap in their hurdles4. Their case was a hard one, for the folk in front refused to yield an inch of their places—but the arguments from the rear prevailed over everything else, and presently every frantic5 fugitive6 had been absorbed, whilst the beaters-out took their stands along the edge at regular intervals7, with their whips held down by their thighs8.
“Gentlemen,” cried Jackson, again, “I am requested to inform you that Sir Charles Tregellis’s nominee9 is Jack1 Harrison, fighting at thirteen-eight, and Sir Lothian Hume’s is Crab10 Wilson, at thirteen-three. No person can be allowed at the inner ropes save the referee11 and the timekeeper. I have only to beg that, if the occasion should require it, you will all give me your assistance to keep the ground clear, to prevent confusion, and to have a fair fight. All ready?”
“All ready!” from both corners.
“Time!”
There was a breathless hush12 as Harrison, Wilson, Belcher, and Dutch Sam walked very briskly into the centre of the ring. The two men shook hands, whilst their seconds did the same, the four hands crossing each other. Then the seconds dropped back, and the two champions stood toe to toe, with their hands up.
It was a magnificent sight to any one who had not lost his sense of appreciation13 of the noblest of all the works of Nature. Both men fulfilled that requisite14 of the powerful athlete that they should look larger without their clothes than with them. In ring slang, they buffed well. And each showed up the other’s points on account of the extreme contrast between them: the long, loose-limbed, deer-footed youngster, and the square-set, rugged15 veteran with his trunk like the stump16 of an oak. The betting began to rise upon the younger man from the instant that they were put face to face, for his advantages were obvious, whilst those qualities which had brought Harrison to the top in his youth were only a memory in the minds of the older men. All could see the three inches extra of height and two of reach which Wilson possessed17, and a glance at the quick, cat-like motions of his feet, and the perfect poise18 of his body upon his legs, showed how swiftly he could spring either in or out from his slower adversary19. But it took a subtler insight to read the grim smile which flickered20 over the smith’s mouth, or the smouldering fire which shone in his grey eyes, and it was only the old-timers who knew that, with his mighty21 heart and his iron frame, he was a perilous22 man to lay odds23 against.
Wilson stood in the position from which he had derived24 his nickname, his left hand and left foot well to the front, his body sloped very far back from his loins, and his guard thrown across his chest, but held well forward in a way which made him exceedingly hard to get at. The smith, on the other hand, assumed the obsolete25 attitude which Humphries and Mendoza introduced, but which had not for ten years been seen in a first-class battle. Both his knees were slightly bent26, he stood square to his opponent, and his two big brown fists were held over his mark so that he could lead equally with either. Wilson’s hands, which moved incessantly27 in and out, had been stained with some astringent28 juice with the purpose of preventing them from puffing29, and so great was the contrast between them and his white forearms, that I imagined that he was wearing dark, close-fitting gloves until my uncle explained the matter in a whisper. So they stood in a quiver of eagerness and expectation, whilst that huge multitude hung so silently and breathlessly upon every motion that they might have believed themselves to be alone, man to man, in the centre of some primeval solitude30.
It was evident from the beginning that Crab Wilson meant to throw no chance away, and that he would trust to his lightness of foot and quickness of hand until he should see something of the tactics of this rough-looking antagonist31. He paced swiftly round several times, with little, elastic32, menacing steps, whilst the smith pivoted33 slowly to correspond. Then, as Wilson took a backward step to induce Harrison to break his ground and follow him, the older man grinned and shook his head.
“You must come to me, lad,” said he. “I’m too old to scamper34 round the ring after you. But we have the day before us, and I’ll wait.”
He may not have expected his invitation to be so promptly35 answered; but in an instant, with a panther spring, the west-countryman was on him. Smack36! smack! smack! Thud! thud! The first three were on Harrison’s face, the last two were heavy counters upon Wilson’s body. Back danced the youngster, disengaging himself in beautiful style, but with two angry red blotches37 over the lower line of his ribs38. “Blood for Wilson!” yelled the crowd, and as the smith faced round to follow the movements of his nimble adversary, I saw with a thrill that his chin was crimson39 and dripping. In came Wilson again with a feint at the mark and a flush hit on Harrison’s cheek; then, breaking the force of the smith’s ponderous40 right counter, he brought the round to a conclusion by slipping down upon the grass.
