The wound on Granddad’s arm had turned worse, the scabs cracking and releasing a rotting,oozing mixture of dark blood and white pus. He told Father to squeeze the area around thewound. Fearfully, Father placed his icy fingers on the discoloured skin around the suppuratingwound and squeezed, forcing out a string of air bubbles that released the putrid6 smell of pickledvegetables. Granddad picked up a piece of yellow spirit currency that had been weighted downby a clod of earth at the head of a nearby gravesite and told Father to smear7 some of the saltywhite powder from the sorghum stalks on it. Then he removed the head of a cartridge8 with histeeth and poured the greenish gunpowder9 onto the paper, mixed it with the white sorghumpowder, and took a pinch with his fingers to daub on the open wound.
‘Dad,’ Father said, ‘shall I mix some soil into it?’
Granddad thought for a moment. ‘Sure, why not?’
Father bent10 down and picked up a clod of dark earth near the roots of a sorghum stalk,crumbled it in his fingers, and spread it on the paper. After Granddad mixed the three substancestogether and covered the wound with them, paper and all, Father wrapped a filthy11 strip ofbandage cloth around it and tied it tight.
‘Does that make it feel better, Dad?’
Granddad moved his arm back and forth12. ‘Much better, Douguan. An elixir13 like this will workon any wound, no matter how serious.’
‘Dad, if we’d had something like that for Mother, she wouldn’t have died, would she?’
‘No, she wouldn’t have.?.?.?.’ Granddad’s face clouded.
‘Dad, wouldn’t it’ve been great if you’d told me about this before? Mother was bleeding somuch I kept packing earth on the wounds, but that only stopped it for a while. If I’d known toadd some white sorghum powder and gunpowder, everything would have been fine.?.?.?.’
All the while Father was rambling14, Granddad was loading his pistol. Japanese mortar15 fireraised puffs16 of hot yellow smoke all up and down the village wall.
Since Father’s Browning pistol lay under the belly17 of the fallen horse, during the final battle ofthe afternoon he used a Japanese rifle nearly as tall as he was; Granddad used his Germanautomatic, firing it so rapidly it spent its youth and was ready for the trash heap. Although battlefires still lit up the sky above the village, an aura of peace and quiet had settled over the sorghumfields.
Father followed Granddad, dragging his rifle behind him as they circled the site of themassacre. The blood-soaked earth had the consistency19 of liquid clay under the weight of theirfootsteps; bodies of the dead merged with the wreckage20 of sorghum stalks. Moonlight danced onpools of blood, and hideous21 scenes of dismemberment swept away the final moments of Father’syouth. Tortured moans emerged from the field of sorghum, and here and there among the bodiessome movement appeared. Father was burning to ask Granddad to save those fellow villagerswho were still alive, but when he saw the pale, expressionless look on his father’s bronze face,the words stuck in his throat.
During the most critical moments, Father was always slightly more alert than Granddad,perhaps because he concentrated on surface phenomena22; superficial thought seems ideally suitedto guerrilla fighting. At that moment, Granddad looked benumbed; his thoughts were riveted23 on asingle point, which might have been a twisted face, or a shattered rifle, or a single spent bullet.
He was blind to all other sights, deaf to all other sounds. This problem – or characteristic – of hiswould grow more pronounced over the coming decade. He returned to China from the mountainsof Hokkaido with an unfathomable depth in his eyes, gazing at things as though he could willthem to combust spontaneously.
Father never achieved this degree of philosophical24 depth. In 1957, after untold25 hardships, whenhe finally emerged from the burrow26 Mother had dug for him, his eyes had the same look as in hisyouth: lively, perplexed27, capricious. He never did figure out the relationship between men andpolitics or society or war, even though he had been spun28 so violently on the wheel of battle. Hewas forever trying to squeeze the light of his nature through the chinks in his body armour29.
Granddad and Father circled the site of the massacre18 a dozen times, until Father said tearfully,‘Dad?.?.?. I can’t walk any more.?.?.?.’
