Towards mid-day the three pursuers came abruptly1 round a bend in the torrent2 bed upon the sight of a very broad and spacious3 valley. The difficult and winding4 trench5 of pebbles6 along which they had tracked the fugitives7 for so long expanded to a broad slope, and with a common impulse the three men left the trail, and rode to a little eminence8 set with olive-dun trees, and there halted, the two others, as became them, a little behind the man with the silver-studded bridle9.
For a space they scanned the great expanse below them with eager eyes. It spread remoter and remoter, with only a few clusters of sere10 thorn bushes here and there, and the dim suggestions of some now waterless ravine to break its desolation of yellow grass. Its purple distances melted at last into the bluish slopes of the further hills — hills it might be of a greener kind — and above them, invisibly supported, and seeming indeed to hang in the blue, were the snow-clad summits of mountains — that grew larger and bolder to the northwestward as the sides of the valley drew together. And westward11 the valley opened until a distant darkness under the sky told where the forests began. But the three men looked neither east nor west, but only steadfastly12 across the valley.
The gaunt man with the scarred lip was the first to speak. “Nowhere,” he said, with a sigh of disappointment in his voice. “But, after all, they had a full day’s start.”
“They don’t know we are after them,” said the little man on the white horse.
“She would know,” said the leader bitterly, as if speaking to himself.
“Even then they can’t go fast. They’ve got no beast but the mule13, and all today the girl’s foot has been bleeding ——”
The man with the silver bridle flashed a quick intensity14 of rage on him. “Do you think I haven’t seen that?” he snarled15.
“It helps, anyhow,” whispered the little man to himself.
The gaunt man with the scarred lip stared impassively. “They can’t be over the valley,” he said. “If we ride hard ——”
He glanced at the white horse and paused.
“Curse all white horses!” said the man with the silver bridle, and turned to scan the beast his curse included.
The little man looked down between the melancholy16 ears of his steed.
“I did my best,” he said.
The two others stared again across the valley for a space. The gaunt man passed the back of his hand across the scarred lip.
“Come up!” said the man who owned the silver bridle, suddenly. The little man started and jerked his rein17, and the horse hoofs18 of the three made a multitudinous faint pattering upon the withered19 grass as they turned back towards the trail . . .
They rode cautiously down the long slope before them, and so came through a waste of prickly twisted bushes and strange dry shapes of thorny20 branches that grew amongst the rocks, into the levels below. And there the trail grew faint, for the soil was scanty21, and the only herbage was this scorched22 dead straw that lay upon the ground. Still, by hard scanning, by leaning beside the horses’ necks and pausing ever and again, even these white men could contrive23 to follow after their prey24.
There were trodden places, bent25 and broken blades of the coarse grass, and ever and again the sufficient intimation of a footmark. And once the leader saw a brown smear26 of blood where the half-caste girl may have trod. And at that under his breath he cursed her for a fool.
The gaunt man checked his leader’s tracking, and the little man on the white horse rode behind, a man lost in a dream. They rode one after another, the man with the silver bridle led the way, and they spoke27 never a word. After a time it came to the little man on the white horse that the world was very still. He started out of his dream. Besides the little noises of their horses and equipment, the whole great valley kept the brooding quiet of a painted scene.
Before him went his master and his fellow, each intently leaning forward to the left, each impassively moving with the paces of his horse; their shadows went before them — still, noiseless, tapering28 attendants; and nearer a crouched29 cool shape was his own. He looked about him. What was it had gone? Then he remembered the reverberation31 from the banks of the gorge32 and the perpetual accompaniment of shifting, jostling pebbles. And, moreover ——? There was no breeze. That was it! What a vast, still place it was, a monotonous33 afternoon slumber34! And the sky open and blank except for a sombre veil of haze35 that had gathered in the upper valley.
He straightened his back, fretted36 with his bridle, puckered37 his lips to whistle, and simply sighed. He turned in his saddle for a time, and stared at the throat of the mountain gorge out of which they had come. Blank! Blank slopes on either side, with never a sign of a decent beast or tree — much less a man. What a land it was! What a wilderness38! He dropped again into his former pose.
It filled him with a momentary39 pleasure to see a wry40 stick of purple black flash out into the form of a snake, and vanish amidst the brown. After all, the infernal valley was alive. And then, to rejoice him still more, came a little breath across his face, a whisper that came and went, the faintest inclination41 of a stiff black-antlered bush upon a little crest42, the first intimations of a possible breeze. Idly he wetted his finger, and held it up.
