AND the troop went off over the flat plain, white with frost beneath the pale winter sun, and overflowed1 the path as they passed through the beetroot fields.
From the Fourche-aux-Boeufs, étienne had assumed command. He cried his orders while the crowd moved on, and organized the march. Jeanlin galloped2 at the head, performing barbarous music on his horn. Then the women came in the first ranks, some of them armed with sticks: Maheude, with wild eyes seemed to be seeking afar for the promised city of justice, Mother Brulé, the Levaque woman, Mouquette, striding along beneath their rags, like soldiers setting out for the seat of war. If they had any encounters, we should see if the police dared to strike women. And the men followed in a confused flock, a stream that grew larger and larger, bristling3 with iron bars and dominated by Levaque’s single axe4, with its blade glistening5 in the sun. étienne, in the middle, kept Chaval in sight, forcing him to walk before him; while Maheu, behind, gloomily kept an eye on Catherine, the only woman among these men, obstinately6 trotting7 near her lover for fear that he would be hurt. Bare heads were dishevelled in the air; only the clank of sabots could be heard, like the movement of released cattle, carried away by Jeanlin’s wild trumpeting8.
But suddenly a new cry arose:
“Bread! bread! bread!”
It was midday; the hunger of six weeks on strike was awaking in these empty stomachs, whipped up by this race across the fields. The few crusts of the morning and Mouquette’s chestnuts9 had long been forgotten; their stomachs were crying out, and this suffering was added to their fury against the traitors10.
“To the pits! No more work! Bread!”
étienne, who had refused to eat his share at the settlement, felt an unbearable12 tearing sensation in his chest. He made no complaint, but mechanically took his tin from time to time and swallowed a gulp13 of gin, shaking so much that he thought he needed it to carry him to the end. His cheeks were heated and his eyes inflamed14. He kept his head, however, and still wished to avoid needless destruction.
As they arrived at the Joiselle road a Vandame pike-man, who had joined the band for revenge on his master, impelled15 the men towards the right, shouting:
“To Gaston-Marie! Must stop the pump! Let the water ruin Jean-Bart!”
The mob was already turning, in spite of the protests of étienne, who begged them to let the pumping continue. What was the good of destroying the galleries? It offended his workman’s heart, in spite of his resentment16. Maheu also thought it unjust to take revenge on a machine. But the pikeman still shouted his cry of vengeance17, and étienne had to cry still louder:
“To Mirou! There are traitors down there! To Mirou! to Mirou!”
With a gesture, he had turned the crowd towards the left road; while Jeanlin, going ahead, was blowing louder than ever. An eddy18 was produced in the crowd; this time Gaston-Marie was saved.
And the four kilometres which separated them from Mirou were traversed in half an hour, almost at running pace, across the interminable plain. The canal on this side cut it with a long icy ribbon. The leafless trees on the banks, changed by the frost into giant candelabra, alone broke this pale uniformity, prolonged and lost in the sky at the horizon as in a sea. An undulation of the ground hid Montsou and Marchiennes; there was nothing but bare immensity.
They reached the pit, and found a captain standing19 on a footbridge at the screening-shed to receive them. They all well knew Father Quandieu, the doyen of the Montsou captains, an old man whose skin and hair were quite white, and who was in his seventies, a miracle of fine health in the mines.
“What have you come after here, you pack of meddlers?” he shouted.
The band stopped. It was no longer a master, it was a mate; and a certain respect held them back before this old workman.
“There are men down below,” said étienne. “Make them come up.”
“Yes, there are men there,” said Father Quandieu, “some six dozen; the others were afraid of you evil beggars! But I warn you that not one comes up, or you will have to deal with me!”
Exclamations20 arose, the men pushed, the women advanced. Quickly coming down from the footbridge, the captain now barred the door.
Then Maheu tried to interfere21.
“It is our right, old man. How can we make the strike general if we don’t force all the mates to be on our side?”
The old man was silent a moment. Evidently his ignorance on the subject of coalition22 equalled the pike-man’s. At last he replied:
“It may be your right, I don’t say. But I only know my orders. I am alone here; the men are down till three, and they shall stay there till three.”