“First knock-down for Harrison!” roared a thousand voices, for ten times as many pounds would change hands upon the point.
“I appeal to the referee!” cried Sir Lothian Hume. “It was a slip, and not a knock-down.”
“I give it a slip,” said Berkeley Craven, and the men walked to their corners, amidst a general shout of applause for a spirited and well-contested opening round. Harrison fumbled41 in his mouth with his finger and thumb, and then with a sharp half-turn he wrenched42 out a tooth, which he threw into the basin. “Quite like old times,” said he to Belcher.
“Have a care, Jack!” whispered the anxious second. “You got rather more than you gave.”
“Maybe I can carry more, too,” said he serenely43, whilst Caleb Baldwin mopped the big sponge over his face, and the shining bottom of the tin basin ceased suddenly to glimmer44 through the water.
I could gather from the comments of the experienced Corinthians around me, and from the remarks of the crowd behind, that Harrison’s chance was thought to have been lessened45 by this round.
“I’ve seen his old faults and I haven’t seen his old merits,” said Sir John Lade, our opponent of the Brighton Road. “He’s as slow on his feet and with his guard as ever. Wilson hit him as he liked.”
“Wilson may hit him three times to his once, but his one is worth Wilson’s three,” remarked my uncle. “He’s a natural fighter and the other an excellent sparrer, but I don’t hedge a guinea.”
A sudden hush announced that the men were on their feet again, and so skilfully46 had the seconds done their work, that neither looked a jot47 the worse for what had passed. Wilson led viciously with his left, but misjudged his distance, receiving a smashing counter on the mark in reply which sent him reeling and gasping48 to the ropes. “Hurrah for the old one!” yelled the mob, and my uncle laughed and nudged Sir John Lade. The west-countryman smiled, and shook himself like a dog from the water as with a stealthy step he came back to the centre of the ring, where his man was still standing. Bang came Harrison’s right upon the mark once more, but Crab broke the blow with his elbow, and jumped laughing away. Both men were a little winded, and their quick, high breathing, with the light patter of their feet as they danced round each other, blended into one continuous, long-drawn sound. Two simultaneous exchanges with the left made a clap like a pistol-shot, and then as Harrison rushed in for a fall, Wilson slipped him, and over went my old friend upon his face, partly from the impetus49 of his own futile50 attack, and partly from a swinging half-arm blow which the west-countryman brought home upon his ear as he passed.
“Knock-down for Wilson,” cried the referee, and the answering roar was like the broadside of a seventy-four. Up went hundreds of curly brimmed Corinthian hats into the air, and the slope before us was a bank of flushed and yelling faces. My heart was cramped51 with my fears, and I winced53 at every blow, yet I was conscious also of an absolute fascination54, with a wild thrill of fierce joy and a certain exultation55 in our common human nature which could rise above pain and fear in its straining after the very humblest form of fame.
Belcher and Baldwin had pounced57 upon their man, and had him up and in his corner in an instant, but, in spite of the coolness with which the hardy58 smith took his punishment, there was immense exultation amongst the west-countrymen.
“We’ve got him! He’s beat! He’s beat!” shouted the two Jew seconds. “It’s a hundred to a tizzy on Gloucester!”
“Beat, is he?” answered Belcher. “You’ll need to rent this field before you can beat him, for he’ll stand a month of that kind of fly-flappin’.” He was swinging a towel in front of Harrison as he spoke59, whilst Baldwin mopped him with the sponge.
“How is it with you, Harrison?” asked my uncle.
The cheery answer came with so merry a ring that the clouds cleared from my uncle’s face.
“You should recommend your man to lead more, Tregellis,” said Sir John Lade. “He’ll never win it unless he leads.”
“He knows more about the game than you or I do, Lade. I’ll let him take his own way.”
“The betting is three to one against him now,” said a gentleman, whose grizzled moustache showed that he was an officer of the late war.
“Very true, General Fitzpatrick. But you’ll observe that it is the raw young bloods who are giving the odds, and the Sheenies who are taking them. I still stick to my opinion.”
