To Margaret the day was very fair, and the omens1 all auspicious2. She carried with her close to her heart two precious letters received that morning and scarcely glanced at as yet, one from Gardley and one from her mother. She had had only time to open them and be sure that all was well with her dear ones, and had left the rest to read on the way.
She was dressed in the khaki riding-habit she always wore when she went on horseback; and in the bag strapped4 on behind she carried a couple of fresh white blouses, a thin, white dress, a little soft dark silk gown that folded away almost into a cobweb, and a few other necessities. She had also slipped in a new book her mother had sent her, into which she had had as yet no time to look, and her chessmen and board, besides writing materials. She prided herself on having got so many necessaries into so small a compass. She would need the extra clothing if she stayed at Ganado with the missionaries5 for a week on her return from the trip, and the book and chessmen would amuse them all by the way. She had heard Brownleigh say he loved to play chess.
Margaret rode on the familiar trail, and for the first hour just let herself be glad that school was over and she could rest and have no responsibility. The sun shimmered6 down brilliantly on the white, hot sand and gray-green of the greasewood and sage-brush. Tall spikes8 of cactus9 like lonely spires10 shot up now and again to vary the scene. It was all familiar ground to Margaret around here, for she had taken many rides with Gardley and Bud, and for the first part of the way every turn and bit of view was fraught11 with pleasant memories that brought a smile to her eyes as she recalled some quotation12 of Gardley's or some prank13 of Bud's. Here was where they first sighted the little cottontail the day she took her initial ride on her own pony14. Off there was the mountain where they saw the sun drawing silver water above a frowning storm. Yonder was the group of cedars15 where they had stopped to eat their lunch once, and this water-hole they were approaching was the one where Gardley had given her a drink from his hat.
She was almost glad that Bud was not along, for she was too tired to talk and liked to be alone with her thoughts for this few minutes. Poor Bud! He would be disappointed when he got back to find her gone, but then he had expected she was going in a few days, anyway, and she had promised to take long rides with him when she returned. She had left a little note for him, asking him to read a certain book in her bookcase while she was gone, and be ready to discuss it with her when she got back, and Bud would be fascinated with it, she knew. Bud had been dear and faithful, and she would miss him, but just for this little while she was glad to have the great out-of-doors to herself.
She was practically alone. The two sphinx-like figures riding ahead of her made no sign, but stolidly19 rode on hour after hour, nor turned their heads even to see if she were coming. She knew that Indians were this way; still, as the time went by she began to feel an uneasy sense of being alone in the universe with a couple of bronze statues. Even the papoose had erased20 itself in sleep, and when it awoke partook so fully21 of its racial peculiarities22 as to hold its little peace and make no fuss. Margaret began to feel the baby was hardly human, more like a little brown doll set up in a missionary23 meeting to teach white children what a papoose was like.
By and by she got out her letters and read them over carefully, dreaming and smiling over them, and getting precious bits by heart. Gardley hinted that he might be able very soon to visit her parents, as it looked as though he might have to make a trip on business in their direction before he could go further with what he was doing in his old home. He gave no hint of soon returning to the West. He said he was awaiting the return of one man who might soon be coming from abroad. Margaret sighed and wondered how many weary months it would be before she would see him. Perhaps, after all, she ought to have gone home and stayed them out with her mother and father. If the school-board could be made to see that it would be better to have no summer session, perhaps she would even yet go when she returned from the Brownleighs'. She would see. She would decide nothing until she was rested.
Suddenly she felt herself overwhelmingly weary, and wished that the Indians would stop and rest for a while; but when she stirred up her sleepy pony and spurred ahead to broach24 the matter to her guide he shook his solemn head and pointed16 to the sun:
"No get Keams good time. No meet Aneshodi."