The last words were lost in hooting23. Fists were threateningly advanced, the women deafened24 him, and their hot breath blew in his face. But he still held out, his head erect25, and his beard and hair white as snow; his courage had so swollen26 his voice that he could be heard distinctly over the tumult27.
“By God! you shall not pass! As true as the sun shines, I would rather die than let you touch the cables. Don’t push any more, or I’m damned if I don’t fling myself down the shaft28 before you!”
The crowd drew back shuddering29 and impressed. He went on:
“Where is the beast who does not understand that? I am only a workman like you others. I have been told to guard here, and I’m guarding.”
That was as far as Father Quandieu’s intelligence went, stiffened30 by his obstinacy31 of military duty, his narrow skull32, and eyes dimmed by the black melancholy33 of half a century spent underground. The men looked at him moved, feeling within them an echo of what he said, this military obedience34, the sense of fraternity and resignation in danger. He saw that they were hesitating still, and repeated:
“I’m damned if I don’t fling myself down the shaft before you!”
A great recoil35 carried away the mob. They all turned, and in the rush took the right-hand road, which stretched far away through the fields. Again cries arose:
“To Madelaine! To Crévecoeur! no more work! Bread! bread!”
But in the centre, as they went on, there was hustling36. It was Chaval, they said, who was trying to take advantage of an opportunity to escape. étienne had seized him by the arm, threatening to do for him if he was planning some treachery. And the other struggled and protested furiously:
“What’s all this for? Isn’t a man free? I’ve been freezing the last hour. I want to clean myself. Let me go!”
He was, in fact, suffering from the coal glued to his skin by sweat, and his woollen garment was no protection.
“On you go, or we’ll clean you,” replied étienne. “Don’t expect to get your life at a bargain.”
They were still running, and he turned towards Catherine, who was keeping up well. It annoyed him to feel her so near him, so miserable37, shivering beneath her man’s old jacket and her muddy trousers. She must be nearly dead of fatigue38, she was running all the same.
“You can go off, you can,” he said at last.
Catherine seemed not to hear. Her eyes, on meeting étienne’s, only flamed with reproach for a moment. She did not stop. Why did he want her to leave her man? Chaval was not at all kind, it was true; he would even beat her sometimes. But he was her man, the one who had had her first; and it enraged39 her that they should throw themselves on him — more than a thousand of them. She would have defended him without any tenderness at all, out of pride.
“Off you go!” repeated Maheu, violently.
Her father’s order slackened her course for a moment. She trembled, and her eyelids40 swelled41 with tears. Then, in spite of her fear, she came back to the same place again, still running. Then they let her be.
The mob crossed the Joiselle road, went a short distance up the Cron road and then mounted towards Cougny. On this side, factory chimneys striped the flat horizon; wooden sheds, brick workshops with large dusty windows, appeared along the street. They passed one after another the low buildings of two settlements — that of the Cent-Quatre-Vingts, then that of the Soixante-Seize; and from each of them, at the sound of the horn and the clamour arising from every mouth, whole families came out — men, women, and children — running to join their mates in the rear. When they came up to Madeleine there were at least fifteen hundred. The road descended42 in a gentle slope; the rumbling43 flood of strikers had to turn round the pit-bank before they could spread over the mine square.
It was now not more than two o’clock. But the captains had been warned and were hastening the ascent44 as the band arrived. The men were all up, only some twenty remained and were now disembarking from the cage. They fled and were pursued with stones. Two were struck, another left the sleeve of his jacket behind. This man-hunt saved the material, and neither the cables nor the boilers45 were touched. The flood was already moving away, rolling on towards the next pit.
This one, Crévecoeur, was only five hundred metres away from Madeleine. There, also, the mob arrived in the midst of the ascent. A putter-girl was taken and whipped by the women with her breeches split open and her buttocks exposed before the laughing men. The trammer-boys had their ears boxed, the pikemen got away, their sides blue from blows and their noses bleeding. And in this growing ferocity, in this old need of revenge which was turning every head with madness, the choked cries went on, death to traitors, hatred46 against ill-paid work, the roaring of bellies47 after bread. They began to cut the cables, but the file would not bite, and the task was too long now that the fever was on them for moving onward48, for ever onward. At the boilers a tap was broken; while the water, thrown by bucketsful into the stoves, made the metal gratings burst.