The two men came briskly up to the scratch at the call of time, the smith a little lumpy on one side of his head, but with the same good-humoured and yet menacing smile upon his lips. As to Wilson, he was exactly as he had begun in appearance, but twice I saw him close his lips sharply as if he were in a sudden spasm62 of pain, and the blotches over his ribs were darkening from scarlet63 to a sullen64 purple. He held his guard somewhat lower to screen this vulnerable point, and he danced round his opponent with a lightness which showed that his wind had not been impaired65 by the body-blows, whilst the smith still adopted the impassive tactics with which he had commenced.
Many rumours66 had come up to us from the west as to Crab Wilson’s fine science and the quickness of his hitting, but the truth surpassed what had been expected of him. In this round and the two which followed he showed a swiftness and accuracy which old ringsiders declared that Mendoza in his prime had never surpassed. He was in and out like lightning, and his blows were heard and felt rather than seen. But Harrison still took them all with the same dogged smile, occasionally getting in a hard body-blow in return, for his adversary’s height and his position combined to keep his face out of danger. At the end of the fifth round the odds were four to one, and the west-countrymen were riotous67 in their exultation.
“What think you now?” cried the west-countryman behind me, and in his excitement he could get no further save to repeat over and over again, “What think you now?” When in the sixth round the smith was peppered twice without getting in a counter, and had the worst of the fall as well, the fellow became inarticulate altogether, and could only huzza wildly in his delight. Sir Lothian Hume was smiling and nodding his head, whilst my uncle was coldly impassive, though I was sure that his heart was as heavy as mine.
“This won’t do, Tregellis,” said General Fitzpatrick. “My money is on the old one, but the other is the finer boxer68.”
“My man is un peu passé, but he will come through all right,” answered my uncle.
I saw that both Belcher and Baldwin were looking grave, and I knew that we must have a change of some sort, or the old tale of youth and age would be told once more.
The seventh round, however, showed the reserve strength of the hardy old fighter, and lengthened69 the faces of those layers of odds who had imagined that the fight was practically over, and that a few finishing rounds would have given the smith his coup-de-grâce. It was clear when the two men faced each other that Wilson had made himself up for mischief70, and meant to force the fighting and maintain the lead which he had gained, but that grey gleam was not quenched71 yet in the veteran’s eyes, and still the same smile played over his grim face. He had become more jaunty72, too, in the swing of his shoulders and the poise of his head, and it brought my confidence back to see the brisk way in which he squared up to his man.
Wilson led with his left, but was short, and he only just avoided a dangerous right-hander which whistled in at his ribs. “Bravo, old ’un, one of those will be a dose of laudanum if you get it home,” cried Belcher. There was a pause of shuffling73 feet and hard breathing, broken by the thud of a tremendous body blow from Wilson, which the smith stopped with the utmost coolness. Then again a few seconds of silent tension, when Wilson led viciously at the head, but Harrison took it on his forearm, smiling and nodding at his opponent. “Get the pepper-box open!” yelled Mendoza, and Wilson sprang in to carry out his instructions, but was hit out again by a heavy drive on the chest. “Now’s the time! Follow it up!” cried Belcher, and in rushed the smith, pelting74 in his half-arm blows, and taking the returns without a wince52, until Crab Wilson went down exhausted75 in the corner. Both men had their marks to show, but Harrison had all the best of the rally, so it was our turn to throw our hats into the air and to shout ourselves hoarse76, whilst the seconds clapped their man upon his broad back as they hurried him to his corner.
“What think you now?” shouted all the neighbours of the west-countryman, repeating his own refrain.
“Why, Dutch Sam never put in a better rally,” cried Sir John Lade. “What’s the betting now, Sir Lothian?”
“I have laid all that I intend; but I don’t think my man can lose it.” For all that, the smile had faded from his face, and I observed that he glanced continually over his shoulder into the crowd behind him.
A sullen purple cloud had been drifting slowly up from the south-west—though I dare say that out of thirty thousand folk there were very few who had spared the time or attention to mark it. Now it suddenly made its presence apparent by a few heavy drops of rain, thickening rapidly into a sharp shower, which filled the air with its hiss77, and rattled78 noisily upon the high, hard hats of the Corinthians. Coat-collars were turned up and handkerchiefs tied round necks, whilst the skins of the two men glistened79 with the moisture as they stood up to each other once more. I noticed that Belcher whispered very earnestly into Harrison’s ear as he rose from his knee, and that the smith nodded his head curtly80, with the air of a man who understands and approves of his orders.
And what those orders were was instantly apparent. Harrison was to be turned from the defender81 into the attacker. The result of the rally in the last round had convinced his seconds that when it came to give-and-take hitting, their hardy and powerful man was likely to have the better of it. And then on the top of this came the rain. With the slippery grass the superior activity of Wilson would be neutralized82, and he would find it harder to avoid the rushes of his opponent. It was in taking advantage of such circumstances that the art of ringcraft lay, and many a shrewd and vigilant83 second had won a losing battle for his man. “Go in, then! Go in!” whooped84 the two prize-fighters, while every backer in the crowd took up the roar.
And Harrison went in, in such fashion that no man who saw him do it will ever forget it. Crab Wilson, as game as a pebble85, met him with a flush hit every time, but no human strength or human science seemed capable of stopping the terrible onslaught of this iron man. Round after round he scrambled86 his way in, slap-bang, right and left, every hit tremendously sent home. Sometimes he covered his own face with his left, and sometimes he disdained88 to use any guard at all, but his springing hits were irresistible89. The rain lashed90 down upon them, pouring from their faces and running in crimson trickles91 over their bodies, but neither gave any heed92 to it save to manœuvre always with the view of bringing it in to each other’s eyes. But round after round the west-countryman fell, and round after round the betting rose, until the odds were higher in our favour than ever they had been against us. With a sinking heart, filled with pity and admiration93 for these two gallant94 men, I longed that every bout61 might be the last, and yet the “Time!” was hardly out of Jackson’s mouth before they had both sprung from their second’s knees, with laughter upon their mutilated faces and chaffing words upon their bleeding lips. It may have been a humble56 object-lesson, but I give you my word that many a time in my life I have braced95 myself to a hard task by the remembrance of that morning upon Crawley Downs, asking myself if my manhood were so weak that I would not do for my country, or for those whom I loved, as much as these two would endure for a paltry96 stake and for their own credit amongst their fellows. Such a spectacle may brutalize those who are brutal97, but I say that there is a spiritual side to it also, and that the sight of the utmost human limit of endurance and courage is one which bears a lesson of its own.
But if the ring can breed bright virtues98, it is but a partisan99 who can deny that it can be the mother of black vices100 also, and we were destined101 that morning to have a sight of each. It so chanced that, as the battle went against his man, my eyes stole round very often to note the expression upon Sir Lothian Hume’s face, for I knew how fearlessly he had laid the odds, and I understood that his fortunes as well as his champion were going down before the smashing blows of the old bruiser. The confident smile with which he had watched the opening rounds had long vanished from his lips, and his cheeks had turned of a sallow pallor, whilst his small, fierce grey eyes looked furtively102 from under his craggy brows, and more than once he burst into savage103 imprecations when Wilson was beaten to the ground. But especially I noticed that his chin was always coming round to his shoulder, and that at the end of every round he sent keen little glances flying backwards104 into the crowd. For some time, amidst the immense hillside of faces which banked themselves up on the slope behind us, I was unable to pick out the exact point at which his gaze was directed. But at last I succeeded in following it. A very tall man, who showed a pair of broad, bottle-green shoulders high above his neighbours, was looking very hard in our direction, and I assured myself that a quick exchange of almost imperceptible signals was going on between him and the Corinthian baronet. I became conscious, also, as I watched this stranger, that the cluster of men around him were the roughest elements of the whole assembly: fierce, vicious-looking fellows, with cruel, debauched faces, who howled like a pack of wolves at every blow, and yelled execrations at Harrison whenever he walked across to his corner. So turbulent were they that I saw the ringkeepers whisper together and glance up in their direction, as if preparing for trouble in store, but none of them had realized how near it was to breaking out, or how dangerous it might prove.
Thirty rounds had been fought in an hour and twenty-five minutes, and the rain was pelting down harder than ever. A thick steam rose from the two fighters, and the ring was a pool of mud. Repeated falls had turned the men brown, with a horrible mottling of crimson blotches. Round after round had ended by Crab Wilson going down, and it was evident, even to my inexperienced eyes, that he was weakening rapidly. He leaned heavily upon the two Jews when they led him to his corner, and he reeled when their support was withdrawn105. Yet his science had, through long practice, become an automatic thing with him, so that he stopped and hit with less power, but with as great accuracy as ever. Even now a casual observer might have thought that he had the best of the battle, for the smith was far the more terribly marked, but there was a wild stare in the west-countryman’s eyes, and a strange catch in his breathing, which told us that it is not the most dangerous blow which shows upon the surface. A heavy cross-buttock at the end of the thirty-first round shook the breath from his body, and he came up for the thirty-second with the same jaunty gallantry as ever, but with the dazed expression of a man whose wind has been utterly106 smashed.