"Aneshodi," she knew, was the Indians' name for the missionary, and she smiled her acquiescence25. Of course they must meet the Brownleighs and not detain them. What was it Hazel had said about having to hurry? She searched her pocket for the letter, and then remembered she had left it with Mrs. Tanner. What a pity she had not brought it! Perhaps there was some caution or advice in it that she had not taken note of. But then the Indian likely knew all about it, and she could trust to him. She glanced at his stolid18 face and wished she could make him smile. She cast a sunny smile at him and said something pleasant about the beautiful day, but he only looked her through as if she were not there, and after one or two more attempts she fell back and tried to talk to the squaw; but the squaw only looked stolid, too, and shook her head. She did not seem friendly. Margaret drew back into her old position and feasted her eyes upon the distant hills.
The road was growing unfamiliar26 now. They were crossing rough ridges27 with cliffs of red sandstone, and every step of the way was interesting. Yet Margaret felt more and more how much she wanted to lie down and sleep, and when at last in the dusk the Indians halted not far from a little pool of rainwater and indicated that here they would camp for the night, Margaret was too weary to question the decision. It had not occurred to her that she would be on the way overnight before she met her friends. Her knowledge of the way, and of distances, was but vague. It is doubtful if she would have ventured had she known that she must pass the night thus in the company of two strange savage28 creatures. Yet, now that she was here and it was inevitable29, she would not shrink, but make the best of it. She tried to be friendly once more, and offered to look out for the baby while the squaw gathered wood and made a fire. The Indian was off looking after the horses, evidently expecting his wife to do all the work.
Margaret watched a few minutes, while pretending to play with the baby, who was both sleepy and hungry, yet held his emotions as stolidly as if he were a grown person. Then she decided30 to take a hand in the supper. She was hungry and could not bear that those dusky, dirty hands should set forth31 her food, so she went to work cheerfully, giving directions as if the Indian woman understood her, though she very soon discovered that all her talk was as mere7 babbling32 to the other, and she might as well hold her peace. The woman set a kettle of water over the fire, and Margaret forestalled33 her next movement by cutting some pork and putting it to cook in a little skillet she found among the provisions. The woman watched her solemnly, not seeming to care; and so, silently, each went about her own preparations.
The supper was a silent affair, and when it was over the squaw handed Margaret a blanket. Suddenly she understood that this, and this alone, was to be her bed for the night. The earth was there for a mattress34, and the sage-brush lent a partial shelter, the canopy35 of stars was overhead.
A kind of panic took possession of her. She stared at the squaw and found herself longing36 to cry out for help. It seemed as if she could not bear this awful silence of the mortals who were her only company. Yet her common sense came to her aid, and she realized that there was nothing for it but to make the best of things. So she took the blanket and, spreading it out, sat down upon it and wrapped it about her shoulders and feet. She would not lie down until she saw what the rest did. Somehow she shrank from asking the bronze man how to fold a blanket for a bed on the ground. She tried to remember what Gardley had told her about folding the blanket bed so as best to keep out snakes and ants. She shuddered37 at the thought of snakes. Would she dare call for help from those stolid companions of hers if a snake should attempt to molest38 her in the night? And would she ever dare to go to sleep?
She remembered her first night in Arizona out among the stars, alone on the water-tank, and her first frenzy39 of loneliness. Was this as bad? No, for these Indians were trustworthy and well known by her dear friends. It might be unpleasant, but this, too, would pass and the morrow would soon be here.
The dusk dropped down and the stars loomed40 out. All the world grew wonderful, like a blue jeweled dome41 of a palace with the lights turned low. The fire burned brightly as the man threw sticks upon it, and the two Indians moved stealthily about in the darkness, passing silhouetted42 before the fire this way and that, and then at last lying down wrapped in their blankets to sleep.
It was very quiet about her. The air was so still she could hear the hobbled horses munching43 away in the distance, and moving now and then with the halting gait a hobble gives a horse. Off in the farther distance the blood-curdling howl of the coyotes rose, but Margaret was used to them, and knew they would not come near a fire.
