The long walk started at noon. I didn't know it would turn into a long walk. I thought it would be a miscellaneousmeditation, Murray and Jack1, half an hour's campus meander2. But it became a major afternoon, a serious loopingSocratic walk, with practical consequences.
I met Murray after his car crash seminar and we wandered along the fringes of the campus, past the cedar-shingledcondominiums set in the trees in their familiar defensive3 posture—a cluster of dwellings4 blending so well with theenvironment that birds kept flying into the plate-glass windows.
"You're smoking a pipe," I said.
Murray smiled sneakily.
"It looks good. I like it. It works."He lowered his eyes, smiling. The pipe had a long narrow stem and cubical bowl. It was pale brown and resembled ahighly disciplined household implement5, perhaps an Amish or Shaker antique. I wondered if he'd chosen it to matchhis somewhat severe chin whiskers. A tradition of stern virtue6 seemed to hover7 about his gestures and expressions.
"Why can't we be intelligent about death?" I said.
"It's obvious.""It is?""Ivan Ilyich screamed for three days. That's about as intelligent as we get. Tolstoy himself struggled to understand.
He feared it terribly.""It's almost as though our fear is what brings it on. If we could learn not to be afraid, we could live forever.""We talk ourselves into it. Is that what you mean?""I don't know what I mean. I only know I'm just going through the motions of living. I'm technically8 dead. My bodyis growing a nebulous mass. They track these things like satellites. All this as a result of a byproduct of insecticide.
There's something artificial about my death. It's shallow, unfulfilling. I don't belong to the earth or sky. They ought tocarve an aerosol9 can on my tombstone.""Well said."What did he mean, well said? I vanted him to argue with me, raise my dying to a higher level, make me feel better.
"Do you think it's unfair?" he said.
"Of course I do. Or is that a trite10 answer?"He seemed to shrug11.
"Look how I've lived. Has my life been a mad dash for pleasure? Have I been hellbent on self-destruction, usingillegal drugs, driving fast cars, drinking to excess? A little dry sherry at faculty12 parties. I eat bland13 foods.""No, you don't."He puffed14 seriously on his pipe, his cheeks going hollow. We walked in silence for a while.
"Do you think your death is premature15?" he said.
"Every death is premature. There's no scientific reason why we can't live a hundred and fifty years. Some peopleactually do it, according to a headline I saw at the supermarket.""Do you think it's a sense of incompleteness that causes you the deepest regret? There are things you still hope toaccomplish. Work to be done, intellectual challenges to be faced.""The deepest regret is death. The only thing to face is death. This is all I think about. There's only one issue here. Iwant to live.""From the Robert Wise film of the same name, with Susan Hayward as Barbara Graham, a convicted murderess.
Aggressive jazz score by Johnny Mandel."I looked at him.
"So you're saying, Jack, that death would be just as threatening even if you'd accomplished16 all you'd ever hoped toaccomplish in your life and work.""Are you crazy? Of course. That's an elitist idea. Would you ask a man who bags groceries if he fears death notbecause it is death but because there are still some interesting groceries he would like to bag?""Well said.""This is death. I don't want it to tarry awhile so I can write a monograph17. I want it to go away for seventy or eightyyears.""Your status as a doomed18 man lends your words a certain prestige and authority. I like that. As the time nears, I thinkyou'll find that people will be eager to hear what you have to say. They will seek you out.""Are you saying this is a wonderful opportunity for me to win friends?""I'm saying you can't let down the living by slipping into self-pity and despair. People will depend on you to be brave.
What people look for in a dying friend is a stubborn kind of gravel-voiced nobility, a refusal to give in, with momentsof indomitable humor. You're growing in prestige even as we speak. You're creating a hazy19 light about your ownbody. I have to like it."We walked down the middle of a steep and winding20 street. There was no one around. The houses here were old andlooming, set above narrow stone stairways in partial disrepair.