Granddad’s robot movements stopped; taking Father’s hand, he backed up ten paces and satdown on a patch of solid, dry earth. The cheerless and lonely sorghum field was highlighted bythe crackle of fires in the village. Weak golden flames danced fitfully beneath the silverymoonlight. After sitting there for a moment, Granddad fell backward like a capsized wall, andFather laid his head on Granddad’s belly, where he fell into a hazy30 sleep. He could feelGranddad’s feverish31 hand stroking his head, which sent his thoughts back nearly a dozen years,to when he was suckling at Grandma’s breast.
He was four at the time, and growing tired of the yellowed nipple that was always thrust into hismouth. Having begun to hate its sour hardness, he gazed up into the look of rapture32 in Grandma’sface with a murderous glint in his eyes and bit down as hard as he could. He felt the contractionin Grandma’s breast as her body jerked backward. Trickles33 of a sweet liquid warmed the cornersof his mouth, until Grandma gave him a swat on the bottom and pushed him away. He fell to theground, his eyes on the drops of fresh red blood dripping from the tip of Grandma’s pendulousbreast. He whimpered, but his eyes were dry. Grandma, on the other hand, was crying bitterly,her shoulders heaving, her face bathed in tears. She lashed34 out at him, calling him a wolf cub35, asmean as his wolf of a father.
Later on he learned that that was the year Granddad, who loved Grandma dearly, had fallen inlove with the hired girl, Passion, who had grown into a bright- eyed young woman. At themoment when Father bit Grandma, Granddad, who had grown tired of her jealousy36, was livingwith Passion in a house he’d bought in a neighbouring village. Everyone said that this secondgrandma of mine was no economy lantern, and that Grandma was afraid of her, but this issomething I’ll clear up later. Second Grandma eventually had a girl by Granddad. In 1938,Japanese soldiers murdered this young aunt of mine with a bayonet, then gang-raped SecondGrandma – this, too, I’ll clear up later.
Granddad and Father were exhausted37. The wound throbbed38 in Granddad’s arm, which seemed tobe on fire. Father’s feet had swollen39 until his cloth shoes nearly split their seams, and hefantasised about the exquisite40 pleasure of airing the rotting skin of his feet in the moonlight. Buthe didn’t have the strength to sit up and take off his shoes. Instead, he rolled over and rested hishead on Granddad’s hard stomach so he could look up into the starry41 night and let the moon’srays light up his face. He could hear the murmuring flow of the Black Water River and see blackclouds gather in the sky above him. He remembered Uncle Arhat’s saying once that, when theMilky Way lay horizontally across the sky, autumn rains would fall. He had only really seenautumn water once in his life.
The sorghum was ready for harvest when the Black Water River rose and burst its banks,flooding both the fields and the village. The stalks strained to keep their heads above water; ratsand snakes scurried42 and slithered up them to escape drowning. Father had gone with Uncle Arhatto the wall, which the villagers were reinforcing, and gazed uneasily at the yellow water rushingtowards him. The villagers made rafts from kindling43 and paddled out to the fields to hack44 off theears of grain, which were already sprouting45 new green buds. Bundles of soaked deep-red andemerald-green ears of sorghum weighted down the rafts so much it’s a wonder they didn’t sink.
The dark, gaunt men, barefoot and bare-chested, wearing conical straw hats, stood with their legsakimbo on the rafts, poling with all their strength as they rocked from side to side.
The water in the village was knee-high, covering the legs of livestock46, whose waste floated onthe surface. In the dying rays of the autumn sun, the water shone like liquefied metal; tips ofsorghum stalks too far away to be harvested formed a canopy47 of golden red just above therippling surface, over which flocks of wild geese flew. Father could see a bright, broad body ofwater flowing slowly through the densest48 patch of red sorghum, in sharp contrast to the muddy,stagnant water around him; it was, he knew, the Black Water River. On one of the rafts lay asilver-bellied, green-backed grass carp, a long, thin sorghum stalk stuck through its gills. Thefarmer proudly held it up to show the people on the wall; it was nearly half as tall as he was.