She was growing very weary, and at last wrapped her blanket closer and lay down, her head pillowed on one corner of it. Committing herself to her Heavenly Father, and breathing a prayer for father, mother, and lover, she fell asleep.
It was still almost dark when she awoke. For a moment she thought it was still night and the sunset was not gone yet, the clouds were so rosy44 tinted45.
The squaw was standing46 by her, touching47 her shoulder roughly and grunting48 something. She perceived, as she rubbed her eyes and tried to summon back her senses, that she was expected to get up and eat breakfast. There was a smell of pork and coffee in the air, and there was scorched49 corn bread beside the fire on a pan.
Margaret got up quickly and ran down to the water-hole to get some water, dashing it in her face and over her arms and hands, the squaw meanwhile standing at a little distance, watching her curiously50, as if she thought this some kind of an oblation51 paid to the white woman's god before she ate. Margaret pulled the hair-pins out of her hair, letting it down and combing it with one of her side combs; twisted it up again in its soft, fluffy52 waves; straightened her collar, set on her hat, and was ready for the day. The squaw looked at her with both awe53 and contempt for a moment, then turned and stalked back to her papoose and began preparing it for the journey.
Margaret made a hurried meal and was scarcely done before she found her guides were waiting like two pillars of the desert, but watching keenly, impatiently, her every mouthful, and anxious to be off.
The sky was still pink-tinted with the semblance54 of a sunset, and Margaret felt, as she mounted her pony and followed her companions, as if the day was all turned upside down. She almost wondered whether she hadn't slept through a whole twenty-four hours, and it were not, after all, evening again, till by and by the sun rose clear and the wonder of the cloud-tinting melted into day.
The road lay through sage-brush and old barren cedar-trees, with rabbits darting55 now and then between the rocks. Suddenly from the top of a little hill they came out to a spot where they could see far over the desert. Forty miles away three square, flat hills, or mesas, looked like a gigantic train of cars, and the clear air gave everything a strange vastness. Farther on beyond the mesas dimly dawned the Black Mountains. One could even see the shadowed head of "Round Rock," almost a hundred miles away. Before them and around was a great plain of sage-brush, and here and there was a small bush that the Indians call "the weed that was not scared." Margaret had learned all these things during her winter in Arizona, and keenly enjoyed the vast, splendid view spread before her.
They passed several little mud-plastered hogans that Margaret knew for Indian dwellings56. A fine band of ponies57 off in the distance made an interesting spot on the landscape, and twice they passed bands of sheep. She had a feeling of great isolation58 from everything she had ever known, and seemed going farther and farther from life and all she loved. Once she ventured to ask the Indian what time he expected to meet her friends, the missionaries, but he only shook his head and murmured something unintelligible59 about "Keams" and pointed to the sun. She dropped behind again, vaguely60 uneasy, she could not tell why. There seemed something so altogether sly and wary61 and unfriendly in the faces of the two that she almost wished she had not come. Yet the way was beautiful enough and nothing very unpleasant was happening to her. Once she dropped the envelope of her mother's letter and was about to dismount and recover it. Then some strange impulse made her leave it on the sand of the desert. What if they should be lost and that paper should guide them back? The notion stayed by her, and once in a while she dropped other bits of paper by the way.
About noon the trail dropped off into a cañon, with high, yellow-rock walls on either side, and stifling62 heat, so that she felt as if she could scarcely stand it. She was glad when they emerged once more and climbed to higher ground. The noon camp was a hasty affair, for the Indian seemed in a hurry. He scanned the horizon far and wide and seemed searching keenly for some one or something. Once they met a lonely Indian, and he held a muttered conversation with him, pointing off ahead and gesticulating angrily. But the words were unintelligible to Margaret. Her feeling of uneasiness was growing, and yet she could not for the life of her tell why, and laid it down to her tired nerves. She was beginning to think she had been very foolish to start on such a long trip before she had had a chance to get rested from her last days of school. She longed to lie down under a tree and sleep for days.