"Do you believe love is stronger than death?""Not in a million years.""Good," he said. "Nothing is stronger than death. Do you believe the only people who fear death are those who areafraid of life?""That's crazy. Completely stupid.""Right. We all fear death to some extent. Those who claim otherwise are lying to themselves. Shallow people.""People with their nicknames on their license22 plates.""Excellent, Jack. Do you believe life without death is somehow incomplete?""How could it be incomplete? Death is what makes it incomplete.""Doesn't our knowledge of death make life more precious?""What good is a preciousness based on fear and anxiety? It's an anxious quivering thing."'True. The most deeply precious things are those we feel secure about. A wife, a child. Does the specter of deathmake a child more precious?""No.""No. There is no reason to believe life is more precious because it is fleeting23. Here is a statement. A person has to betold he is going to die before he can begin to live life to the fullest. True or false?""False. Once your death is established, it becomes impossible to live a satisfying life.""Would you prefer to know the exact date and time of your death?""Absolutely not. It's bad enough to fear the unknown. Faced with the unknown, we can pretend it isn't there. Exactdates would drive many to suicide, if only to beat the system."We crossed an old highway bridge, screened in, littered with sad and faded objects. We followed a footpath24 along acreek, approached the edge of the high school playing field. Women brought small children here to play in thelong-jump pits.
"How do I get around it?" I said.
"You could put your faith in technology. It got you here, it can get you out. This is the whole point of technology. Itcreates an appetite for immortality25 on the one hand. It threatens universal extinction26 on the other. Technology is lustremoved from nature.""It is?""It's what we invented to conceal27 the terrible secret of our decaying bodies. But it's also life, isn't it? It prolongs life,it provides new organs for those that wear out. New devices, new techniques every day. Lasers, masers, ultrasound.
Give yourself up to it, Jack. Believe in it. They'll insert you in a gleaming tube, irradiate your body with the basicstuff of the universe. Light, energy, dreams. God's own goodness.""I don't think I want to see any doctors for a while, Murray, thanks.""In that case you can always get around death by concentrating on the life beyond.""How do I do that?""It's obvious. Read up on reincarnation, transmigration, hyperspace, the resurrection of the dead and so on. Somegorgeous systems have evolved from these beliefs. Study them.""Do you believe in any of these things?""Millions of people have believed for thousands of years. Throw in with them. Belief in a second birth, a second life,is practically universal. This must mean something.""But these gorgeous systems are all so different.""Pick one you like.""But you make it sound like a convenient fantasy, the worst kind of self-delusion."Again he seemed to shrug. 'Think of the great poetry, the music and dance and ritual that spring forth29 from ouraspiring to a life beyond death. Maybe these things are justification30 enough for our hopes and dreams, although Iwouldn't say that to a dying man."He poked31 me with an elbow. We walked toward the commercial part of town. Murray paused, raised one foot behindhim, reached back to knock some ashes from his pipe. Then he pocketed the thing expertly, inserting it bowl-first inhis corduroy jacket.
"Seriously, you can find a great deal of long-range solace32 in the idea of an afterlife.""But don't I have to believe? Don't I have to feel in my heart that there is something, genuinely, beyond this life, outthere, looming21, in the dark?""What do you think the afterlife is, a body of facts just waiting to be uncovered? Do you think the U.S. Air Force issecretly gathering33 data on the afterlife and keeping it under wraps because we're not mature enough to accept thefindings? The findings would cause panic? No. I'll tell you what the afterlife is. It's a sweet and terribly touching34 idea.
You can take it or leave it. In the meantime what you have to do is survive an assassination35 attempt. That would be aninstant tonic36. You would feel specially37 favored, you would grow in charisma38.""You said earlier that death was making me grow in charisma. Besides, who would want to kill me?"Once more he shrugged39. Survive a train wreck40 in which a hundred die. Get thrown clear when your single-engineCessna crashes on a golf course after striking a power line in heavy rain just minutes after takeoff. It doesn't have tobe assassination. The point is you're standing41 at the edge of a smoldering42 ruin where others lie inert43 and twisted. Thiscan counteract44 the effect of any number of nebulous masses, at least for a time."We window-shopped a while, then went into a shoe store. Murray looked at Weejüns, Wallabees, Hush45 Puppies. Wewandered out into the sun. Children in strollers squinted46 up at us, appearing to think we were something strange.
"Has your German helped?""I can't say it has.""Has it ever helped?""I can't say. I don't know. Who knows these things?""What have you been trying to do all these years?""Put myself under a spell, I guess.""Correct. Nothing to be ashamed of, Jack. It's only your fear that makes you act this way.""Only my fear? Only my death?""We shouldn't be surprised at your lack of success. How powerful did the Germans prove to be? They lost the war,after all.""That's what Denise said.""You've discussed this with the children?""Superficially.""Helpless and fearful people are drawn47 to magical figures, mythic figures, epic48 men who intimidate49 and darklyloom.""You're talking about Hitler, I take it.""Some people are larger than life. Hitler is larger than death. You thought he would protect you. I understandcompletely.""Do you? Because I wish I did.""It's totally obvious. You wanted to be helped and sheltered. The overwhelming horror would leave no room for yourown death. 'Submerge me,' you said. 'Absorb my fear.' On one level you wanted to conceal yourself in Hitler and hisworks. On another level you wanted to use him to grow in significance and strength.
I sense a confusion of means. Not that I'm criticizing. It was a daring thing you did, a daring thrust. To use him. I canadmire the attempt even as I see how totally dumb it was, although no dumber than wearing a charm or knockingwood. Six hundred million Hindus stay home from work if the signs are not favorable that morning. So I'm notsingling you out." 'The vast and terrible depth." "Of course," he said. "The inexhaustibility." "I understand."'The whole huge nameless thing." "Yes, absolutely." "The massive darkness." "Certainly, certainly." 'The wholeterrible endless hugeness." "I know exactly what you mean."He tapped the fender of a diagonally parked car, half smiling. "Why have you failed, Jack?" "A confusion of means.""Correct. There are numerous ways to get around death. You tried to employ two of them at once. You stood out onthe one hand and tried to hide on the other. What is the name we give to this attempt?" "Dumb."I followed him into the supermarket. Blasts of color, layers of oceanic sound. We walked under a bright bannerannouncing a raffle50 to raise money for some incurable51 disease. The wording seemed to indicate that the winnerwould get the disease. Murray likened the banner to a Tibetan prayer flag.
"Why have I had this fear so long, so consistently?" "It's obvious. You don't know how to repress. We're all awarethere's no escape from death. How do we deal with this crushing knowledge? We repress, we disguise, we bury, weexclude. Some people do it better than others, that's all." "How can I improve?" "You can't. Some people just don'thave the unconscious tools to perform the necessary disguising operations.""How do we know repression52 exists if the tools are unconscious and the thing we're repressing is so cleverlydisguised?""Freud said so. Speaking of looming figures."He picked up a box of Handi-Wrap II, reading the display type, studying the colors. He smelled a packet ofdehydrated soup. The data was strong today.
"Do you think I'm somehow healthier because I don't know how to repress? Is it possible that constant fear is thenatural state of man and that by living close to my fear I am actually doing something heroic, Murray?""Do you feel heroic?""No."'Then you probably aren't.""But isn't repression unnatural53?""Fear is unnatural. Lightning and thunder are unnatural. Pain, death, reality, these are all unnatural. We can't bearthese things as they are. We know too much. So we resort to repression, compromise and disguise. This is how wesurvive in the universe. This is the natural language of the species."I looked at him carefully.
"I exercise. I take care of my body.""No, you don't," he said.
He helped an old man read the date on a loaf of raisin54 bread. Children sailed by in silver carts.
"Tegrin, Denorex, Selsun Blue."Murray wrote something in his little book. I watched him step deftly55 around a dozen fallen eggs oozing56 yolky57 matterfrom a busted58 carton.
"Why do I feel so good when I'm with Wilder? It's not like being with the other kids," I said.
"You sense his total ego28, his freedom from limits.""In what way is he free from limits?""He doesn't know he's going to die. He doesn't know death at all. You cherish this simpleton blessing59 of his, thisexemption from harm. You want to get close to him, touch him, look at him, breathe him in. How lucky he is. Acloud of unknowing, an omnipotent60 little person. The child is everything, the adult nothing. Think about it. Aperson's entire life is the unraveling of this conflict. No wonder we're bewildered, staggered, shattered.""Aren't you going too far?""I'm from New York.""We create beautiful and lasting61 things, build vast civilizations.""Gorgeous evasions," he said. "Great escapes."The doors parted photoelectronically. We went outside, walking past the dry cleaner, the hairstylist, the optician.
Murray relighted his pipe, sucking impressively at the mouthpiece.
"We have talked about ways to get around death," he said. "We have discussed how you've already tried two suchways, each cancelling the other. We have mentioned technology, train wrecks62, belief in an afterlife. There are othermethods as well and I would like to talk about one such approach."We crossed the street.
"I believe, Jack, there are two kinds of people in the world. Killers63 and diers. Most of us are diers. We don't have thedisposition, the rage or whatever it takes to be a killer64. We let death happen. We lie down and die. But think what it'slike to be a killer. Think how exciting it is, in theory, to kill a person in direct confrontation65. If he dies, you cannot.
To kill him is to gain life-credit. The more people you kill, the more credit you store up. It explains any number ofmassacres, wars, executions.""Are you saying that men have tried throughout history to cure themselves of death by killing66 others?""It's obvious.""And you call this exciting?""I'm talking theory. In theory, violence is a form of rebirth. The dier passively succumbs67. The killer lives on. What amarvelous equation. As a marauding band amasses68 dead bodies, it gathers strength. Strength accumulates like afavor from the gods.""What does this have to do with me?""This is theory. We're a couple of academics taking a walk. But imagine the visceral jolt69, seeing your opponentbleeding in the dust.""You think it adds to a person's store of credit, like a bank transaction.""Nothingness is staring you in the face. Utter and permanent oblivion. You will cease to be. To be, Jack. The dieraccepts this and dies. The killer, in theory, attempts to defeat his own death by killing others. He buys time, he buyslife. Watch others squirm. See the blood trickle70 in the dust."I looked at him, amazed. He drew contentedly71 on his pipe, making hollow sounds.
"It's a way of controlling death. A way of gaining the ultimate upper hand. Be the killer for a change. Let someoneelse be the dier. Let him replace you, theoretically, in that role. You can't die if he does. He dies, you live. See howmarvelously simple.""You say this is what people have been doing for centuries."'They're still doing it. They do it on a small intimate scale, they do it in groups and crowds and masses. Kill to live.""Sounds pretty awful."He seemed to shrug. "Slaughter72 is never random73. The more people you kill, the more power you gain over your owndeath. There is a secret precision at work in the most savage74 and indiscriminate killings75. To speak about this is not todo public relations for murder. We're two academics in an intellectual environment. It's our duty to examine currentsof thought, investigate the meaning of human behavior. But think how exciting, to come out a winner in a deathlystruggle, to watch the bastard76 bleed.""Plot a murder, you're saying. But every plot is a murder in effect. To plot is to die, whether we know it or not."'To plot is to live," he said.
I looked at him. I studied his face, his hands.
"We start our lives in chaos77, in babble78. As we surge up into the world, we try to devise a shape, a plan. There isdignity in this. Your whole life is a plot, a scheme, a diagram. It is a failed scheme but that's not the point. To plot isto affirm life, to seek shape and control. Even after death, most particularly after death, the search continues. Burialrites are an attempt to complete the scheme, in ritual. Picture a state funeral, Jack. It is all precision, detail, order,design. The nation holds its breath. The efforts of a huge and powerful government are brought to bear on aceremony that will shed the last trace of chaos. If all goes well, if they bring it off, some natural law of perfection isobeyed. The nation is delivered from anxiety, the deceased's life is redeemed79, life itself is strengthened, reaffirmed.""Are you sure?" I said.
"To plot, to take aim at something, to shape time and space. This is how we advance the art of human consciousness."We moved in a wide arc back toward campus. Streets in deep and soundless shade, garbage bags set out forcollection. We crossed the sunset overpass80, pausing briefly81 to watch the cars shoot by. Sunlight bouncing off theglass and chrome.
"Are you a killer or a dier, Jack?""You know the answer to that. I've been a dier all my life.""What can you do about it?""What can any dier do? Isn't it implicit82 in his makeup83 that he can't cross over?""Let's think about that. Let's examine the nature of the beast, so to speak. The male animal. Isn't there a fund, a pool,a reservoir of potential violence in the male psyche84?""In theory I suppose there is.""We're talking theory. That's exactly what we're talking. Two friends on a tree-shaded street. What else but theory?
Isn't there a deep field, a sort of crude oil deposit that one might tap if and when the occasion warrants? A great darklake of male rage."'That's what Babette says. Homicidal rage. You sound like her.""Amazing lady. Is she right or wrong?""In theory? She's probably right.""Isn't there a sludgy region you'd rather not know about? A remnant of some prehistoric85 period when dinosaursroamed the earth and men fought with flint tools? When to kill was to live?""Babette talks about male biology. Is it biology or geology?""Does it matter, Jack? We only want to know whether it is there, buried in the most prudent86 and unassuming soul.""I suppose so. It can be. It depends.""Is it or isn't it there?""It's there, Murray. So what?""I only want to hear you say it. That's all. I only want to elicit87 truths you already possess, truths you've always knownat some basic level.""Are you saying a dier can become a killer?""I'm only a visiting lecturer. I theorize, I take walks, I admire the trees and houses. I have my students, my rentedroom, my TV set. I pick out a word here, an image there. I admire the lawns, the porches. What a wonderful thing aporch is. How did I live a life without a porch to sit on, up till now? I speculate, I reflect, I take constant notes. I amhere to think, to see. Let me warn you, Jack. I won't let up."We passed my street and walked up the hill to the campus.
"Who's your doctor?""Chakravarty," I said.
"Is he good?""How would I know?""My shoulder separates. An old sexual injury.""I'm afraid to see him. I put the printout of my death in the bottom drawer of a dresser.""I know how you feel. But the tough part is yet to come. You've said good-bye to everyone but yourself. How does aperson say good-bye to himself? It's a juicy existential dilemma88.""It certainly is."We walked past the administration building.
"I hate to be the one who says it, Jack, but there's something that has to be said.""What?""Better you than me."I nodded gravely. "Why does this have to be said?""Because friends have to be brutally89 honest with each other.
I'd feel terrible if I didn't tell you what I was thinking, especially at a time like this.""I appreciate it, Murray. I really do.""Besides, it's part of the universal experience of dying. Whether you think about it consciously or not, you're aware atsome level that people are walking around saying to themselves, 'Better him than me.' It's only natural. You can'tblame them or wish them ill.""Everyone but my wife. She wants to die first.""Don't be so sure," he said.
We shook hands in front of the library. I thanked him for his honesty.
"That's what it all comes down to in the end," he said. "A person spends his life saying good-bye to other people.
How does he say good-bye to himself?"I threw away picture-frame wire, metal book ends, cork90 coasters, plastic key tags, dusty bottles of Mercurochromeand Vaseline, crusted paintbrushes, caked shoe brushes, clotted91 correction fluid. I threw away candle stubs,laminated placemats, frayed92 pot holders93. I went after the padded clothes hangers94, the magnetic memo95 clipboards. Iwas in a vengeful and near savage state. I bore a personal grudge96 against these things. Somehow they'd put me in thisfix. They'd dragged me down, made escape impossible. The two girls followed me around, observing a respectfulsilence. I threw away my battered97 khaki canteen, my ridiculous hip98 boots. I threw away diplomas, certificates,awards and citations99. When the girls stopped me, I was working the bathrooms, discarding used bars of soap, damptowels, shampoo bottles with streaked100 labels and missing caps.
PLEASE NOTE. In several days, your new automated101 banking102 card will arrive in the mail. If it is a red card with asilver stripe, your secret code will be the same as it is now. If it is a green card with a gray stripe, you must appear atyour branch, with your card, to devise a new secret code. Codes based on birthdays are popular. WARNING. Do notwrite down your code.
Do not carry your code on your person. REMEMBER. You cannot access your account unless your code is enteredproperly. Know your code. Reveal your code to no one. Only your code allows you to enter the system.
收听单词发音 |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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meander
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| n.河流的曲折，漫步，迂回旅行；v.缓慢而弯曲地流动，漫谈 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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dwellings
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| n.住处，处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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hover
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| vi.翱翔，盘旋；徘徊；彷徨，犹豫 | |
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technically
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| adv.专门地，技术上地 | |
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aerosol
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| n.悬浮尘粒，气溶胶，烟雾剂，喷雾器 | |
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trite
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| adj.陈腐的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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monograph
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| n.专题文章，专题著作 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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looming
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| n.上现蜃景（光通过低层大气发生异常折射形成的一种海市蜃楼）v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的现在分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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license
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| n.执照，许可证，特许；v.许可，特许 | |
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fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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footpath
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| n.小路，人行道 | |
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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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assassination
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| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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charisma
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| n.(大众爱戴的)领袖气质，魅力 | |
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39
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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40
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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41
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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42
smoldering
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| v.用文火焖烧，熏烧，慢燃( smolder的现在分词 ) | |
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43
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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44
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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45
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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46
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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47
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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48
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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49
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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50
raffle
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| n.废物，垃圾，抽奖售卖；v.以抽彩出售 | |
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51
incurable
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| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
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52
repression
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| n.镇压，抑制，抑压 | |
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53
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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54
raisin
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| n.葡萄干 | |
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55
deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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56
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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57
yolky
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| 蛋黄的，似蛋黄的 | |
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58
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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59
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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omnipotent
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| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
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61
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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62
wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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63
killers
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| 凶手( killer的名词复数 )； 消灭…者； 致命物； 极难的事 | |
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killer
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| n.杀人者，杀人犯，杀手，屠杀者 | |
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confrontation
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| n.对抗，对峙，冲突 | |
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66
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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succumbs
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的第三人称单数 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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68
amasses
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的第三人称单数 ) | |
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jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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72
slaughter
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| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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74
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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75
killings
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| 谋杀( killing的名词复数 )； 突然发大财，暴发 | |
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76
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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78
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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redeemed
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| adj. 可赎回的，可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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80
overpass
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| n.天桥，立交桥 | |
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81
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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82
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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83
makeup
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| n.组织；性格；化装品 | |
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84
psyche
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| n.精神；灵魂 | |
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85
prehistoric
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| adj.（有记载的）历史以前的，史前的，古老的 | |
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86
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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87
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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88
dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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89
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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90
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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91
clotted
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| adj.凝结的v.凝固( clot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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94
hangers
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| n.衣架( hanger的名词复数 )；挂耳 | |
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95
memo
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| n.照会，备忘录；便笺；通知书；规章 | |
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96
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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97
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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98
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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99
citations
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| n.引用( citation的名词复数 )；引证；引文；表扬 | |
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100
streaked
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| adj.有条斑纹的，不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 )；使布满条纹 | |
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101
automated
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| a.自动化的 | |
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102
banking
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| n.银行业，银行学，金融业 | |
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