He pulled up sharply to avoid a collision with the gaunt man, who had stopped at fault upon the trail. Just at that guilty moment he caught his master’s eye looking towards him.
For a time he forced an interest in the tracking. Then, as they rode on again, he studied his master’s shadow and hat and shoulder, appearing and disappearing behind the gaunt man’s nearer contours. They had ridden four days out of the very limits of the world into this desolate43 place, short of water, with nothing but a strip of dried meat under their saddles, over rocks and mountains, where surely none but these fugitives had ever been before — for that!
And all this was for a girl, a mere44 wilful45 child! And the man had whole cityfuls of people to do his basest bidding — girls, women! Why in the name of passionate46 folly47 this one in particular? asked the little man, and scowled48 at the world, and licked his parched49 lips with a blackened tongue. It was the way of the master, and that was all he knew. Just because she sought to evade50 him . . .
His eye caught a whole row of high-plumed canes51 bending in unison52, and then the tails of silk that hung before his neck flapped and fell. The breeze was growing stronger. Somehow it took the stiff stillness out of things — and that was well.
“Hullo!” said the gaunt man.
All three stopped abruptly.
“What?” asked the master. “What?”
“Over there,” said the gaunt man, pointing up the valley.
“What?”
“Something coming towards us.”
And as he spoke a yellow animal crested53 a rise and came bearing down upon them. It was a big wild dog, coming before the wind, tongue out, at a steady pace, and running with such an intensity of purpose that he did not seem to see the horsemen he approached. He ran with his nose up, following, it was plain, neither scent54 nor quarry55. As he drew nearer the little man felt for his sword. “He’s mad,” said the gaunt rider.
“Shout!” said the little man, and shouted.
The dog came on. Then when the little man’s blade was already out, it swerved56 aside and went panting by them and passed. The eyes of the little man followed its flight. “There was no foam,” he said. For a space the man with the silver-studded bridle stared up the valley. “Oh, come on!” he cried at last. “What does it matter?” and jerked his horse into movement again.
The little man left the insoluble mystery of a dog that fled from nothing but the wind, and lapsed57 into profound musings on human character. “Come on!” he whispered to himself. “Why should it be given to one man to say ‘Come on!’ with that stupendous violence of effect? Always, all his life, the man with the silver bridle has been saying that. If I said it —!” thought the little man. But people marvelled58 when the master was disobeyed even in the wildest things. This half-caste girl seemed to him, seemed to every one, mad — blasphemous59 almost. The little man, by way of comparison, reflected on the gaunt rider with the scarred lip, as stalwart as his master, as brave and, indeed, perhaps braver, and yet for him there was obedience60, nothing but to give obedience duly and stoutly61 . . .
Certain sensations of the hands and knees called the little man back to more immediate62 things. He became aware of something. He rode up beside his gaunt fellow. “Do you notice the horses?” he said in an undertone.
The gaunt face looked interrogation.
“They don’t like this wind,” said the little man, and dropped behind as the man with the silver bridle turned upon him.
“It’s all right,” said the gaunt-faced man.
They rode on again for a space in silence. The foremost two rode downcast upon the trail, the hindmost man watched the haze that crept down the vastness of the valley, nearer and nearer, and noted63 how the wind grew in strength moment by moment. Far away on the left he saw a line of dark bulks — wild hog64, perhaps, galloping65 down the valley, but of that he said nothing, nor did he remark again upon the uneasiness of the horses.
And then he saw first one and then a second great white ball, a great shining white ball like a gigantic head of thistledown, that drove before the wind athwart the path. These balls soared high in the air, and dropped and rose again and caught for a moment, and hurried on and passed, but at the sight of them the restlessness of the horses increased.
Then presently he saw that more of these drifting globes — and then soon very many more — were hurrying towards him down the valley.
They became aware of a squealing66. Athwart the path a huge boar rushed, turning his head but for one instant to glance at them, and then hurling67 on down the valley again. And at that all three stopped and sat in their saddles, staring into the thickening haze that was coming upon them.
“If it were not for this thistle-down —” began the leader.
But now a big globe came drifting past within a score of yards of them. It was really not an even sphere at all, but a vast, soft, ragged69, filmy thing, a sheet gathered by the corners, an aerial jelly-fish, as it were, but rolling over and over as it advanced, and trailing long cobwebby threads and streamers that floated in its wake.
“It isn’t thistle-down,” said the little man.