Toward night they sighted a great blue mesa about fifty miles south, and at sunset they could just see the San Francisco peaks more than a hundred and twenty-five miles away. Margaret, as she stopped her horse and gazed, felt a choking in her heart and throat and a great desire to cry. The glory and awe of the mountains, mingled63 with her own weariness and nervous fear, were almost too much for her. She was glad to get down and eat a little supper and go to sleep again. As she fell asleep she comforted herself with repeating over a few precious words from her Bible:
"The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him and delivereth them. Thou wilt64 keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee because he trusteth in Thee. I will both lay me down in peace and sleep, for Thou Lord only makest me to dwell in safety...."
The voice of the coyotes, now far, now near, boomed out on the night; great stars shot dartling pathways across the heavens; the fire snapped and crackled, died down and flickered65 feebly; but Margaret slept, tired out, and dreamed the angels kept close vigil around her lowly couch.
She did not know what time the stars disappeared and the rain began to fall. She was too tired to notice the drops that fell upon her face. Too tired to hear the coyotes coming nearer, nearer, yet in the morning there lay one dead, stretched not thirty feet from where she lay. The Indian had shot him through the heart.
Somehow things looked very dismal66 that morning, in spite of the brightness of the sun after the rain. She was stiff and sore with lying in the dampness. Her hair was wet, her blanket was wet, and she woke without feeling rested. Almost the trip seemed more than she could bear. If she could have wished herself back that morning and have stayed at Tanners' all summer she certainly would have done it rather than to be where and how she was.
The Indians seemed excited—the man grim and forbidding, the woman appealing, frightened, anxious. They were near to Keams Cañon. "Aneshodi" would be somewhere about. The Indian hoped to be rid of his burden then and travel on his interrupted journey. He was growing impatient. He felt he had earned his money.
But when they tried to go down Keam's Cañon they found the road all washed away by flood, and must needs go a long way around. This made the Indian surly. His countenance67 was more forbidding than ever. Margaret, as she watched him with sinking heart, altered her ideas of the Indian as a whole to suit the situation. She had always felt pity for the poor Indian, whose land had been seized and whose kindred had been slaughtered68. But this Indian was not an object of pity. He was the most disagreeable, cruel-looking Indian Margaret had ever laid eyes on. She had felt it innately69 the first time she saw him, but now, as the situation began to bring him out, she knew that she was dreadfully afraid of him. She had a feeling that he might scalp her if he got tired of her. She began to alter her opinion of Hazel Brownleigh's judgment70 as regarded Indians. She did not feel that she would ever send this Indian to any one for a guide and say he was perfectly71 trustworthy. He hadn't done anything very dreadful yet, but she felt he was going to.
He had a number of angry confabs with his wife that morning. At least, he did the confabbing and the squaw protested. Margaret gathered after a while that it was something about herself. The furtive72, frightened glances that the squaw cast in her direction sometimes, when the man was not looking, made her think so. She tried to say it was all imagination, and that her nerves were getting the upper hand of her, but in spite of her she shuddered sometimes, just as she had done when Rosa looked at her. She decided that she must be going to have a fit of sickness, and that just as soon as she got in the neighborhood of Mrs. Tanner's again she would pack her trunk and go home to her mother. If she was going to be sick she wanted her mother.
About noon things came to a climax73. They halted on the top of the mesa, and the Indians had another altercation74, which ended in the man descending75 the trail a fearfully steep way, down four hundred feet to the trading-post in the cañon. Margaret looked down and gasped76 and thanked a kind Providence77 that had not made it necessary for her to make that descent; but the squaw stood at the top with her baby and looked down in silent sorrow—agony perhaps would be a better name. Her face was terrible to look upon.
Margaret could not understand it, and she went to the woman and put her hand out sympathetically, asking, gently: "What is the matter, you poor little thing? Oh, what is it?"