Blood oozed49 from its gills, and its mouth was open as it looked at my father with dull, sorrowfuleyes.
Father was thinking about how Uncle Arhat had bought a fish from a farmer once, and howGrandma had scraped the scales from its belly, then made soup out of it; just thinking about thatdelicious soup gave him an appetite. He sat up. ‘Dad,’ he said, ‘aren’t you hungry? I am. Can youfind me something to eat? I’m starving.?.?.?.’
Granddad sat up and fished around in his belt until he found a bullet, which he inserted into thecylinder; then he snapped it shut, sending the bullet into the chamber50. He pulled the trigger, andthere was a loud crack. ‘Douguan,’ he said, ‘let’s go find your mother.?.?.?.’
‘No, Dad,’ Father replied in a high-pitched, frightened voice, ‘Mother’s dead. But we’re stillalive, and I’m hungry. Let’s get something to eat.’
Father pulled Granddad to his feet. ‘Where?’ Granddad mumbled51. ‘Where can we go?’ SoFather led him by the hand into the sorghum field, where they walked in a crooked52 line, asthough their objective was the moon, hanging high and icy in the sky.
A growl53 emerged from the field of corpses54. Granddad and Father stopped in their tracks andturned to see a dozen pairs of green eyes, like will-o’-the-wisps, and several indigo55 shadowstumbling on the ground. Granddad took out his pistol and fired at two of the green eyes; the howlof a dying dog accompanied the extinguishing of those eyes. Granddad fired seven shots in all,and several wounded dogs writhed56 in agony among the corpses. While he was emptying hispistol into the pack, the uninjured dogs fled into the sorghum field, out of range, where theyhowled furiously at the two humans.
The last couple of bullets from Granddad’s pistol had travelled only thirty paces or so beforethudding to the ground. Father watched them tumble in the moonlight, so slowly he could havereached out and caught them. And the once crisp crack of the pistol sounded more like thephlegmatic cough of a doddering old man. A tortured, sympathetic expression spread acrossGranddad’s face as he looked down at the weapon in his hand.
‘Out of bullets, Dad?’
The five hundred bullets they’d brought back from town in the goat’s belly had been used upin a matter of hours. The pistol had aged57 overnight, and Granddad came to the painful realisationthat it was no longer capable of carrying out his wishes; time for them to part ways.
Holding the gun out in front of him, he carefully studied the muted reflection of the moonlighton the barrel, then loosened his grip and let the gun fall heavily to the ground.
The green- eyed dogs returned to the corpses, timidly at first. But their eyes quicklydisappeared, and the moonlight was reflected off rolling waves of bluish fur; Granddad andFather could hear the sounds of dogs tearing human bodies with their fangs58.
‘Let’s go into the village, Dad,’ Father said.
Granddad wavered for a moment, so Father tugged59 on him, and they fell into step.
By then most of the fires in the village had gone out, leaving red-hot cinders60 that gave off anacrid heat amid the crumbling61 walls and shattered buildings. Hot winds whirled above the villageroads. The murky62 air was stifling. Roofs of houses, their supports burned out beneath them, hadcollapsed in mountains of smoke, dust, and cinders. Bodies were strewn atop the village wall andon the roads. A page in the history of our village had been turned. At one time the site had been awasteland covered with brambles, underbrush, and reeds, a paradise for foxes and wild rabbits.
Then a few huts appeared, and it became a haven64 for escaped murderers, drunks, gamblers, whobuilt homes, cultivated the land, and turned it into a paradise for humans, forcing out the foxesand wild rabbits, who set up howls of protest on the eve of their departure. Now the village lay inruins; man had created it, and man had destroyed it. It was now a sorrowful paradise, amonument to both grief and joy, built upon ruins. In 1960, when the dark cloud of famine settledover the Shandong Peninsula, even though I was only four years old I could dimly sense thatNortheast Gaomi Township had never been anything but a pile of ruins, and that its people hadnever been able to rid their hearts of the shattered buildings, nor would they ever be able to.
That night, after the smoke and sparks from the other houses had died out, our buildings werestill burning, sending skyward green-tinged tongues of flame and the intoxicating65 aroma66 of strongwine, released in an instant after all those years. Blue roof tiles, deformed67 by the intense heat,turned scarlet68, then leaped into the air through a wall of flames that illuminated69 Granddad’s hair,which had turned three- quarters grey in the space of a week. A roof came crashing down,momentarily blotting70 out the flames, which then roared out of the rubble71, stronger than ever. Theloud crash nearly crushed the breath out of Father and Granddad.
Our house, which had sheltered the father and son of the Shan family as they grew rich, thenhad sheltered Granddad after his murderous deed, then had sheltered Grandma, Granddad,Father, Uncle Arhat, and all the men who worked for them, a sanctuary72 for their kindnesses andtheir grievances73, had now completed its historical mission. I hated that sanctuary: though it hadsheltered decent emotions, it had also sheltered heinous74 crimes. Father, when you were hiding inthe burrow we dug for you in the floor of my home back in 1957, you recalled those days of yourpast in the unrelenting darkness. On no fewer than 365 occasions, in your mind you saw the roofof your house crash down amid the flames, and wondered what was going through the mind ofyour father, my granddad. So my fantasies were chasing yours while yours were chasingGranddad’s.
As he watched the roof collapse63, Granddad became as angry as he’d been the day heabandoned Grandma and moved to another village to be with his new love, Passion. He hadlearned then that Grandma had shamelessly taken up with Black Eye, the leader of anorganisation called the Iron Society, and at the time he wasn’t sure what filled his heart – loathingor love, pain or anger. When he later returned to Grandma’s arms, his feelings for her were soconfused he couldn’t sort them out. In the beginning, his emotional warfare75 scarred only his ownheart, and Grandma’s scarred only her own. Finally, they hurt each other. Only when Grandmasmiled up at him as she lay dead in the sorghum field did he realise the grievous punishment lifehad meted76 out to him. He loved my father as a magpie77 loves the last remaining egg in its nest.
But by then it was too late, for fate, cold and calculating, had sentenced him to a cruel end thatwas waiting for him down the road.
‘Dad, our house is gone.?.?.?.’ Father said.
Granddad rubbed Father’s head as he stared at the ruins of his home, then took Father’s handand began stumbling aimlessly down the road under the waning78 light of the flames and thewaxing light of the moon.
At the head of the village they heard an old man’s voice: ‘Is that you, Number Three? Whydidn’t you bring the oxcart?’
The sound of that voice gave Granddad and Father such a warm feeling they forgot how tiredthey were and rushed over to see who it was.
A hunched-over elderly man rose to greet them, carefully sizing up Granddad with his ancienteyes, nearly touching79 his face. Granddad didn’t like his watchful80 look and was repulsed81 by thegreedy stench that came from his mouth.
‘You’re not my Number Three,’ the old man said unhappily, his head wobbling as he sat downon a pile of loot. There were trunks, cupboards, dining tables, farm tools, harnesses, rippedcomforters, cooking pots, earthenware82 bowls. He was sitting on a small mountain of stuff andguarding it as a wolf guards its kill. Behind him, two calves83, three goats, and a mule84 were tied toa willow85 tree.
‘You old dog!’ Granddad growled86 through clenched87 teeth. ‘Get the hell out of here!’
The old man rose up on his haunches and said amiably88, ‘Ah, my brother, let’s not be envious89. Irisked my life to drag this stuff out of the flames!’
‘I’ll fuck your living mother! Climb down from there!’ Granddad lashed out angrily.
‘You have no right to talk to me like that. I didn’t do anything to you. You’re the one who’sasking for trouble. What gives you the right to curse me like that?’ he complained.