Outside they were talking of marching on Saint-Thomas. This was the best disciplined pit. The strike had not touched it, nearly seven hundred men must have gone down there. This exasperated49 them; they would wait for these men with sticks, ranged for battle, just to see who would get the best of it. But the rumour50 ran along that there were gendarmes51 at Saint-Thomas, the gendarmes of the morning whom they had made fun of. How was this known? nobody could say. No matter! they were seized by fear and decided52 on Feutry-Cantel. Their giddiness carried them on, all were on the road, clanking their sabots, rushing forward. To Feutry-Cantel! to Feutry-Cantel! The cowards there were certainly four hundred in number and there would be fun! Situated53 three kilometres away, this pit lay in a fold of the ground near the Scarpe. They were already climbing the slope of the Platriéres, beyond the road to Beaugnies, when a voice, no one knew from whom, threw out the idea that the soldiers were, perhaps, down there at Feutry-Cantel. Then from one to the other of the column it was repeated that the soldiers were down there. They slackened their march, panic gradually spread in the country, idle without work, which they had been scouring54 for hours. Why had they not come across any soldiers? This impunity55 troubled them, at the thought of the repression56 which they felt to be coming.
Without any one knowing where it came from, a new word of command turned them towards another pit.
“To the Victoire! to the Victoire!”
Were there,, then, neither soldiers nor police at the Victoire? Nobody knew. All seemed reassured57. And turning round they descended from the Beaumont side and cut across the fields to reach the Joiselle road. The railway line barred their passage, and they crossed it, pulling down the palings. Now they were approaching Montsou, the gradual undulation of the landscape grew less, the sea of beetroot fields enlarged, reaching far away to the black houses at Marchiennes.
This time it was a march of five good kilometres. So strong an impulse pushed them on that they had no feeling of their terrible fatigue, or of their bruised58 and wounded feet. The rear continued to lengthen59, increased by mates enlisted60 on the roads and in the settlements. When they had passed the canal at the Magache bridge, and appeared before the Victoire, there were two thousand of them. But three o’clock had struck, the ascent was completed, not a man remained below. Their disappointment was spent in vain threats; they could only heave broken bricks at the workmen who had arrived to take their duty at the earth-cutting. There was a rush, and the deserted61 pit belonged to them. And in their rage at not finding a traitor11’s face to strike, they attacked things. A rankling62 abscess was bursting within them, a poisoned boil of slow growth. Years and years of hunger tortured them with a thirst for massacre63 and destruction. Behind a shed étienne saw some porters filling a wagon64 with coal.
“Will you just clear out of the bloody65 place!” he shouted. “Not a bit of coal goes out!”
At his orders some hundred strikers ran up, and the porters only had time to escape. Men unharnessed the horses, which were frightened and set off, struck in the haunches; while others, overturning the wagon, broke the shafts66.
Levaque, with violent blows of his axe, had thrown himself on the platforms to break down the footbridges. They resisted, and it occurred to him to tear up the rails, destroying the line from one end of the square to the other. Soon the whole band set to this task. Maheu made the metal chairs leap up, armed with his iron bar which he used as a lever. During this time Mother Brulé led away the women and invaded the lamp cabin, where their sticks covered the soil with a carnage of lamps. Maheude, carried out of herself, was laying about her as vigorously as the Levaque woman. All were soaked in oil, and Mouquette dried her hands on her skirt, laughing to find herself so dirty. Jeanlin for a joke, had emptied a lamp down her neck. But all this revenge produced nothing to eat. Stomachs were crying out louder than ever. And the great lamentation67 dominated still:
“Bread! bread! bread!”
A former captain at the Victoire kept a stall near by. No doubt he had fled in fear, for his shed was abandoned. When the women came back, and the men had finished destroying the railway, they besieged68 the stall, the shutters69 of which yielded at once. They found no bread there; there were only two pieces of raw flesh and a sack of potatoes. But in the pillage70 they discovered some fifty bottles of gin, which disappeared like a drop of water drunk up by the sand.