“He’s got the roly-polies,” cried Belcher. “You have it your own way now!”
“Damme, I like his style,” cried Sir John Lade. “No shifting, nothing shy, no hugging nor hauling. It’s a shame to let him fight. Take the brave fellow away!”
“Take him away! Take him away!” echoed a hundred voices.
“I won’t be taken away! Who dares say so?” cried Wilson, who was back, after another fall, upon his second’s knee.
“His heart won’t suffer him to cry enough,” said General Fitzpatrick. “As his patron, Sir Lothian, you should direct the sponge to be thrown up.”
“You think he can’t win it?”
“He is hopelessly beat, sir.”
“A gamer man never pulled his shirt off; but the other is too strong for him.”
“Well, sir, I believe that he can fight another ten rounds.” He half turned as he spoke, and I saw him throw up his left arm with a singular gesture into the air.
“Cut the ropes! Fair play! Wait till the rain stops!” roared a stentorian109 voice behind me, and I saw that it came from the big man with the bottle-green coat. His cry was a signal, for, like a thunderclap, there came a hundred hoarse voices shouting together: “Fair play for Gloucester! Break the ring! Break the ring!”
Jackson had called “Time,” and the two mud-plastered men were already upon their feet, but the interest had suddenly changed from the fight to the audience. A succession of heaves from the back of the crowd had sent a series of long ripples110 running through it, all the heads swaying rhythmically111 in the one direction like a wheatfield in a squall. With every impulsion the oscillation increased, those in front trying vainly to steady themselves against the rushes from behind, until suddenly there came a sharp snap, two white stakes with earth clinging to their points flew into the outer ring, and a spray of people, dashed from the solid wave behind, were thrown against the line of the beaters-out. Down came the long horse-whips, swayed by the most vigorous arms in England; but the wincing112 and shouting victims had no sooner scrambled back a few yards from the merciless cuts, before a fresh charge from the rear hurled113 them once more into the arms of the prize-fighters. Many threw themselves down upon the turf and allowed successive waves to pass over their bodies, whilst others, driven wild by the blows, returned them with their hunting-crops and walking-canes. And then, as half the crowd strained to the left and half to the right to avoid the pressure from behind, the vast mass was suddenly reft in twain, and through the gap surged the rough fellows from behind, all armed with loaded sticks and yelling for “Fair play and Gloucester!” Their determined114 rush carried the prize-fighters before them, the inner ropes snapped like threads, and in an instant the ring was a swirling,’ seething115 mass of figures, whips and sticks falling and clattering116, whilst, face to face, in the middle of it all, so wedged that they could neither advance nor retreat, the smith and the west-countryman continued their long-drawn battle as oblivious117 of the chaos118 raging round them as two bulldogs would have been who had got each other by the throat. The driving rain, the cursing and screams of pain, the swish of the blows, the yelling of orders and advice, the heavy smell of the damp cloth—every incident of that scene of my early youth comes back to me now in my old age as clearly as if it had been but yesterday.
It was not easy for us to observe anything at the time, however, for we were ourselves in the midst of the frantic crowd, swaying about and carried occasionally quite off our feet, but endeavouring to keep our places behind Jackson and Berkeley Craven, who, with sticks and whips meeting over their heads, were still calling the rounds and superintending the fight.
“The ring’s broken!” shouted Sir Lothian Hume. “I appeal to the referee! The fight is null and void.”
“You have already an account to answer for with me,” said Hume, with his sinister120 sneer121, and as he spoke he was swept by the rush of the crowd into my uncle’s very arms. The two men’s faces were not more than a few inches apart, and Sir Lothian’s bold eyes had to sink before the imperious scorn which gleamed coldly in those of my uncle.
“We will settle our accounts, never fear, though I degrade myself in meeting such a blackleg. What is it, Craven?”
“We shall have to declare a draw, Tregellis.”
“My man has the fight in hand.”