“I don’t like the stuff,” said the gaunt man.
And they looked at one another.
“Curse it!” cried the leader. “The air’s full of lit up there. If it keeps on at this pace long, it will stop us altogether.”
An instinctive70 feeling, such as lines out a herd71 of deer at the approach of some ambiguous thing, prompted them to turn their horses to the wind, ride forward for a few paces, and stare at that advancing multitude of floating masses. They came on before the wind with a sort of smooth swiftness, rising and falling noiselessly, sinking to earth, rebounding72 high, soaring — all with a perfect unanimity73, with a still, deliberate assurance.
Right and left of the horsemen the pioneers of this strange army passed. At one that rolled along the ground, breaking shapelessly and trailing out reluctantly into long grappling ribbons and bands, all three horses began to shy and dance. The master was seized with a sudden, unreasonable74 impatience75. He cursed the drifting globes roundly. “Get on!” he cried; “get on! What do these things matter? How can they matter? Back to the trail!” He fell swearing at his horse and sawed the bit across its mouth.
He shouted aloud with rage. “I will follow that trail, I tell you,” he cried. “Where is the trail?”
He gripped the bridle of his prancing76 horse and searched amidst the grass. A long and clinging thread fell across his face, a grey streamer dropped about his bridle arm, some big, active thing with many legs ran down the back of his head. He looked up to discover one of those grey masses anchored as it were above him by these things and flapping out ends as a sail flaps when a boat comes about — but noiselessly.
He had an impression of many eyes, of a dense77 crew of squat78 bodies, of long, many-jointed limbs hauling at their mooring79 ropes to bring the thing down upon him. For a space he stared up, reining80 in his prancing horse with the instinct born of years of horsemanship. Then the flat of a sword smote81 his back, and a blade flashed overhead and cut the drifting balloon of spider-web free, and the whole mass lifted softly and drove clear and away.
“Spiders!” cried the voice of the gaunt man. “The things are full of big spiders! Look, my lord!”
The man with the silver bridle still followed the mass that drove away.
“Look, my lord!”
The master found himself staring down at a red smashed thing on the ground that, in spite of partial obliteration82, could still wriggle83 unavailing legs. Then, when the gaunt man pointed84 to another mass that bore down upon them, he drew his sword hastily. Up the valley now it was like a fog bank torn to rags. He tried to grasp the situation.
“Ride for it!” the little man was shouting. “Ride for it down the valley.”
What happened then was like the confusion of a battle. The man with the silver bridle saw the little man go past him, slashing86 furiously at imaginary cobwebs, saw him cannon87 into the horse of the gaunt man and hurl68 it and its rider to earth. His own horse went a dozen paces before he could rein it in. Then he looked up to avoid imaginary dangers, and then back again to see a horse rolling on the ground, the gaunt man standing88 and slashing over it at a rent and fluttering mass of grey that streamed and wrapped about them both. And thick and fast as thistle-down on waste land on a windy day in July the cobweb masses were coming on.
The little man had dismounted, but he dared not release his horse. He was endeavouring to lug89 the struggling brute90 back with the strength of one arm, while with the other he slashed91 aimlessly. The tentacles92 of a second grey mass had entangled93 themselves with the struggle, and this second grey mass came to its moorings, and slowly sank.
The master set his teeth, gripped his bridle, lowered his head, and spurred his horse forward. The horse on the ground rolled over, there was blood and moving shapes upon the flanks, and the gaunt man suddenly leaving it, ran forward towards his master, perhaps ten paces. His legs were swathed and encumbered94 with grey; he made ineffectual movements with his sword. Grey streamers waved from him; there was a thin veil of grey across his face. With his left hand he beat at something on his body, and suddenly he stumbled and fell. He struggled to rise, and fell again, and suddenly, horribly, began to howl, “Oh — ohoo, ohooh!”
The master could see the great spiders upon him, and others upon the ground.
As he strove to force his horse nearer to this gesticulating, screaming grey object that struggled up and down, there came a clatter95 of hoofs, and the little man, in act of mounting, swordless, balanced on his belly96 athwart the white horse, and clutching its mane, whirled past. And again a clinging thread of grey gossamer97 swept across the master’s face. All about him, and over him, it seemed this drifting, noiseless cobweb circled and drew nearer him . . .
To the day of his death he never knew just how the event of that moment happened. Did he, indeed, turn his horse, or did it really of its own accord stampede after its fellow? Suffice it that in another second he was galloping full tilt98 down the valley with his sword whirling furiously overhead. And all about him on the quickening breeze, the spiders’ air-ships, their air bundles and air sheets, seemed to him to hurry in a conscious pursuit.
Clatter, clatter, thud, thud,— the man with the silver bridle rode, heedless of his direction, with his fearful face looking up now right, now left, and his sword arm ready to slash85. And a few hundred yards ahead of him, with a tail of torn cobweb trailing behind him, rode the little man on the white horse, still but imperfectly in the saddle. The reeds bent before them, the wind blew fresh and strong, over his shoulder the master could see the webs hurrying to overtake . . .
He was so intent to escape the spiders’ webs that only as his horse gathered together for a leap did he realise the ravine ahead. And then he realised it only to misunderstand and interfere99. He was leaning forward on his horse’s neck and sat up and back all too late.
But if in his excitement he had failed to leap, at any rate he had not forgotten how to fall. He was horseman again in mid-air. He came off clear with a mere bruise100 upon his shoulder, and his horse rolled, kicking spasmodic legs, and lay still. But the master’s sword drove its point into the hard soil, and snapped clean across, as though Chance refused him any longer as her Knight101, and the splintered end missed his face by an inch or so.
He was on his feet in a moment, breathlessly scanning the on-rushing spider-webs. For a moment he was minded to run, and then thought of the ravine, and turned back. He ran aside once to dodge102 one drifting terror, and then he was swiftly clambering down the precipitous sides, and out of the touch of the gale103.
There, under the lee of the dry torrent’s steeper banks, he might crouch30 and watch these strange, grey masses pass and pass in safety till the wind fell, and it became possible to escape. And there for a long time he crouched, watching the strange, grey, ragged masses trail their streamers across his narrowed sky.
Once a stray spider fell into the ravine close beside him — a full foot it measured from leg to leg and its body was half a man’s hand — and after he had watched its monstrous104 alacrity105 of search and escape for a little while and tempted106 it to bite his broken sword, he lifted up his iron-heeled boot and smashed it into a pulp107. He swore as he did so, and for a time sought up and down for another.
Then presently, when he was surer these spider swarms108 could not drop into the ravine, he found a place where he could sit down, and sat and fell into deep thought and began, after his manner, to gnaw109 his knuckles111 and bite his nails. And from this he was moved by the coming of the man with the white horse.
He heard him long before he saw him, as a clattering112 of hoofs, stumbling footsteps, and a reassuring113 voice. Then the little man appeared, a rueful figure, still with a tail of white cobweb trailing behind him. They approached each other without speaking, without a salutation. The little man was fatigued114 and shamed to the pitch of hopeless bitterness, and came to a stop at last, face to face with his seated master. The latter winced115 a little under his dependent’s eye. “Well?” he said at last, with no pretence116 of authority.
“You left him?”
“My horse bolted.”
“I know. So did mine.”
He laughed at his master mirthlessly.
“I say my horse bolted,” said the man who once had a silver-studded bridle.
“Cowards both,” said the little man.
The other gnawed117 his knuckle110 through some meditative118 moments, with his eye on his inferior.
“Don’t call me a coward,” he said at length.
“You are a coward, like myself.”
“A coward possibly. There is a limit beyond which every man must fear. That I have learnt at last. But not like yourself. That is where the difference comes in.”
“I never could have dreamt you would have left him. He saved your life two minutes before . . . Why are you our lord?”
The master gnawed his knuckles again, and his countenance119 was dark.
“No man calls me a coward,” he said. “No . . . A broken sword is better than none . . . One spavined white horse cannot be expected to carry two men a four days’ journey. I hate white horses, but this time it cannot be helped. You begin to understand me? I perceive that you are minded, on the strength of what you have seen and fancy, to taint120 my reputation. It is men of your sort who unmake kings. Besides which — I never liked you.”
“My lord!” said the little man.
“No,” said the master. “No!”
He stood up sharply as the little man moved. For a minute perhaps they faced one another. Overhead the spiders’ balls went driving. There was a quick movement among the pebbles; a running of feet, a cry of despair, a gasp121 and a blow . . .
Towards nightfall the wind fell. The sun set in a calm serenity122, and the man who had once possessed123 the silver bridle came at last very cautiously and by an easy slope out of the ravine again; but now he led the white horse that once belonged to the little man. He would have gone back to his horse to get his silver-mounted bridle again, but he feared night and a quickening breeze might still find him in the valley, and besides, he disliked greatly to think he might discover his horse all swathed in cobwebs and perhaps unpleasantly eaten.
And as he thought of those cobwebs, and of all the dangers he had been through, and the manner in which he had been preserved that day, his hand sought a little reliquary that hung about his neck, and he clasped it for a moment with heartfelt gratitude124. As he did so his eyes went across the valley.
“I was hot with passion,” he said, “and now she has met her reward. They also, no doubt —”
And behold125! far away out of the wooded slopes across the valley, but in the clearness of the sunset, distinct and unmistakable, he saw a little spire126 of smoke.
At that his expression of serene127 resignation changed to an amazed anger. Smoke? He turned the head of the white horse about, and hesitated. And as he did so a little rustle128 of air went through the grass about him. Far away upon some reeds swayed a tattered129 sheet of grey. He looked at the cobwebs; he looked at the smoke.
“Perhaps, after all, it is not them,” he said at last.
But he knew better.
After he had stared at the smoke for some time, he mounted the white horse.
As he rode, he picked his way amidst stranded130 masses of web. For some reason there were many dead spiders on the ground, and those that lived feasted guiltily on their fellows. At the sound of his horse’s hoofs they fled.
Their time had passed. From the ground, without either a wind to carry them or a winding-sheet ready, these things, for all their poison, could do him little evil.
He flicked131 with his belt at those he fancied came too near. Once, where a number ran together over a bare place, he was minded to dismount and trample132 them with his boots, but this impulse he overcame. Ever and again he turned in his saddle, and looked back at the smoke.
“Spiders,” he muttered over and over again. “Spiders. Well, well . . . The next time I must spin a web.”
收听单词发音 |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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sere
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| adj.干枯的；n.演替系列 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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scorched
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| 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 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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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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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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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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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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reverberation
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| 反响； 回响； 反射； 反射物 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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37
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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39
momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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40
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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41
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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42
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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43
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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44
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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45
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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46
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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47
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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48
scowled
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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50
evade
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| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
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51
canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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52
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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53
crested
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| adj.有顶饰的，有纹章的，有冠毛的v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的过去式和过去分词 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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54
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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55
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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56
swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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58
marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
blasphemous
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| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
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60
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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61
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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62
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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63
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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64
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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65
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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66
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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67
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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68
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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69
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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70
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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71
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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72
rebounding
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| 蹦跳运动 | |
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73
unanimity
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| n.全体一致，一致同意 | |
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74
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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75
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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76
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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77
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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78
squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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79
mooring
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| n.停泊处；系泊用具，系船具；下锚v.停泊，系泊（船只）(moor的现在分词) | |
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80
reining
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的现在分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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81
smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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82
obliteration
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| n.涂去，删除；管腔闭合 | |
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83
wriggle
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| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
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84
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
slash
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| vi.大幅度削减；vt.猛砍，尖锐抨击，大幅减少；n.猛砍，斜线，长切口，衣衩 | |
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86
slashing
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| adj.尖锐的；苛刻的；鲜明的；乱砍的v.挥砍( slash的现在分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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87
cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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88
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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89
lug
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| n.柄，突出部，螺帽；(英）耳朵；（俚）笨蛋；vt.拖，拉，用力拖动 | |
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90
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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91
slashed
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| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
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92
tentacles
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| n.触手( tentacle的名词复数 )；触角；触须；触毛 | |
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93
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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96
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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97
gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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98
tilt
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| v.(使)倾侧；(使)倾斜；n.倾侧；倾斜 | |
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99
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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100
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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101
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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102
dodge
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| v.闪开，躲开，避开；n.妙计，诡计 | |
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103
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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104
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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105
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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106
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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107
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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108
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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109
gnaw
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| v.不断地啃、咬；使苦恼，折磨 | |
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110
knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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111
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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112
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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113
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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114
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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115
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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116
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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117
gnawed
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| 咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 )； （长时间） 折磨某人； （使）苦恼； （长时间）危害某事物 | |
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118
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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119
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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120
taint
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| n.污点；感染；腐坏；v.使感染；污染 | |
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121
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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122
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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123
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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124
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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125
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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126
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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127
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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128
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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129
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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130
stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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131
flicked
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| （尤指用手指或手快速地）轻击( flick的过去式和过去分词 )； （用…）轻挥； （快速地）按开关； 向…笑了一下（或瞥了一眼等） | |
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132
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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