étienne, having emptied his tin, was able to refill it. Little by little a terrible drunkenness, the drunkenness of the starved, was inflaming71 his eyes and baring his teeth like a wolf’s between his pallid72 lips. Suddenly he perceived that Chaval had gone off in the midst of the tumult. He swore, and men ran to seize the fugitive73, who was hiding with Catherine behind the timber supply.
“Ah! you dirty swine; you are afraid of getting into trouble!” shouted étienne. “It was you in the forest who called for a strike of the engine-men, to stop the pumps, and now you want to play us a filthy74 trick! Very well! By God! we will go back to Gaston-Marie. I will have you smash the pump; yes, by God! you shall smash it!”
He was drunk; he was urging his men against this pump which he had saved a few hours earlier.
“To Gaston-Marie! to Gaston-Marie!”
They all cheered, and rushed on, while Chaval, seized by the shoulders, was drawn75 and pushed violently along, while he constantly asked to be allowed to wash.
“Will you take yourself off, then?” cried Maheu to Catherine who had also begun to run again.
This time she did not even draw back, but turned her burning eyes on her father, and went on running.
Once more the mob ploughed through the flat-plain. They were retracing76 their steps over the long straight paths, by the fields endlessly spread out. It was four o’clock; the sun which approached the horizon, lengthened77 the shadows of this horde78 with their furious gestures over the frozen soil.
They avoided Montsou, and farther on rejoined the Joiselle road; to spare the journey round Fourche-aux-Boeufs, they passed beneath the walls of Piolaine. The Grégoires had just gone out, having to visit a lawyer before going to dine with the Hennebeaus, where they would find Cécile. The estate seemed asleep, with its avenue of deserted limes, its kitchen garden and its orchard79 bared by the winter. Nothing was stirring in the house, and the closed windows were dulled by the warm steam within. Out of the profound silence an impression of good-natured comfort arose, the patriarchal sensation of good beds and a good table, the wise happiness of the proprietor’s existence.
Without stopping, the band cast gloomy looks through the grating and at the length of protecting walls, bristling with broken bottles. The cry arose again:
“Bread! bread! bread!”
The dogs alone replied, by barking ferociously80, a pair of Great Danes, with rough coats, who stood with open jaws81. And behind the closed blind there were only the servants. Mélanie the cook and Honorine the housemaid, attracted by this cry, pale and perspiring82 with fear at seeing these savages83 go by. They fell on their knees, and thought themselves killed on hearing a single stone breaking a pane84 of a neighbouring window. It was a joke of Jeanlin’s; he had manufactured a sling85 with a piece of cord, and had just sent a little passing greeting to the Grégoires. Already he was again blowing his horn, the band was lost in the distance, and the cry grew fainter:
“Bread! bread! bread!”
They arrived at Gaston-Marie in still greater numbers, more than two thousand five hundred madmen, breaking everything, sweeping86 away everything, with the force of a torrent87 which gains strength as it moves. The police had passed here an hour earlier, and had gone off towards Saint-Thomas, led astray by some peasants; in their haste they had not even taken the precaution of leaving a few men behind to guard the pit. In less than a quarter of an hour the fires were overturned, the boilers emptied, the buildings torn down and devastated88. But it was the pump which they specially89 threatened. It was not enough to stop it in the last expiring breath of its steam; they threw themselves on it as on a living person whose life they required.
“The first blow is yours!” repeated étienne, putting a hammer into Chaval’s hand. “Come! you have sworn with the others!”
Chaval drew back trembling, and in the hustling the hammer fell; while other men, without waiting, battered90 the pump with blows from iron bars, blows from bricks, blows from anything they could lay their hands on. Some even broke sticks over it. The nuts leapt off, the pieces of steel and copper91 were dislocated like torn limbs. The blow of a shovel92, delivered with full force, fractured the metal body; the water escaped and emptied itself, and there was a supreme93 gurgle like an agonizing94 death-rattle.
That was the end, and the mob found themselves outside again, madly pushing on behind étienne, who would not let Chaval go.
“Kill him! the traitor! To the shaft! to the shaft!”
The livid wretch95, clinging with imbecile obstinacy to his fixed96 idea, continued to stammer97 his need of cleaning himself.
“Wait, if that bothers you, said the Levaque woman. “Here! here’s a bucket?”
There was a pond there, an infiltration98 of the water from the pump. It was white with a thick layer of ice; and they struck it and broke the ice, forcing him to dip his head in this cold water.
“Duck then,” repeated Mother Brulé. “By God! if you don’t duck we’ll shove you in. And now you shall have a drink of it; yes, yes, like a beast, with your jaws in the trough!”
He had to drink on all fours. They all laughed, with cruel laughter. One woman pulled his ears, another woman threw in his face a handful of dung found fresh on the road. His old woollen jacket in tatters no longer held together. He was haggard, stumbling, and with struggling movements of his hips99 he tried to flee.
Maheu had pushed him, and Maheude was among those who grew furious, both of them satisfying their old spite; even Mouquette, who generally remained such good friends with her old lovers, was wild with this one, treating him as a good-for-nothing, and talking of taking his breeches down to see if he was still a man.
étienne made her hold her tongue.
“That’s enough. There’s no need for all to set to it. If you like, you, we will just settle it together.”
His fists closed and his eyes were lit up with homicidal fury; his intoxication100 was turning into the desire to kill.
“Are you ready? One of us must stay here. Give him a knife; I’ve got mine.”
Catherine, exhausted101 and terrified, gazed at him. She remembered his confidences, his desire to devour102 a man when he had drunk, poisoned after the third glass, to such an extent had his drunkards of parents put this beastliness into his body. Suddenly she leapt forward, struck him with both her woman’s hands, and choking with indignation shouted into his face:
“Coward! coward! coward! Isn’t it enough, then, all these abominations? You want to kill him now that he can’t stand upright any longer!”
She turned towards her father and her mother; she turned towards the others.
“You are cowards! cowards! Kill me, then, with him! I will tear your eyes out, I will, if you touch him again. Oh! the cowards!”
And she planted herself before her man to defend him, forgetting the blows, forgetting the life of misery103, lifted up by the idea that she belonged to him since he had taken her, and that it was a shame for her when they so crushed him.
étienne had grown pale beneath this girl’s blows. At first he had been about to knock her down; then, after having wiped his face with the movement of a man who is recovering from intoxication, he said to Chaval, in the midst of deep silence:
“She is right; that’s enough. Off you go.”
Immediately Chaval was away, and Catherine galloped behind him. The crowd gazed at them as they disappeared round a corner of the road; but Maheude muttered:
“You were wrong; ought to have kept him. He is sure to be after some treachery.”
But the mob began to march on again. Five o’clock was about to strike. The sun, as red as a furnace on the edge of the horizon, seemed to set fire to the whole plain. A pedlar who was passing informed them that the military were descending104 from the Crévecoeur side. Then they turned. An order ran:
“To Montsou! To the manager! — Bread! bread! bread!”
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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trumpeting
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| 大声说出或宣告（trumpet的现在分词形式） | |
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chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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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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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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eddy
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| n.漩涡，涡流 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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coalition
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| n.结合体，同盟，结合，联合 | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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deafened
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| 使聋( deafen的过去式和过去分词 )； 使隔音 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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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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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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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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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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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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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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42
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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43
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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44
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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45
boilers
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| 锅炉，烧水器，水壶( boiler的名词复数 ) | |
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46
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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47
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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48
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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49
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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50
rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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51
gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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52
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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53
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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54
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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55
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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56
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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57
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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58
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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59
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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60
enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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61
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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rankling
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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63
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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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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66
shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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lamentation
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| n.悲叹，哀悼 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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70
pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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71
inflaming
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| v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的现在分词 ) | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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75
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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77
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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81
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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82
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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83
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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84
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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85
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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87
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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88
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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91
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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92
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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95
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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96
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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97
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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98
infiltration
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| n.渗透；下渗；渗滤；入渗 | |
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99
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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100
intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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101
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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102
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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103
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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104
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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