“I cannot help it. I cannot attend to my duties when every moment I am cut over with a whip or a stick.”
Jackson suddenly made a wild dash into the crowd, but returned with empty hands and a rueful face.
My uncle clapped his hand to his fob.
“Mine has gone also!” he cried.
“Draw it at once, or your man will get hurt,” said Jackson, and we saw that as the undaunted smith stood up to Wilson for another round, a dozen rough fellows were clustering round him with bludgeons.
“Do you consent to a draw, Sir Lothian Hume?”
“I do.”
“And you, Sir Charles?”
“Certainly not.”
“The ring is gone.”
“That is no fault of mine.”
“Well, I see no help for it. As referee I order that the men be withdrawn, and that the stakes be returned to their owners.”
“A draw! A draw!” shrieked122 every one, and the crowd in an instant dispersed123 in every direction, the pedestrians124 running to get a good lead upon the London road, and the Corinthians in search of their horses and carriages. Harrison ran over to Wilson’s corner and shook him by the hand.
“I hope I have not hurt you much.”
“I’m hard put to it to stand. How are you?”
“My head’s singin’ like a kettle. It was the rain that helped me.”
“Yes, I thought I had you beat one time. I never wish a better battle.”
“Nor me either. Good-bye.”
And so those two brave-hearted fellows made their way amidst the yelping125 roughs, like two wounded lions amidst a pack of wolves and jackals. I say again that, if the ring has fallen low, it is not in the main the fault of the men who have done the fighting, but it lies at the door of the vile126 crew of ring-side parasites127 and ruffians, who are as far below the honest pugilist as the welsher and the blackleg are below the noble racehorse which serves them as a pretext128 for their villainies.
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1
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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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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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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4
hurdles
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| n.障碍( hurdle的名词复数 )；跳栏；（供人或马跳跃的）栏架；跨栏赛 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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7
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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nominee
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| n.被提名者；被任命者；被推荐者 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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referee
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| n.裁判员．仲裁人，代表人，鉴定人 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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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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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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25
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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astringent
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| adj.止血的，收缩的，涩的；n.收缩剂，止血剂 | |
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29
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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30
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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31
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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32
elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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33
pivoted
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| adj.转动的，回转的，装在枢轴上的v.（似）在枢轴上转动( pivot的过去式和过去分词 )；把…放在枢轴上；以…为核心，围绕（主旨）展开 | |
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34
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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35
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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36
smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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37
blotches
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| n.（皮肤上的）红斑，疹块( blotch的名词复数 )；大滴 [大片]（墨水或颜色的）污渍 | |
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38
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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39
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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40
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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41
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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42
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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43
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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44
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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45
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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46
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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47
jot
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| n.少量；vi.草草记下；vt.匆匆写下 | |
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48
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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49
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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50
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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51
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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52
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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53
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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55
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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56
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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58
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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59
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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60
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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61
bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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62
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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63
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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67
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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68
boxer
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| n.制箱者，拳击手 | |
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69
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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71
quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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72
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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73
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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74
pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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75
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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76
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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77
hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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78
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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79
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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81
defender
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| n.保卫者，拥护者，辩护人 | |
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82
neutralized
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| v.使失效( neutralize的过去式和过去分词 )；抵消；中和；使（一个国家）中立化 | |
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83
vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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84
whooped
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| 叫喊( whoop的过去式和过去分词 )； 高声说； 唤起 | |
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85
pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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86
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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87
cove
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| n.小海湾，小峡谷 | |
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88
disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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89
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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90
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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91
trickles
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| n.细流( trickle的名词复数 )；稀稀疏疏缓慢来往的东西v.滴( trickle的第三人称单数 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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92
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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93
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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94
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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95
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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96
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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97
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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98
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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99
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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100
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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101
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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102
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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103
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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104
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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105
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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106
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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107
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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108
glutton
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| n.贪食者，好食者 | |
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109
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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110
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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111
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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112
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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113
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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114
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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115
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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116
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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117
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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118
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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119
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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120
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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121
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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122
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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124
pedestrians
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| n.步行者( pedestrian的名词复数 ) | |
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125
yelping
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| v.发出短而尖的叫声( yelp的现在分词 ) | |
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126
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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127
parasites
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| 寄生物( parasite的名词复数 )； 靠他人为生的人； 诸虫 | |
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128
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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