Perhaps the woman understood the tenderness in the tone, for she suddenly turned and rested her forehead against Margaret's shoulder, giving one great, gasping78 sob79, then lifted her dry, miserable80 eyes to the girl's face as if to thank her for her kindness.
Margaret's heart was touched. She threw her arms around the poor woman and drew her, papoose and all, comfortingly toward her, patting her shoulder and saying gentle, soothing81 words as she would to a little child. And by and by the woman lifted her head again, the tears coursing down her face, and tried to explain, muttering her queer gutturals and making eloquent82 gestures until Margaret felt she understood. She gathered that the man had gone down to the trading-post to find the "Aneshodi," and that the squaw feared that he would somehow procure83 firewater either from the trader or from some Indian he might meet, and would come back angrier than he had gone, and without his money.
If Margaret also suspected that the Indian had desired to get rid of her by leaving her at that desolate84 little trading-station down in the cañon until such time as her friends should call for her, she resolutely85 put the thought out of her mind and set herself to cheer the poor Indian woman.
She took a bright, soft, rosy silk tie from her own neck and knotted it about the astonished woman's dusky throat, and then she put a silver dollar in her hand, and was thrilled with wonder to see what a change came over the poor, dark face. It reminded her of Mom Wallis when she got on her new bonnet86, and once again she felt the thrill of knowing the whole world kin17.
The squaw cheered up after a little, got sticks and made a fire, and together they had quite a pleasant meal. Margaret exerted herself to make the poor woman laugh, and finally succeeded by dangling87 a bright-red knight88 from her chessmen in front of the delighted baby's eyes till he gurgled out a real baby crow of joy.
It was the middle of the afternoon before the Indian returned, sitting crazily his struggling beast as he climbed the trail once more. Margaret, watching, caught her breath and prayed. Was this the trustworthy man, this drunken, reeling creature, clubbing his horse and pouring forth a torrent89 of indistinguishable gutturals? It was evident that his wife's worst fears were verified. He had found the firewater.
The frightened squaw set to work putting things together as fast as she could. She well knew what to expect, and when the man reached the top of the mesa he found his party packed and mounted, waiting fearsomely to take the trail.
Silently, timorously90, they rode behind him, west across the great wide plain.
In the distance gradually there appeared dim mesas like great fingers stretching out against the sky; miles away they seemed, and nothing intervening but a stretch of varying color where sage-brush melted into sand, and sage-brush and greasewood grew again, with tall cactus startling here and there like bayonets at rest but bristling91 with menace.
The Indian had grown silent and sullen92. His eyes were like deep fires of burning volcanoes. One shrank from looking at them. His massive, cruel profile stood out like bronze against the evening sky. It was growing night again, and still they had not come to anywhere or anything, and still her friends seemed just as far away.
Since they had left the top of Keams Cañon Margaret had been sure all was not right. Aside from the fact that the guide was drunk at present, she was convinced that there had been something wrong with him all along. He did not act like the Indians around Ashland. He did not act like a trusted guide that her friends would send for her. She wished once more that she had kept Hazel Brownleigh's letter. She wondered how her friends would find her if they came after her. It was then she began in earnest to systematically93 plan to leave a trail behind her all the rest of the way. If she had only done it thoroughly94 when she first began to be uneasy. But now she was so far away, so many miles from anywhere! Oh, if she had not come at all!
And first she dropped her handkerchief, because she happened to have it in her hand—a dainty thing with lace on the edge and her name written in tiny script by her mother's careful hand on the narrow hem3. And then after a little, as soon as she could scrawl95 it without being noticed, she wrote a note which she twisted around the neck of a red chessman, and left behind her. After that scraps96 of paper, as she could reach them out of the bag tied on behind her saddle; then a stocking, a bedroom slipper97, more chessmen, and so, when they halted at dusk and prepared to strike camp, she had quite a good little trail blazed behind her over that wide, empty plain. She shuddered as she looked into the gathering98 darkness ahead, where those long, dark lines of mesas looked like barriers in the way. Then, suddenly, the Indian pointed ahead to the first mesa and uttered one word—"Walpi!" So that was the Indian village to which she was bound? What was before her on the morrow? After eating a pretense99 of supper she lay down. The Indian had more firewater with him. He drank, he uttered cruel gutturals at his squaw, and even kicked the feet of the sleeping papoose as he passed by till it awoke and cried sharply, which made him more angry, so he struck the squaw.