‘Curse you? I’ll goddamn kill you! We’re not in a desperate struggle with Japan just so youcan go on a looting binge! You bastard90, you old bastard! Douguan, where’s your gun?’
‘It’s under the horse’s belly,’ Father said.
Granddad jumped up onto the mountain of stuff and, with a single kick, sent the old mansprawling onto the ground. He rose to his knees and begged, ‘Spare me, Eighth Route Master,spare me!’
‘I’m not with the Eighth Route Army,’ Granddad said, ‘or the Ninth Route. I’m Yu Zhan’aothe bandit!’
‘Spare me, Commander Yu, spare me! What good would it do to let all this stuff burn? I’m notthe only “potato picker” from the village. Those thieves got all the good stuff. I’m too old and tooslow, and all I could find was this junk.’
Granddad picked up a wooden table and threw it at the old man’s bald head. He screamed andheld his bleeding scalp as he rolled in the dirt. Granddad reached down and picked him up by hiscollar. Looking straight into those tortured eyes, he said, ‘Our hero, the “potato picker”, thenraised his fist and drove it with a loud crack into the old man’s face, sending him crumpling91 tothe ground, face up. Granddad walked up and kicked him in the face, hard.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sorghum
|
|
| n.高粱属的植物，高粱糖浆，甜得发腻的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
sporadically
|
|
| adv.偶发地，零星地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
merged
|
|
| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
putrid
|
|
| adj.腐臭的；有毒的；已腐烂的；卑劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
smear
|
|
| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
cartridge
|
|
| n.弹壳，弹药筒；(装磁带等的)盒子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
gunpowder
|
|
| n.火药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
filthy
|
|
| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
elixir
|
|
| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
rambling
|
|
| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
mortar
|
|
| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
puffs
|
|
| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
belly
|
|
| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
massacre
|
|
| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
consistency
|
|
| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
wreckage
|
|
| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
phenomena
|
|
| n.现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
philosophical
|
|
| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
untold
|
|
| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
burrow
|
|
| vt.挖掘(洞穴)；钻进；vi.挖洞；翻寻；n.地洞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
spun
|
|
| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
armour
|
|
| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
hazy
|
|
| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
trickles
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lashed
|
|
| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
cub
|
|
| n.幼兽，年轻无经验的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
throbbed
|
|
| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
starry
|
|
| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
scurried
|
|
| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
kindling
|
|
| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
hack
|
|
| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
sprouting
|
|
| v.发芽( sprout的现在分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
livestock
|
|
| n.家畜，牲畜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
canopy
|
|
| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
densest
|
|
| 密集的( dense的最高级 )； 密度大的； 愚笨的； （信息量大得）难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
oozed
|
|
| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
mumbled
|
|
| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
growl
|
|
| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
corpses
|
|
| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
indigo
|
|
| n.靛青，靛蓝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
writhed
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
fangs
|
|
| n.（尤指狗和狼的）长而尖的牙( fang的名词复数 )；（蛇的）毒牙；罐座 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
tugged
|
|
| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
cinders
|
|
| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
crumbling
|
|
| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
murky
|
|
| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
collapse
|
|
| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
haven
|
|
| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
intoxicating
|
|
| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
aroma
|
|
| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
deformed
|
|
| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
illuminated
|
|
| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
blotting
|
|
| 吸墨水纸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
rubble
|
|
| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
sanctuary
|
|
| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
grievances
|
|
| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
heinous
|
|
| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
meted
|
|
| v.（对某人）施以，给予（处罚等）( mete的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
magpie
|
|
| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
waning
|
|
| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
watchful
|
|
| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
repulsed
|
|
| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
earthenware
|
|
| n.土器，陶器 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
calves
|
|
| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
mule
|
|
| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
willow
|
|
| n.柳树 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
growled
|
|
| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
clenched
|
|
| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
amiably
|
|
| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
envious
|
|
| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
bastard
|
|
| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
crumpling
|
|
| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |