ANOTHER fortnight had passed by. It was the beginning of January and cold mists benumbed the immense plain. The misery1 had grown still greater, and the settlements were in agony from hour to hour beneath the increasing famine. Four thousand francs sent by the International from London had scarcely supplied bread for three days, and then nothing had come. This great dead hope was beating down their courage. On what were they to count now since even their brothers had abandoned them? They felt themselves separated from the world and lost in the midst of this deep winter.
On Tuesday no resources were left in the Deux-Cent-Quarante settlement. étienne and the delegates had multiplied their energies. New subscriptions2 were opened in the neighbouring towns, and even in Paris; collections were made and lectures organized. These efforts came to nothing. Public opinion, which had at first been moved, grew indifferent now that the strike dragged on for ever, and so quietly, without any dramatic incidents. Small charities scarcely sufficed to maintain the poorer families. The others lived by pawning3 their clothes and selling up the household piece by piece. Everything went to the brokers5, the wool of the mattresses6, the kitchen utensils7, even the furniture. For a moment they thought themselves saved, for the small retail8 shopkeepers of Montsou, killed out by Maigrat, had offered credit to try and get back their custom; and for a week Verdonck, the grocer, and the two bakers9, Carouble and Smelten, kept open shop, but when their advances were exhausted10 all three stopped. The bailiffs were rejoicing; there only resulted a piling up of debts which would for a long time weigh upon the miners. There was no more credit to be had anywhere and not an old saucepan to sell; they might lie down in a corner to die like mangy dogs.
étienne would have sold his flesh. He had given up his salary and had gone to Marchiennes to pawn4 his trousers and cloth coat, happy to set the Maheus’ pot boiling once more. His boots alone remained, and he retained these to keep a firm foothold, he said. His grief was that the strike had come on too early, before the provident11 fund had had time to swell12. He regarded this as the only cause of the disaster, for the workers would surely triumph over the masters on the day when they had saved enough money to resist. And he recalled Souvarine’s words accusing the Company of pushing forward the strike to destroy the fund at the beginning.
The sight of the settlement and of these poor people without bread or fire overcame him. He preferred to go out and to weary himself with distant walks. One evening, as he was coming back and passing near Réquillart, he perceived an old woman who had fainted by the roadside. No doubt she was dying of hunger; and having raised her he began to shout to a girl whom he saw on the other side of the paling.
“Why! is it you?” he said, recognizing Mouquette. “Come and help me then, we must give her something to drink.”
Mouquette, moved to tears, quickly went into the shaky hovel which her father had set up in the midst of the ruins. She came back at once with gin and a loaf. The gin revived the old woman, who without speaking bit greedily into the bread. She was the mother of a miner who lived at a settlement on the Cougny side, and she had fallen there on returning from Joiselle, where she had in vain attempted to borrow half a franc from a sister. When she had eaten she went away dazed.
étienne stood in the open field of Réquillart, where the crumbling14 sheds were disappearing beneath the brambles.
“Well, won’t you come in and drink a little glass?” asked Mouquette merrily.
And as he hesitated:
“Then you’re still afraid of me?”
He followed her, won by her laughter. This bread, which she had given so willingly, moved him. She would not take him into her father’s room, but led him into her own room, where she at once poured out two little glasses of gin. The room was very neat and he complimented her on it. Besides, the family seemed to want for nothing; the father continued his duties as a groom15 at the Voreux while she, saying that she could not live with folded arms, had become a laundress, which brought her in thirty sous a day. One may amuse oneself with men but one isn’t lazy for all that.
“I say,” she murmured, all at once coming and putting her arms round him prettily16, “why don’t you like me?”
He could not help laughing, she had done this in so charming a way.
“But I like you very much,” he replied.
“No, no, not like I mean. You know that I am dying of longing17. Come, it would give me so much pleasure.”
It was true, she had desired him for six months. He still looked at her as she clung to him, pressing him with her two tremulous arms, her face raised with such supplicating18 love that he was deeply moved. There was nothing beautiful in her large round face, with its yellow complexion19 eaten by the coal; but her eyes shone with flame, a charm rose from her skin, a trembling of desire which made her rosy20 and young. In face of this gift which was so humble21 and so ardent22 he no longer dared to refuse.
“Oh! you are willing,” she stammered23, delighted. “Oh! you are willing!”
And she gave herself up with the fainting awkwardness of a virgin24, as if it was for the first time, and she had never before known a man. Then when he left her, it was she who was overcome with gratitude25; she thanked him and kissed his hands.
étienne remained rather ashamed of this good fortune. Nobody boasted of having had Mouquette. As he went away he swore that it should not occur again, but he preserved a friendly remembrance of her; she was a capital girl.
When he got back to the settlement, he found serious news which made him forget the adventure. The rumour26 was circulating that the Company would, perhaps, agree to make a concession27 if the delegates made a fresh attempt with the manager. At all events some captains had spread this rumour. The truth was, that in this struggle the mine was suffering even more than the miners. On both sides obstinacy28 was piling up ruin: while labour was dying of hunger, capital was being destroyed. Every day of rest carried away hundreds of thousands of francs. Every machine which stops is a dead machine. Tools and material are impaired29, the money that is sunk melts away like water drunk by the sand. Since the small stock of coal at the surface of the pits was exhausted, customers talked of going to Belgium, so that in future they would be threatened from that quarter. But what especially frightened the Company, although the matter was carefully concealed31, was the increasing damage to the galleries. and workings. The captains could not cope with the repairs, the timber was falling everywhere, and landslips were constantly taking place. Soon the disasters became so serious that long months would be needed for repairs before hewing32 could be resumed. Already stories were going about the country: at Crévecoeur three hundred metres of road had subsided33 in a mass, stopping up access to the Cinq-Paumes; at Madeleine the Maugrétout seam was crumbling away and filling with water. The management refused to admit this, but suddenly two accidents, one after the other, had forced them to avow34 it. One morning, near Piolaine, the ground was found cracked above the north gallery of Mirou which had fallen in the day before; and on the following day the ground subsided within the Voreux, shaking a corner of a suburb to such an extent that two houses nearly disappeared.
étienne and the delegates hesitated to risk any steps without knowing the directors’ intentions. Dansaert, whom they questioned, avoided replying: certainly, the misunderstanding was deplored36, and everything would be done to bring about an agreement; but he could say nothing definitely. At last, they decided37 that they would go to M. Hennebeau in order to have reason on their side; for they did not wish to be accused, later on, of having refused the Company an opportunity of acknowledging that it had been in the wrong. Only they vowed38 to yield nothing and to maintain, in spite of everything, their terms, which were alone just.
The interview took place on Tuesday morning, when the settlement was sinking into desperate wretchedness. It was less cordial than the first interview. Maheu was still the speaker, and he explained that their mates had sent them to ask if these gentlemen had anything new to say. At first M. Hennebeau affected39 surprise: no order had reached him, nothing could be changed so long as the miners persisted in their detestable rebellion; and this official stiffness produced the worst effects, so that if the delegates had gone out of their way to offer conciliation40, the way in which they were received would only have served to make them more obstinate41. Afterwards the manager tried to seek a basis of mutual42 concession; thus, if the men would accept the separate payment for timbering, the Company would raise that payment by the two centimes which they were accused of profiting by. Besides, he added that he would take the offer on himself, that nothing was settled, but that he flattered himself he could obtain this concession from Paris. But the delegates refused, and repeated their demands: the retention43 of the old system, with a rise of five centimes a tram. Then he acknowledged that he could treat with them at once, and urged them to accept in the name of their wives and little ones dying of hunger. And with eyes on the ground and stiff heads they said no, always no, with fierce vigour44. They separated curtly45. M. Hennebeau banged the doors. étienne, Maheu, and the others went off stamping with their great heels on the pavement in the mute rage of the vanquished46 pushed to extremes.
Towards two o’clock the women of the settlement, on their side, made an application to Maigrat. There was only this hope left, to bend this man and to wrench47 from him another week’s credit. The idea originated with Maheude, who often counted too much on people’s good-nature. She persuaded the Brulé and the Levaque to accompany her; as to Pierronne, she excused herself, saying that she could not leave Pierron, whose illness still continued. Other women joined the band till they numbered quite twenty. When the inhabitants of Montsou saw them arrive, gloomy and wretched, occupying the whole width of the road, they shook their heads anxiously. Doors were closed, and one lady hid her plate. It was the first time they had been seen thus, and there could not be a worse sign: usually everything was going to ruin when the women thus took to the roads. At Maigrat’s there was a violent scene. At first, he had made them go in, jeering48 and pretending to believe that they had come to pay their debts: that was nice of them to have agreed to come and bring the money all at once. Then, as soon as Maheude began to speak he pretended to be enraged49. Were they making fun of people? More credit! Then they wanted to turn him into the street? No, not a single potato, not a single crumb13 of bread! And he told them to be off to the grocer Verdonck, and to the bakers Carouble and Smelten, since they now dealt with them. The women listened with timid humility50, apologizing, and watching his eyes to see if he would relent. He began to joke, offering his shop to the Brulé if she would have him as a lover. They were all so cowardly that they laughed at this; and the Levaque improved on it, declaring that she was willing, she was. But he at once became abusive, and pushed them towards the door. As they insisted, suppliantly51, he treated one brutally52. The others on the pavement shouted that he had sold himself to the Company, while Maheude, with her arms in the air, in a burst of avenging53 indignation, cried out for his death, exclaiming that such a man did not deserve to eat.
The return to the settlement was melancholy54. When the women came back with empty hands, the men looked at them and then lowered their heads. There was nothing more to be done, the day would end without a spoonful of soup; and the other days extended in an icy shadow, without a ray of hope. They had made up their minds to it, and no one spoke55 of surrender. This excess of misery made them still more obstinate, mute as tracked beasts, resolved to die at the bottom of their hole rather than come out. Who would dare to be first to speak of submission56? They had sworn with their mates to hold together, and hold together they would, as they held together at the pit when one of them was beneath a landslip. It was as it ought to be; it was a good school for resignation down there. They might well tighten57 their belts for a week, when they had been swallowing fire and water ever since they were twelve years of age; and their devotion was thus augmented58 by the pride of soldiers, of men proud of their profession, who in their daily struggle with death had gained a pride in sacrifice.
With the Maheus it was a terrible evening. They were all silent, seated before the dying fire in which the last cinders59 were smoking. After having emptied the mattresses, handful by handful, they had decided the day before to sell the clock for three francs and the room seemed bare and dead now that the familiar tick-tack no longer filled it with sound. The only object of luxury now, in the middle of the sideboard, was the rose cardboard box, an old present from Maheu, which Maheude treasured like a jewel. The two good chairs had gone; Father Bonnemort and the children were squeezed together on an old mossy bench brought in from the garden. And the livid twilight60 now coming on seemed to increase the cold.
“What’s to be done?” repeated Maheude, crouching61 down in the corner by the oven.
étienne stood up, looking at the portraits of the emperor and empress stuck against the wall. He would have torn them down long since if the family had not preserved them for ornament62. So he murmured, with clenched63 teeth:
“And to think that we can’t get two sous out of these damned idiots, who are watching us starve!”
“If I were to take the box?” said the woman, very pale, after some hesitation64.
Maheu, seated on the edge of the table, with his legs dangling65 and his head on his chest, sat up.
“No! I won’t have it!”
Maheude painfully rose and walked round the room. Good God! was it possible that they were reduced to such misery? The cupboard without a crumb, nothing more to sell, no notion where to get a loaf! And the fire, which was nearly out! She became angry with Alzire, whom she had sent in the morning to glean66 on the pit-bank, and who had come back with empty hands, saying that the Company would not allow gleaning67. Did it matter a hang what the Company wanted? As if they were robbing any one by picking up the bits of lost coal! The little girl, in despair, told how a man had threatened to hit her; then she promised to go back next day, even if she was beaten.
“And that imp30, Jeanlin,” cried the mother; “where is he now, I should like to know? He ought to have brought the salad; we can browse68 on that like beasts, at all events! You will see, he won’t come back. Yesterday, too, he slept out. I don’t know what he’s up to; the rascal69 always looks as though his belly70 were full.”
“Perhaps,” said étienne, “he picks up sous on the road.”
She suddenly lifted both fists furiously.
“If I knew that! My children beg! I’d rather kill them and myself too.”
Maheu had again sunk down on the edge of the table. Lénore and Henri, astonished that they had nothing to eat, began to moan; while old Bonnemort, in silence, philosophically71 rolled his tongue in his mouth to deceive his hunger. No one spoke any more; all were becoming benumbed beneath this aggravation72 of their evils; the grandfather, coughing and spitting out the black phlegm, taken again by rheumatism73 which was turning to dropsy; the father asthmatic, and with knees swollen74 with water; the mother and the little ones scarred by scrofula and hereditary75 anaemia. No doubt their work made this inevitable76; they only complained when the lack of food killed them off; and already they were falling like flies in the settlement. But something must be found for supper. My God! where was it to be found, what was to be done?
Then, in the twilight, which made the room more and more gloomy with its dark melancholy, étienne, who had been hesitating for a moment, at last decided with aching heart.
“Wait for me,” he said. “I’ll go and see somewhere.” And he went out. The idea of Mouquette had occurred to him. She would certainly have a loaf, and would give it willingly. It annoyed him to be thus forced to return to Réquillart; this girl would kiss his hands with her air of an amorous77 servant; but one did not leave one’s friends in trouble; he would still be kind with her if need be.
“I will go and look round, too,” said Maheude, in her turn. “It’s too stupid.”
She reopened the door after the young man and closed it violently, leaving the others motionless and mute in the faint light of a candle-end which Alzire had just lighted. Outside she stopped and thought for a moment. Then she entered the Levaque’s house.
“Tell me: I lent you a loaf the other day. Could you give it me back?”
But she stopped herself. What she saw was far from encouraging; the house spoke of misery even more than her own.
The Levaque woman, with fixed78 eyes, was gazing into her burnt-out fire, while Levaque, made drunk on his empty stomach by some nail-makers, was sleeping on the table. With his back to the wall, Bouteloup was mechanically rubbing his shoulders with the amazement79 of a good-natured fellow who has eaten up his savings80, and is astonished at having to tighten his belt.
“A loaf! ah! my dear,” replied the Levaque woman, “I wanted to borrow another from you!”
Then, as her husband groaned81 with pain in his sleep, she pushed his face against the table.
“Hold your row, bloody82 beast! So much the better if it burns your guts83! Instead of getting people to pay for your drinks, you ought to have asked twenty sous from a friend.”
She went on relieving herself by swearing, in the midst of this dirty household, already abandoned so long that an unbearable84 smell was exhaling85 from the floor. Everything might smash up, she didn’t care a hang! Her son, that rascal Bébert, had also disappeared since morning, and she shouted that it would be a good riddance if he never came back. Then she said that she would go to bed. At least she could get warm. She hustled86 Bouteloup.
“Come along, up we go. The fire’s out. No need to light the candle to see the empty plates. Well, are you coming, Louis? tell you that we must go to bed. We can cuddle up together there, that’s a comfort. And let this damned drunkard die here of cold by himself!”
When she found herself outside again, Maheude struck resolutely87 across the gardens towards Pierron’s house. She heard laughter. As she knocked there was sudden silence. It was a full minute before the door was opened.
“What! is it you?” exclaimed Pierronne with affected surprise. “I thought it was the doctor.”
Without allowing her to speak, she went on, pointing to Pierron, who was seated before a large coal fire:
“Ah! he makes no progress, he makes no progress at all. His face looks all right; it’s in his belly that it takes him. Then he must have warmth. We burn all that we’ve got.”
Pierron, in fact, looked very well; his complexion was good and his flesh fat. It was in vain that he breathed hard in order to play the sick man. Besides, as Maheude came in she perceived a strong smell of rabbit; they had certainly put the dish out of the way. There were crumbs88 strewed89 over the table, and in the very midst she saw a forgotten bottle of wine.
“Mother has gone to Montsou to try and get a loaf,” said Pierronne again. “We are cooling our heels waiting for her.”
But her voice choked; she had followed her neighbour’s glance, and her eyes also fell on the bottle. Immediately she began again, and narrated90 the story. Yes, it was wine; the Piolaine people had brought her that bottle for her man, who had been ordered by the doctor to take claret. And her thankfulness poured forth91 in a stream. What good people they were! The young lady especially; she was not proud, going into work-people’s houses and distributing her charities herself.
“I see,” said Maheude; “I know them.”
Her heart ached at the idea that the good things always go to the least poor. It was always so, and these Piolaine people had carried water to the river. Why had she not seen them in the settlement? Perhaps, all the same, she might have got something out of them.
“I came,” she confessed at last, “to know if there was more going with you than with us. Have you just a little vermicelli by way of loan?”
Pierronne expressed her grief noisily.
“Nothing at all, my dear. Not what you can call a grain of semolina. If mother hasn’t come back, it’s because she hasn’t succeeded. We must go to bed supperless.”
At this moment crying was heard from the cellar, and she grew angry and struck her fist against the door. It was that gadabout Lydie, whom she had shut up, she said, to punish her for not having returned until five o’clock, after having been roaming about the whole day. One could no longer keep her in order; she was constantly disappearing.
Maheude, however, remained standing35; she could not make up her mind to leave. This large fire filled her with a painful sensation of comfort; the thought that they were eating there enlarged the void in her stomach. Evidently they had sent away the old woman and shut up the child, to blow themselves out with their rabbit. Ah! whatever people might say, when a woman behaved ill, that brought luck to her house.
“Good night,” she said, suddenly.
Outside night had come on, and the moon behind the clouds was lighting92 up the earth with a dubious93 glow. Instead of traversing the gardens again, Maheude went round, despairing, afraid to go home again. But along the dead frontages all the doors smelled of famine and sounded hollow. What was the good of knocking? There was wretchedness everywhere. For weeks since they had had nothing to eat. Even the odour of onion had gone, that strong odour which revealed the settlement from afar across the country; now there was nothing but the smell of old vaults94, the dampness of holes in which nothing lives. Vague sounds were dying out, stifled95 tears, lost oaths; and in the silence which slowly grew heavier one could hear the sleep of hunger coming on, the collapse96 of bodies thrown across beds in the nightmares of empty bellies97.
As she passed before the church she saw a shadow slip rapidly by. A gleam of hope made her hasten, for she had recognized the Montsou priest, Abbé Joire, who said mass on Sundays at the settlement chapel98. No doubt he had just come out of the sacristy, where he had been called to settle some affair. With rounded back he moved quickly on, a fat meek99 man, anxious to live at peace with everybody. If he had come at night it must have been in order not to compromise himself among the miners. It was said, too, that he had just obtained promotion100. He had even been seen walking about with his successor, a lean man, with eyes like live coals.
“Sir, sir!” stammered Maheude.
But he would not stop.
“Good night, good night, my good woman.”
She found herself before her own door. Her legs would no longer carry her, and she went in.
No one had stirred. Maheu still sat dejected on the edge of the table. Old Bonnemort and the little ones were huddled101 together on the bench for the sake of warmth. And they had not said a word, and the candle had burnt so low that even light would soon fail them. At the sound of the door the children turned their heads; but seeing that their mother brought nothing back, they looked down on the ground again, repressing the longing to cry, for fear of being scolded. Maheude fell back into her place near the dying fire. They asked her no questions, and the silence continued. All had understood, and they thought it useless to weary themselves more by talking; they were now waiting, despairing and without courage, in the last expectation that perhaps étienne would unearth102 help somewhere. The minutes went by, and at last they no longer reckoned on this.
When étienne reappeared, he held a cloth containing a dozen potatoes, cooked but cold.
“That’s all that I’ve found,” he said.
With Mouquette also bread was wanting; it was her dinner which she had forced him to take in this cloth, kissing him with all her heart.
“Thanks,” he said to Maheude, who offered him his share; “I’ve eaten over there.”
It was not true, and he gloomily watched the children throw themselves on the food. The father and mother also restrained themselves, in order to leave more; but the old man greedily swallowed everything. They had to take a potato away from him for Alzire.
Then étienne said that he had heard news. The Company, irritated by the obstinacy of the strikers, talked of giving back their certificates to the compromised miners. Certainly, the Company was for war. And a more serious rumour circulated: they boasted of having persuaded a large number of men to go down again. On the next day the Victoire and Feutry-Cantel would be complete; even at Madeleine and Mirou there would be a third of the men. The Maheus were furious.
“By God!” shouted the father, “if there are traitors103, we must settle their account.”
And standing up, yielding to the fury of his suffering:
“Tomorrow evening, to the forest! Since they won’t let us come to an understanding at the Bon-Joyeux. we can be at home in the forest!”
This cry had aroused old Bonnemort, who had grown drowsy104 after his gluttony. It was the old rallying-cry, the rendezvous105 where the miners of old days used to plot their resistance to the king’s soldiers.
“Yes, yes, to Vandame! I’m with you if you go there!”
Maheude made an energetic gesture.
“We will all go. That will finish these injustices106 and treacheries.”
étienne decided that the rendezvous should be announced to all the settlements for the following evening. But the fire was dead, as with the Levaques, and the candle suddenly went out. There was no more coal and no more oil; they had to feel their way to bed in the intense cold which contracted the skin. The little ones were crying.
收听单词发音 |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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subscriptions
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| n.（报刊等的）订阅费( subscription的名词复数 )；捐款；（俱乐部的）会员费；捐助 | |
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pawning
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的现在分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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pawn
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| n.典当，抵押，小人物，走卒；v.典当，抵押 | |
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brokers
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| n.（股票、外币等）经纪人( broker的名词复数 )；中间人；代理商；（订合同的）中人v.做掮客（或中人等）( broker的第三人称单数 )；作为权力经纪人进行谈判；以中间人等身份安排… | |
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mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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retail
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| v./n.零售；adv.以零售价格 | |
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bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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provident
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| adj.为将来做准备的，有先见之明的 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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crumb
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| n.饼屑，面包屑，小量 | |
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crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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supplicating
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| v.祈求，哀求，恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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29
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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31
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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32
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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33
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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34
avow
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| v.承认，公开宣称 | |
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35
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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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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38
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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39
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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40
conciliation
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| n.调解，调停 | |
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41
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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42
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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43
retention
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| n.保留，保持，保持力，记忆力 | |
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44
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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45
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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46
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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47
wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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51
suppliantly
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| adv.恳求着，哀求着 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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53
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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54
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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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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56
submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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57
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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cinders
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| n.煤渣( cinder的名词复数 )；炭渣；煤渣路；煤渣跑道 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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gleaning
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| n.拾落穗，拾遗，落穗v.一点点地收集（资料、事实）( glean的现在分词 )；（收割后）拾穗 | |
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browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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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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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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aggravation
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| n.烦恼，恼火 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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80
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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81
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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83
guts
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| v.狼吞虎咽，贪婪地吃，飞碟游戏（比赛双方每组5人，相距15码，互相掷接飞碟）；毁坏（建筑物等）的内部( gut的第三人称单数 )；取出…的内脏n.勇气( gut的名词复数 )；内脏；消化道的下段；肠 | |
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84
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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85
exhaling
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的现在分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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86
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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87
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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88
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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89
strewed
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| v.撒在…上( strew的过去式和过去分词 )；散落于；点缀；撒满 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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92
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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93
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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96
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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97
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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98
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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99
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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100
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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101
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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102
unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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103
traitors
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| 卖国贼( traitor的名词复数 )； 叛徒； 背叛者； 背信弃义的人 | |
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104
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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105
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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106
injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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