It seemed hours before all was quiet. Margaret's nerves were strained to such a pitch she scarcely dared to breathe, but at last, when the fire had almost died down, the man lay quiet, and she could relax and close her eyes.
Not to sleep. She must not go to sleep. The fire was almost gone and the coyotes would be around. She must wake and watch!
That was the last thought she remembered—that and a prayer that the angels would keep watch once again.
When she awoke it was broad daylight and far into the morning, for the sun was high overhead and the mesas in the distance were clear and distinct against the sky.
She sat up and looked about her, bewildered, not knowing at first where she was. It was so still and wide and lonely.
She turned to find the Indians, but there was no trace of them anywhere. The fire lay smoldering100 in its place, a thin trickle101 of smoke curling away from a dying stick, but that was all. A tin cup half full of coffee was beside the stick, and a piece of blackened corn bread. She turned frightened eyes to east, to west, to north, to south, but there was no one in sight, and out over the distant mesa there poised102 a great eagle alone in the vast sky keeping watch over the brilliant, silent waste.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
omens
|
|
| n.前兆，预兆( omen的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
auspicious
|
|
| adj.吉利的；幸运的，吉兆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
strapped
|
|
| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
missionaries
|
|
| n.传教士( missionary的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
shimmered
|
|
| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
spikes
|
|
| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
cactus
|
|
| n.仙人掌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
spires
|
|
| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
fraught
|
|
| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
quotation
|
|
| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
prank
|
|
| n.开玩笑，恶作剧；v.装饰；打扮；炫耀自己 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
pony
|
|
| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
cedars
|
|
| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
kin
|
|
| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
stolid
|
|
| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
stolidly
|
|
| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
erased
|
|
| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
peculiarities
|
|
| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
missionary
|
|
| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
broach
|
|
| v.开瓶，提出(题目) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
acquiescence
|
|
| n.默许；顺从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
unfamiliar
|
|
| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
ridges
|
|
| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
babbling
|
|
| n.胡说，婴儿发出的咿哑声adj.胡说的v.喋喋不休( babble的现在分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
forestalled
|
|
| v.先发制人，预先阻止( forestall的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
mattress
|
|
| n.床垫，床褥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
canopy
|
|
| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
shuddered
|
|
| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
molest
|
|
| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
frenzy
|
|
| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
loomed
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
dome
|
|
| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
silhouetted
|
|
| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
munching
|
|
| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
tinted
|
|
| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
grunting
|
|
| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
scorched
|
|
| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
oblation
|
|
| n.圣餐式；祭品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
fluffy
|
|
| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
awe
|
|
| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
darting
|
|
| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
dwellings
|
|
| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
ponies
|
|
| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
isolation
|
|
| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
flickered
|
|
| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
innately
|
|
| adv.天赋地；内在地，固有地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
climax
|
|
| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
altercation
|
|
| n.争吵，争论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
providence
|
|
| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
gasping
|
|
| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
bonnet
|
|
| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
dangling
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
torrent
|
|
| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
timorously
|
|
| adv.胆怯地，羞怯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
bristling
|
|
| a.竖立的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
systematically
|
|
| adv.有系统地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
scrawl
|
|
| vt.潦草地书写；n.潦草的笔记，涂写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
scraps
|
|
| 油渣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
slipper
|
|
| n.拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
pretense
|
|
| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
smoldering
|
|
| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
trickle
|
|
| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |