PaddyThe new year came in with Angus MacQueen's annual Hogmanay party on Rudna Hunish, and still the move tothe big house had not been accomplished1. It wasn't something done overnight, between packing over seven years'
accumulation of everyday artifacts, and Fee's declaration that the big house drawing room at least be finishedfirst. No one was in the slightest hurry, though everyone was looking forward to it. In some respects the bighouse would prove no different: it lacked electricity and the flies populated it just as thickly. But in summer itwas about twenty degrees cooler than outside, from the thickness of its stone walls and the ghost gums shadingits roof. Also, the bathhouse was a true luxury, having hot water all winter from pipes which ran up the back ofthe vast fuel stove in the cookhouse next door, and every drop in its pipes was rain water. Though baths andshowers had to be taken in this large structure with its ten separate cubicles2, the big house and all the smallerhouses were liberally endowed with indoor water-closet toilets, an unheard-of degree of opulence3 envious4 Gillyresidents had been caught calling sybaritism. Aside from the Hotel Imperial, two pubs, the Catholic presbyteryand the convent, the Gillanbone district survived on out-houses. Except Drogheda homestead, thanks to itsenormous number of tanks and roofs to catch rain water. The rules were strict: no undue7 flushing, and plenty ofsheep-dip disinfectant. But after holes in the ground, it was heaven.
Father Ralph had sent Paddy a check for five thousand pounds at the beginning of the preceding December, tobe going on with, his letter said; Paddy handed it to Fee with a dazed exclamation8. "I doubt I've managed to earnthis much in all my working days," he said. "What shall I do with it?" Fee asked, staring at it and then looking upat him, eyes blazing. "Money, Paddy! Money at last, do you realize it? Oh, I don't care about Auntie Mary'sthirteen million pounds there’s nothing real about so much. But this is real! What shall I do with it?" "Spend it,"said Paddy simply. "A few new clothes for the children and yourself? And maybe there are things you'd like tobuy for the big house? I can't think of anything else we need.""Nor can I, isn't it silly?" Up got Fee from the breakfast table, beckoning11 Meggie imperiously. "Come on, girl,we're walking up to the big house to look at it."Though at that time three weeks had elapsed since the frantic13 week following Mary Carson's death, none of theClearys had been near the big house. But now Fee's visit more than made up for their previous reluctance14. Fromone room to another she marched with Meggie, Mrs. Smith, Minnie and Cat in attendance, more animated15 than abewildered Meggie had ever known her. She muttered to herself continually; this was dreadful, that was anabsolute horror, was Mary color-blind, did she have no taste at all? In the drawing room Fee paused longest,eyeing it expertly. Only the reception room exceeded it in size, for it was forty feet long and thirty wide, and hada fifteen-foot ceiling. It was a curious mixture of the best and the worst in its decoration, painted a uniformcream which had yellowed and did nothing to emphasize the magnificent moldings on the ceiling or the carvedpaneling on the walls. The enormous floor-to-ceiling windows that marched uninterruptedly for forty feet alongthe veranda17 side were heavily curtained in brown velvet18, casting a deep gloom over the dingy19 brown chairs, twostunning malachite benches and two equally beautiful benches in Florentine marble, and a massive fireplace ofcream marble veined in deep pink. On the polished teak floor three Aubusson carpets had been squared withgeometrical precision, and a Waterford chandelier six feet long touched the ceiling, its chain bunched round it.
"You are to be commended, Mrs. Smith," Fee pronounced. "It's positively22 awful, but spotlessly clean. I shallgive you something worth caring for. Those priceless benches without anything to set them of-it's a shame! Sincethe day I saw this room, I've longed to make it into something every person who walks into it will admire, andyet comfortable enough to make every person who walks into it want to remain."Mary Carson's desk was a Victorian hideousness23; Fee walked to it and the phone which stood upon it, flickingits gloomy wood contemptuously. "My escritoire will do beautifully here," she said. "I'm going to start with thisroom, and when it's finished I'll move up from the creek25, not before. Then at least we'll have one place where wecan congregate26 without being depressed27." She sat down and plucked the receiver off its hook. While her daughterand her servants stood in a small bewildered huddle28, she proceeded to set Harry29 Gough in motion. Mark Foyswould send fabric30 samples on the night mail; Nock and Kirbys would send paint samples; Grace Brothers wouldsend wallpaper samples; these and other Sydney stores would send catalogues specially31 compiled for her,describing their lines of furnishings. Laughter in his voice, Harry guaranteed to produce a competent upholstererand a team of painters capable of doing the meticulous33 work Fee demanded. Good for Mrs. Cleary! She wasgoing to sweep Mary Carson right out of the house.
The phoning finished, everyone was directed to rip down the brown velvet curtains at once. Out they went ontothe rubbish heap in an orgy of wastefulness34 Fee supervised personally, even putting the torch to them herself.
"We don't need them," she said, "and I'm not going to inflict35 them on the Gillanbone poor.""Yes, Mum," said Meggie, paralyzed.
"We're not going to have any curtains," said Fee, not at all disturbed over a flagrant breach36 of the decoratingcustoms of the time. "The veranda's far too deep to let the sun come in directly, so why do we need curtains? Iwant this room to be seen."The materials arrived, so did the painters and the upholsterer; Meggie and Cat were sent up ladders to wash andpolish the top windows while Mrs. Smith and Minnie coped with the bottom ones and Fee strode aroundwatching everything with an eagle eye.
By the second week in January it was all done, and somehow of course the news leaked out on the party lines.
Mrs. Cleary had made the Drogheda drawing room into a palace, and wouldn't it be only the civil thing for Mrs.
Hopeton to accompany Mrs. King and Mrs. O'Rourke on a welcome-to-the-big-house visit? No one argued thatthe result of Fee's efforts was absolute beauty. The cream Aubusson carpets with their faded bunches of pink andred roses and green leaves had been strewn rather haphazardly37 around the mirror-finished floor. Fresh creampaint covered the walls and the ceiling, every molding and carving38 painstakingly39 picked out in gilt40, but the hugeoval-shaped flat spaces in the paneling had been papered with faded black silk bearing the same bunches of rosesas the three carpets, like stilted41 Japanese paintings in cream and gilt surrounds. The Waterford chandelier hadbeen lowered until its bottom pendant chimed a bare six and a half feet from the floor, every prism of itsthousands polished to a flashing rainbow, and its great brass45 chain tethered to the wall instead of being bunchedup. On spindly cream-and-gilt tables Waterford lamps stood next to Waterford ashtrays47 and Waterford vasesstuffed with cream and pink roses; all the big comfortable chairs had been re-covered in cream watered silk andplaced in small cozy48 groupings with large ottomans drawn49 up to each one invitingly51; in one sunny corner stoodthe exquisite52 old spinet53 with an enormous vase of cream and pink roses on it. Above the fireplace hung theportrait of Fee's grandmother in her pale pink crinoline, and facing her at the other end of the room was an evenlarger portrait of a youngish, red-haired Mary Carson, face like the youngish Queen Victoria, in a stiff blackgown fashionably bustled54. "All right," said Fee, "now we can move up from the creek. I'll do the other rooms atmy leisure. Oh, isn't it lovely to have money and a decent home to spend it on?"About three days before they moved, so early in the morning the sun had not yet risen, the roosters in the fowlyard were cock-a-doodling joyously55. "Miserable56 wretches," said Fee, wrapping old newspapers around her china.
"I don't know what they think they've done to crow about. Not an egg in the place for breakfast, and all the menat home until we finish moving. Meggie, you'll have to go down to the chook yard for me; I'm busy." Shescanned a yellowed sheet of the Sydney Morning Herald57, snorting over an advertisement for wasp-waisted stays.
"I don't know why Paddy insists we get all the newspapers; no one ever has time to read them. They just pile uptoo fast to burn in the stove. Look at this! It's older than our tenancy of the house. Well, at least they're handy forpacking."It was nice to see her mother so cheerful, Meggie thought as she sped down the back steps and across the dustyyard. Though everyone was naturally looking forward to living in the big house, Mum seemed to hunger for it asif she could remember what living in a big house was like. How clever she was, what perfect taste she had!
Things no one had ever realized before, because there had been neither time nor money to bring them out.
Meggie hugged herself with excitement; Daddy had sent in to the Gilly jeweler and used some of the fivethousand pounds to buy Mum a real pearl disbbhoker and real pearl earrings58, only these had little diamonds inthem as well. He was going to give them to her at their first dinner in the big house. Now that she had seen hermother's face freed of its habitual59 dourness61, she could hardly wait for the expression it would wear when shereceived her pearls. From Bob to the twins, the children were agog62 for that moment, because Daddy had shownthem the big flat leather case, opened it to reveal the milky63 opalescent64 beads65 on their black velvet bed. Theirmother's blossoming happiness had affected66 them deeply; it was like seeing the start of a good drenching67 rain.
Until now they had never quite understood how unhappy she must have been all the years they had known her.
The chook yard was huge, and held four roosters and upward of forty hens. At night they inhabited a tumbledown shed, its rigorously swept floor lined around the edges with straw-filled orange crates68 for laying, and itsrear crossed by perches69 of various heights. But during the day the chooks strutted70 clucking around a large, wire-netted run. When Meggie opened the run gate and squeezed inside, the birds clustered about her greedily,thinking they would be fed, but since Meggie fed them in the evenings she laughed at their silly antics andstepped through them into the shed.
"Honestly, what a hopeless lot of chookies you are!" she lectured them severely71 as she poked72 in the nests.
"Forty of you, and only fifteen eggs! Not enough for breakfast, let alone a cake. Well, I'm warning you here andnow-if you don't do something about it soon, the chopping block for the lot of you, and that applies to the lordsof the coop as well as wives, so don't spread your tails and ruffle73 up your necks as if I'm not including you,gentlemen!"With the eggs held carefully in her apron74, Meggie ran back to the kitchen, singing.
Fee was sitting in Paddy's chair staring at a sheet of Smith's Weekly, her face white, her lips moving. InsideMeggie could hear the men moving about, and the sounds of six-year-old Jims and Patsy laughing in their cot;they were never allowed up until after the men had gone. "What's the matter, Mum?" Meggie asked.
Fee didn't answer, only sat staring in front of her with beads of sweat along her upper lip, eyes stilled to adesperately rational pain, as if within herself she was marshaling every resource she possessed76 not to scream.
"Daddy, Daddy!" Meggie called sharply, frightened. The tone of her voice brought him out still fastening hisflannel undershirt, with Bob, Jack77, Hughie and Stu behind him. Meggie pointed78 wordlessly at her mother.
Paddy's heart seemed to block his throat. He bent79 over Fee, his hand picking up one limp wrist. "What is it,dear?" he asked in tones more tender than any of his children had ever heard him use; yet somehow they knewthey were the tones he used with her when they were not around to hear. She seemed to recognize that specialvoice enough to emerge from her shocked trance, and the big grey eyes looked up into his face, so kind andworn, no longer young.
"Here," she said, pointing at a small item of news toward the bottom of the page.
Stuart had gone to stand behind his mother, his hand lightly on her shoulder; before he started to read the articlePaddy glanced up at his son, into the eyes so like Fee's, and he nodded. What had roused him to jealousy80 inFrank could never do so in Stuart; as if their love for Fee bound them tightly together instead of separating them.
Paddy read out loud, slowly, his tone growing sadder and sadder. The little headline said: BOXER81 RECEIVESLIFE SENTENCE.
Francis Armstrong Cleary, aged9 26, professional boxer, was convicted today in Goulburn District Court of themurder of Ronald Albert Cumming, aged 32, laborer83, last July. The jury reached its verdict after only tenminutes' deliberation, recommending the most severe punishment the court could mete84 out. It was, said Mr.
Justice FitzHugh-Cunneally, a simple open-and-closed case. Cumming and Cleary had quarreled violently in thepublic bar of the Harbor Hotel on July 23rd. Later the same night Sergeant85 Tom Beardsmore of the Goulburnpolice, accompanied by two constables86, was called to the Harbor Hotel by its proprietor87, Mr. James Ogilvie. Inthe lane behind the hotel the police discovered Cleary kicking at the head of the insensible Cumming. His fistswere bloodstained and bore tufts of Cumming's hair. When arrested Cleary was drunk but lucid88. He was chargedwith assault with intent to commit grievous bodily harm, but the charge was amended89 to murder after Cummingdied of brain injuries in the Goulburn District Hospital next day. Mr. Arthur Whyte, K.C., entered a plea of notguilty by reason of insanity91, but four medical witnesses for the Crown stated unequivocally that under theprovisions of the M'naghten rules Cleary could not be called insane. In addressing the jury,Mr. Justice FitzHugh-Cunneally told them there was no question of guilt90 or innocence92, the verdict was clearlyguilty, but he requested them to take time considering their recommendation for either clemency93 or severity, ashe would be guided by their opinion. When sentencing Cleary, Mr. Justice FitzHugh-Cunneally called his act"subhuman savagery," and regretted that the drunken unpremeditated nature of the crime precluded96 hanging, ashe regarded Cleary's hands as a weapon quite as deadly as a gun or knife. Cleary was sentenced to lifeimprisonment at hard labor82, the sentence to be served in Goulburn Gaol97, this institution being one designed forviolently disposed prisoners. Asked if he had anything so say, Cleary answered, "Just don't tell my mother."Paddy looked at the top of the page to see the date: December 6, 1925. "It happened over three years ago," hesaid helplessly. No one answered him or moved, for no one knew what to do; from the front of the house camethe gleeful laughter of the twins, their high voices raised in chatter98. was "Just-don't-tell my mother,"" said Feenumbly. "And no one did! Oh, God! My poor, poor Frank!"Paddy wiped the tears from his face with the back of his free hand, then squatted99 down in front of her, pattingher lap gently. "Fee dear, pack your things. We'll go to him."She half-rose before sinking back, her eyes in her small white face starred and glistening100 as if dead, pupils hugeand gold-filmed. "I can't go," she said without a hint of agony, yet making everyone feel that the agony wasthere. "It would kill him to see me. Oh, Paddy, it would kill him! I know him so well-his pride, his ambition, hisdetermination to be someone important. Let him bear the shame alone, it's what he wants. You read it. "Just don'ttell my mother." We've got to help him keep his secret. What good will it do him or us to see him?"Paddy was still weeping, but not for Frank; for the life which had gone from Fee's face, for the dying in hereyes. A Jonah, that's what the lad had always been; the bitter bringer of blight101, forever standing102 between Fee andhimself, the cause of her withdrawal103 from his heart and the hearts of his children. Every time it looked as if theremight be happiness in store for Fee, Frank took it away. But Paddy's love for her was as deep and impossible toeradicate as hers was for Frank; he could never use the lad as his whipping boy again, not after that night in thepresbytery. So he said, "Well, Fee, if you think it's better not to attempt to get in touch with him, we won't. YetI'd like to know he was all right, that whatever can be done for him is being done. How about if I write to Fatherde Bricassart and ask him to look out for Frank?"The eyes didn't liven, but a faint pink stole into her cheeks. "Yes, Paddy, do that. Only make sure he knows notto tell Frank we found out. Perhaps it would ease Frank to think for certain that we don't know."Within a few days Fee regained104 most of her energy, and her interest in redecorating the big house kept heroccupied. But her quietness became dour60 again, only less grim, encapsulated by an expressionless calm. Itseemed she cared more for how the big house would eventually look than she did for her family's welfare.
Perhaps she assumed they could look after themselves spiritually, and that Mrs. Smith and the maids were thereto look after them physically105.
Yet the discovery of Frank's plight106 had profoundly affected everyone. The older boys grieved deeply for theirmother, spent sleepless107 nights remembering her face at that awful moment. They loved her, and her cheerfulnessduring the previous few weeks had given them a glimpse of her which was never to leave them, and was toinspire them with a passionate108 desire to bring it back again. If their father had been the pivot109 upon which theirlives turned until then, from that moment their mother was put alongside him. They began to treat her with atender, absorbed care no amount of indifference110 on her part could banish111. From Paddy to Stu the Cleary malesconspired to make Fee's life whatever she wanted, and they demanded adherence112 to this end from everyone. Noone must ever harm her or hurt her again. And when Paddy presented her with the pearls she took them with abrief, expressionless word of thanks, no pleasure or interest in her perusal113; but everyone was thinking howdifferent her reaction would have been were it not for Frank. Had the move to the big house not occurred, poorMeggie would have suffered a great deal more than she did, for without admitting her into full, exclusively malemembership of the protect-Mum society (perhaps sensing that her participation114 was more grudging115 than theirs),her father and older brothers expected that Meggie should shoulder all the tasks Fee obviously found repugnant.
As it turned out, Mrs. Smith and the maids shared the burden with Meggie. Chiefly repugnant to Fee was the careof her two youngest sons, but Mrs. Smith assumed full charge of Jims and Patsy with such ardor116 Meggie couldn'tfeel sorry for her, instead in a way she felt glad that these two could at last belong entirely117 to the housekeeper118.
Meggie grieved for her mother, too, but by no means as wholeheartedly as the men, for her loyalties119 were sorelytried; the big vein21 of motherliness in her was deeply offended by Fee's mounting indifference to Jims and Patsy.
When I have my children, she would think to herself, I'm never going to love one of them more than the rest.
Living in the big house was certainly very different. At first it was strange to have a bedroom to oneself, and forthe women, not to have to worry about any sort of household duty, inside or outside. Minnie, Cat and Mrs. Smithamong them coped with everything from washing and ironing to cooking and cleaning, and were horrified121 byoffers of help. In return for plenty of food and a small wage, an endless procession of swaggies were temporarilyentered on the station books as rouseabouts, to chop the wood for the homestead fires, feed the fowls123 and pigs,do the milking, help old Tom take care of the lovely gardens, do all the heavy cleaning. Paddy had beencommunicating with Father Ralph. "The income from Mary's estate comes to roughly four million pounds a year,thanks to the fact that Michar Limited is a privately124 owned company with most of its assets sunk in steel, shipsand mining," wrote Father Ralph. "So what I've assigned to you is a mere125 drop in the Carson bucket, and doesn'teven amount to one-tenth of Drogheda station profits in a year. Don't worry about bad years, either. TheDrogheda station account is so heavily in the black I can pay you out of its interest forever, if necessary. So whatmoney comes to you is no more than you deserve, and doesn't dent5 Michar Limited. It's station money you'regetting, not company money. I require no more of you than to keep the station books up to date and honestlyentered for the auditors126."It was after he had this particular letter that Paddy held a conference in the beautiful drawing room on a nightwhen everyone was at home. He sat with his steel rimmed127 reading half-glasses perched on his Roman nose, in abig cream chair, his feet comfortably disposed on a matching ottoman, his pipe in a Waterford ashtray46.
"How nice this is." He smiled, looking around with pleasure. "I think we ought to give Mum a vote of thanksfor it, don't you, boys?" There were murmurs128 of assent129 from the "boys"; Fee inclined her head from where she satin what had been Mary Carson's wing chair, re-covered now in cream watered silk. Meggie curled her feetaround the ottoman she had chosen instead of a chair, and kept her eyes doggedly130 on the sock she was mending.
"Well, Father de Bricassart has sorted everything out and has been very generous," Paddy continued. "He's putseven thousand pounds in the bank in my name, and opened a savings131 account for everyone with two thousandpounds in each. I am to be paid four thousand pounds a year as the station manager, and Bob will be paid threethousand a year as the assistant manager. All the working boys-Jack, Hughie and Stu-would be paid twothousand a year, and the little boys are to get one thousand a year each until they're old enough to decide whatthey want to do.
"When the little boys are grown up, the estate will guarantee each of them a yearly income equal to a fullworking member of Drogheda, even if they don't want to work on Drogheda. When Jims and Patsy turn twelve,they'll be sent to Riverview College in Sydney to board and be educated at the expense of the estate.
"Mum is to have two thousand pounds a year for herself, and so is Meggie. The household account will be keptat five thousand pounds, though why Father thinks we need so much to run a house, I don't know. He says incase we want to make major alterations132. I have his instructions as to how much Mrs. Smith, Minnie, Cat andTom are to be paid, and I must say he's generous. Other wages I decide on myself. But my first decision asmanager is to put on at least six more stockmen, so Drogheda can be run as it should be. It's too much for ahandful." That was the most he ever said about his sister's management. No one had ever heard of having somuch money; they sat silent, trying to assimilate their good fortune.
"We'll never spend the half of it, Paddy," said Fee. "He hasn't left us anything to spend it on."Paddy looked at her gently. "I know, Mum. But isn't it nice to think we'll never have to worry about moneyagain?" He cleared his throat. "Now it seems to me that Mum and Meggie in particular are going to be at a bit ofa loose end," he went on. "I was never much good at figures, but Mum can add and subtract and divide andmultiply like an arithmetic teacher. So Mum is going to be the Drogheda bookkeeper, instead of Harry Gough'soffice. I never realized it, but Harry has employed one chap just to deal with Drogheda's accounts, and at themoment he's a man short, so he doesn't mind passing it back to us at all. In fact, he was the one who suggestedMum might make a good bookkeeper. He's going to send someone out from Gilly to teach you properly, Mum.
It's quite complicated, apparently133. You've got to balance the ledgers134, the cash books, the journals, recordeverything in the log book, and so on. Enough to keep you pretty busy, only it won't take the starch135 out of youthe way cooking and washing did, will it?"It was on the tip of Meggie's tongue to shout: What about me? I did just as much washing and cooking as Mum!
Fee was actually smiling, for the first time since the news about Frank. "I'll enjoy the job, Paddy, really I will. Itwill make me feel like a part of Drogheda.""Bob is going to teach you how to drive the new Rolls, because you're going to have to be the one to go intoGilly to the bank and see Harry. Besides, it will do you good to know you can drive anywhere you want withoutdepending on one of us being around. We're too isolated136 out here. I've always meant to teach you girls how todrive, but there's never been the time before. All right, Fee?""All right, Paddy," she said happily.
"Now, Meggie, we've got to deal with you."Meggie laid her sock and needle down, looked up at her father in a mixture of inquiry137 and resentment138, sure sheknew what he was going to say: her mother would be busy with the books, so it would be her job to supervise thehouse and its environs.
"I'd hate to see you turn into an idle, snobby139 miss like some of the graziers' daughters we know," Paddy saidwith a smile which robbed his words of any contempt. "So I'm going to put you to work at a full-time140 job, too,wee Meggie. You're going to look after the inside paddocks for us-Borehead, Creek, Carson, Winnemurra andNorth Tank. You're also going to look after the Home Paddock. You'll be responsible for the stock horses, whichones are working and which ones are being spelled. During musters141 and lambing we'll all pitch in together, ofcourse, but otherwise you'll manage on your own, I reckon. Jack can teach you to work the dogs and use a stockwhip. You're a terrible tomboy still, so I thought you might like to work in the paddocks more than lie around thehouse," he finished, smiling more broadly than ever. Resentment and discontent had flown out the window whilehe talked; he was once more Daddy, who loved her and thought of her. What had been the matter with her, todoubt him so? She was so ashamed of herself she felt like jabbing the big darning needle into her leg, but shewas too happy to contemplate142 self-infliction of pain for very long, and anyway, it was just an extravagant143 way ofexpressing her remorse144.
Her face shone. "Oh, Daddy, I'll love it!""What about me, Daddy?" asked Stuart.
"The girls don't need you around the house anymore, so you'll be out in the paddocks again, Stu.""All right, Daddy." He looked at Fee longingly146, but said nothing.
Fee and Meggie learned to drive the new Rolls Royce Mary Carson had taken delivery of a week before shedied, and Meggie learned to work the dogs while Fee learned to keep the books.
If it hadn't been for Father Ralph's continued absence, Meggie for one would have been absolutely happy. Thiswas what she had always longed to do: be out there in the paddocks astride a horse, doing stockman's work. Yetthe ache for Father Ralph was always there, too, the memory of his kiss something to be dreamed about,treasured, felt again a thousand times. However, memory wasn't a patch on reality; try as she would, the actualsensation couldn't be conjured147 up, only a shadow of it, like a thin sad cloud. When he wrote to tell them aboutFrank, her hopes that he would use this as a pretext148 to visit them were abruptly149 shattered. His description of thetrip to see Frank in Goulburn Gaol was carefully worded, stripped of the pain it had engendered150, giving no hintof Frank's steadily151 worsening psychosis. He had tried vainly to have Frank committed to Morisset asylum152 for thecriminally insane, but no one had listened. So he simply passed on an idealistic image of a Frank resigned topaying for his sins to society, and in a passage heavily underlined told Paddy Frank had no idea they knew whathad happened. It had come to his ears, he assured Frank, through Sydney newspapers, and he would make surethe family never knew. After being told this, Frank settled better, he said, and left it at that. Paddy talked ofselling Father Ralph's chestnut153 mare154. Meggie used the rangy black gelding she had ridden for pleasure as a stockhorse, for it was lighter-mouthed and nicer in nature than the moody155 mares or mean geldings in the yards. Stockhorses were intelligent, and rarely placid156. Even a total absence of stallions didn't make them very amiableanimals. "Oh, please, Daddy, I can ride the chestnut, too!" Meggie pleaded. "Think how awful it would be if afterall his kindnesses to us, Father should come back to visit and discover we had sold his horse!" Paddy stared ather thoughtfully. "Meggie, I don't think Father will come back.""But he might! You never know!"The eyes so like Fee's were too much for him; he couldn't bring himself to hurt her more than she was alreadyhurt, poor little thing. "All right then, Meggie, we'll keep the mare, but make sure you use both the mare and thegelding regularly, for I won't have a fat horse on Drogheda, do you hear?" Until then she hadn't liked to useFather Ralph's own mount, but after that she alternated to give both the animals in the stables a chance to workoff their oats.
It was just as well Mrs. Smith, Minnie and Cat doted on the twins, for with Meggie out in the paddocks and Feesitting for hours at her escritoire in the drawing room, the two little fellows had a wonderful time. They were intoeverything, but with such glee and constant good humor that no one could be angry with them for very long. Atnight in her little house Mrs. Smith, long converted to Catholicism, knelt to her prayers with such deepthankfulness in her heart she could scarcely contain it. Children of her own had never come to gladden her whenRob had been alive, and for years the big house had been childless, its occupants forbidden to mix with theinhabitants of the stockmen's houses down by the eek. Rut when the Clarrys came they were Mary Carson's kin,and there were children at last. Especially now, with Jims and Patsy permanent residents of the big house.
It had been a dry winter, and the summer rains didn't come. Knee-high and lush, the tawny157 grass dried out in thestark sun until even the inner core of each blade was crisp. To look across the paddocks required slitted eyes anda hat brim drawn far down on the forehead; the grass was mirror-silver, and little spiral whirlwinds sped busilyamong shimmering158 blue mirages159, trans-ferring dead leaves and fractured grass blades from one restless heap toanother.
Oh, but it was dry! Even the trees were dry, the bark falling from them in stiff, crunchy ribbons. No danger yetof the sheep starving-the grass would last another year at least, maybe more-but no one liked to see everything sodry. There was always a good chance the rain would not come next year, or the year after. In a good year theygot ten to fifteen inches, in a bad year less than five, perhaps close to none at all.
In spite of the heat and the flies, Meggie loved life out in the paddocks, walking the chestnut mare behind ableating mob of sheep while the dogs lay flat on the ground, tongues lolling, deceptively inattentive. Let onesheep bolt out of the tightly packed cluster and the nearest dog would be away, a streak161 of vengeance162, sharp teethhungering to nip into a hapless heel. Meggie rode ahead of her mob, a welcome relief after breathing their dustfor several miles, and opened the paddock gate. She waited patiently while the dogs, reveling in this chance toshow her what they could do, bit and goaded163 the sheep through. It was harder mustering164 and droving cattle, forthey kicked or charged, often killing165 an unwary dog; that was when the human herdsman had to be ready to dohis bit, use his whip, but the dogs loved the spice of danger working cattle. However, to drove cattle was notrequired of her; Paddy attended to that himself.
But the dogs never ceased to fascinate her; their intelligence was phenomenal. Most of the Drogheda dogs werekelpies, coated in rich brownish tan with creamy paws, chests and eyebrows167, but there were Queensland bluestoo, larger, with blue-grey coats dappled in black, and all varieties of crossbreds between kelpie and blue. Thebitches came in heat, were scientifically mated, increased and whelped; after weaning and growing, their pupswere tried out in the paddocks, and if good were kept or sold, if no good shot.
Whistling her dogs to heel, Meggie shut the gate on the mob and turned the chestnut mare toward home. Nearbywas a big stand of trees, stringybark and ironbark and black box, an occasional wilga on its outskirts168. She rodeinto its shade thankfully, and having now the leisure to look around, let her eyes roam in delight. The gums werefull of budgies, skawking and whistling their parodies169 of songbirds; finches wheeled from branch to branch; twosulphur-crested cockatoos sat with their heads to one side watching her progress with twinkling eyes; willywagtailsfossicked in the dirt for ants, their absurd rumps bobbing; crows carked eternally and mournfully. Theirswas the most obnoxious170 noise in the whole bush song repertoire171, so devoid172 of joy, desolate173 and somehow soul-chilling, speaking of rotting flesh, of carrion174 and blowflies. To think of a crow singing like a bellbird wasimpossible; cry and function fitted perfectly175. Of course there were flies everywhere; Meggie wore a veil over herhat, but her bare arms were constantly plagued, and the chestnut mare's tail never stopped swishing, its fleshnever stopped shivering and creeping for a second. It amazed Meggie that even through the thickness of hide andhair, a horse could feel something as delicate and airy as a fly. They drank sweat, which was why they tormentedhorses and humans so, but humans never let them do what sheep did, so they used the sheep for a more intimatepurpose, laying their eggs around the rump wool, or wherever the wool was damp and dirty. The air was full ofthe noise of bees, and alive with brilliant quick dragonflies seeking out the bore drains, alive with exquisitelycolored butterflies and day moths177. Her horse turned over a piece of rotting log with a hoof178; Meggie stared at itsunderside, her skin crawling. There were witchetty grubs, fat and white and loathsome179, wood lice and slugs,huge centipedes and spiders. From burrows180 rabbits hopped181 and skittled, flashed back inside with white powderpuffs up in the air, then turned to peer out, noses twitching183. Farther on an echidna broke off its quest after ants,panicked at her approach. Burrowing184 so fast that its strong clawed feet were hidden in seconds, it began todisappear under a huge log. Its antics as it dug were amusing, the cruel spines186 lying flat all over its body tostreamline its entry into the ground, earth flying in heaps. She came out of the timber on the main track to thehomestead. A sheet of dappled grey occupied its dust, galahs picking for insects or grubs, but as they heard hercoming they took to the air en masse. It was like being inundated187 by a magenta-pink wave; breasts andunderwings soared above her head, the grey turned magically to rich pink. If I had to leave Drogheda tomorrow,she thought, never again to come back, in my dreams I'd live Drogheda in a wash of pink galahundersides .... It must be getting very dry farther out; the kangas are coming in, more and more of them .... Agreat mob of kangaroos, maybe two thousand strong, was startled out of its placid grazing by the galahs and tookoff into the distance in long, graceful188 leaps which swallowed the leagues faster than any other animal save theemu. Horses couldn't keep up with them.
In between these delightful189 bouts122 of nature-studying she thought of Ralph, as always. Privately Meggie hadnever catalogued what she felt for him as a schoolgirl crush, simply called it love, as they did in books. Hersymptoms and feelings were no different from those of an Ethel M. Dell heroine. Nor did it seem fair that abarrier as artificial as his priesthood could stand between her and what she wanted of him, which was to havehim as her husband. To live with him as Daddy did with Mum, in such harmony he would adore her the wayDaddy did Mum. It had never seemed to Meggie that her mother did very much to earn her father's adoration190, yetworship her he did. So Ralph would soon see that to live with her was far better than living on his own; for it hadnot dawned upon her that Ralph's priesthood was something he could not abandon under any circumstances. Yes,she knew it was forbidden to have a priest as husband or lover, but she had got into the habit of getting around itby stripping Ralph of his religious office. Her formal education in Catholicism had never advanced todiscussions of the nature of priestly vows191, and she was not herself in need of religion, so didn't pursue itvoluntarily. Obtaining no satisfaction from praying, Meggie obeyed the laws of the Church simply because not todo so meant burning in Hell throughout eternity193. In her present daydream194 she rambled195 through the bliss196 of livingwith him and sleeping with him, as Daddy did with Mum. Then the thought of his nearness excited her, made hershift in the saddle restlessly; she translated it into a deluge197 of kisses, having no other criterion. Riding thepaddocks hadn't advanced her sexual education at all, for the mere sniff198 of a dog in the far distance drove alldesire to mate out of any animal's mind, and as on all stations, indiscriminate mating was not allowed. When therams were sent among the ewes of a particular paddock, Meggie was dispatched elsewhere, and the sight of onedog humping another was simply the signal to flick24 the pair with her whip, stop their "playing."Perhaps no human being is equipped to judge which is worse: inchoate199 longing145 with its attendant restlessnessand irritability200, or specific desire with its willful drive to achieve the desire. Poor Meggie longed, quite what forshe didn't know, but the basic pull was there, and it dragged her inexorably in the direction of Ralph deBricassart. So she dreamed of him, yearned201 for him, wanted him; and mourned, that in spite of his declared lovefor her she meant so little to him that he never came to see her. Into the middle of her thoughts rode Paddy,heading for the homestead on the same course as she was; smiling, she reined202 in the chestnut mare and waited forhim to catch up.
"What a nice surprise," said Paddy, walking his old roan beside his daughter's middle-aged203 mare.
"Yes, it is," she said. "Is it dry farther out?""A bit worse than this, I think. Lord, I've never seen so many kangas! It must be bone dry out Milparinka way.
Martin King was talking of a big shoot, but I don't see how an army of machine guns could reduce the number ofkangas by enough to see the difference."He was so nice, so thoughtful and forgiving and loving; and it was rarely that she ever had the chance to be withhim without at least one of the boys in attendance. Before she could change her mind, Meggie asked the doubtingquestion, the one which gnawed204 and preyed205 in spite of all her internal reassurances207.
"Daddy, why doesn't Father de Bricassart ever come to see us?" "He's busy, Meggie," Paddy answered, but hisvoice had become wary166. "But even priests have holidays, don't they? He used to love Drogheda so, I'm sure he'dwant to spend his holidays here.?-" "In one way priests have holidays, Meggie, but in another way they're neveroff duty. For instance, every day of their lives they have to say Mass, even if quite alone. I think Father deBricassart is a very wise man, and knows that it's never possible to go back to a way of life that's gone. For him,wee Meggie, Drogheda's a bit of the past. If he came back, it wouldn't give him the same sort of pleasure it usedto.""You mean he's forgotten us," she said dully. "No, not really. If he had, he wouldn't write so often, or demandnews about each of us." He turned in his saddle, his blue eyes pitying. "I think it's best that he doesn't ever comeback, so I don't encourage him to think of it by inviting50 him.""Daddy!"Paddy plunged208 into muddy waters doggedly. "Look, Meggie, it's wrong for you to dream about a priest, and it'stime you understood that. You've kept your secret pretty well, I don't think anyone else knows how you feelabout him, but it's to me your questions come, isn't it? Not many, but enough. Now take it from me, you've got tostop, hear it? Father de Bricassart took holy vows I know he has absolutely no intention of breaking, and you'vemistaken his fondness for you. He was a grown man when he met you, and you were a little girl. Well, that's howhe thinks of you, Meggie, to this very day."She didn't answer, nor did her face change. Yes, he thought, she's Fee's daughter, all right.
After a while she said tautly209, "But he could stop being a priest. It's just that I haven't had a chance to talk to himabout it."The shock on Paddy's face was too genuine not to believe it, so Meggie found it more convincing than hiswords, vehement210 though they were. "Meggie! Oh, good God, that's the worst of this bush existence! You oughtto be in school, my girl, and if Auntie Mary had died sooner I would have packed you off to Sydney in time toget at least a couple of years under your belt. But you're too old, aren't you? I wouldn't have them laugh at you atyour age, poor wee Meggie." He continued more gently, spacing his words to give them a sharp, lucid cruelty,though it was not his intention to be cruel, only to dispel211 illusions once and for all. "Father de Bricassart is apriest, Meggie. He can never, never stop being a priest, understand that. The vows he took are sacred, too solemnto break. Once a man is a priest there can be no turning away, and his supervisors212 in the seminary makeabsolutely sure that he knows what he's swearing before he does. A man who takes those vows knows beyondany doubt that once taken they can't be broken, ever. Father de Bricassart took them, and he'll never break them."He sighed. "Now you know, Meggie, don't you? From this moment you have no excuse to daydream aboutFather de Bricassart."They had come in from the front of the homestead, so the stables were closer than the stockyards; without aword, Meggie turned the chestnut mare toward the stables, and left her father to continue alone. For a while hekept turning around to look after her, but when she had disappeared inside the fence around the stables he dug hisroan in the ribs213 and finished his ride at a canter, hating himself and the necessity of saying what he had. Damnthe man-woman thing! It seemed to have a set of rules at variance214 with all others.
Father Ralph de Bricassart's voice was very cold, yet it was warmer than his eyes, which never veered215 from theyoung priest's pallid216 face as he spoke218 his stiff, measured words.
"You have not conducted yourself as Our Lord Jesus Christ demands His priests conduct themselves. I thinkyou know it better than we who censure219 you could ever know it, but I must still censure you on behalf of yourArchbishop, who stands to you not only as a fellow priest but as your superior. You owe him perfect obedience,and it is not your place to argue with his sentiments or his decisions.
"Do you really understand the disgrace you've brought on yourself, on your parish, and especially on theChurch you purport221 to love more than any human being? Your vow192 of cha/y was as solemn and binding222 as yourother vows, and to break it is to sin grievously. You will never see the woman again, of course, but it behoovesus to assist you in your struggles to overcome temptation. Therefore we have arranged that you leaveimmediately for duty in the parish of Darwin, in the Northern Territory. You will proceed to Brisbane tonight onthe express train, and from there you will proceed, again by train, to Longreach. In Longreach you will board aQANTAS plane for Darwin. Your belongings223 are being packed at this moment and will be on the express beforeit departs, so there is no need for you to return to your present parish.
"Now go to the chapel224 with Father John and pray. You will remain in the chapel until it is time to join the train.
For your comfort and consolation225, Father John will travel with you to Darwin. You are dismissed." They werewise and aware, the priests in administration; they would permit the sinner no opportunity to have further contactwith the young girl he had taken as his mistress. It had become the scandal of his present parish, and veryembarrassing. As for the girl--let her wait, and watch, and wonder. From now until he arrived in Darwin hewould be watched by the excellent Father John, who had his orders, then after that every letter he sent fromDarwin would be opened, and he would not be allowed to make any long-distance phone calls. She would neverknow where he had gone, and he would never be able to tell her. Nor would he be given any chance to take upwith another girl. Dar-win was a frontier town; women were almost nonexistent. His vows were absolute, hecould never be released from them; if he was too weak to police himself, the Church must do it for him.
After he had watched the young priest and his appointed watchdog go from the room, Father Ralph got up fromhis desk and walked through to an inner chamber226. Archbishop Cluny Dark was sitting in his customary chair, andat right angles to him another man in purple sash and skullcap sat quietly. The Archbishop was a big man, with ashock of beautiful white hair and intensely blue eyes; he was a vital sort of fellow, with a keen sense of humorand a great love of the table. His visitor was quite the antithesis227; small and thin, a few sparse228 strands229 of black hairaround his skullcap and beneath them an angular, ascetic230 face, a sallow skin with a heavy beard shadow, andlarge dark eyes. In age he might have been anywhere between thirty and fifty, but in actual fact he was thirty-nine, three years older than Father Ralph de Bricassart.
"Sit down, Father, have a cup of tea," said the Arch-bishop220 heartily231. "I was beginning to think we'd have tosend for a fresh pot. Did you dismiss the young man with a suitable admonition to mend his conduct?""Yes, Your Grace," said Father Ralph briefly232, and seated himself in the third chair around the tea table, loadedwith wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches, pink and white iced fairy cakes, hot buttered scones233 with crystal dishes ofjam and whipped cream, a silver tea service and Aynsley china cups washed with a delicate coating of gold leaf.
"Such incidents are regrettable, my dear Archbishop, but even we who are ordained235 the priests of Our DearLord are weak, all-too-human creatures. I find it in my heart to pity him deeply, and I shall pray tonight that hefinds more strength in the future," the visitor said. His accent was distinctly foreign, his voice soft, with a hint ofsibilance in its so's. By nationality he was Italian, by title he was His Grace the Archbishop Papal Legate to theAustralian Catholic Church, and by name he was Vittorio Scarbanza di Contini-Verchese. His was the delicaterole of providing a link between the Australian hierarchy236 and the Vatican nerve center; which meant he was themost important priest in this section of the world.
Before. being given this appointment he had of course hoped for the United States of America, but on thinkingabout it he decided237 Australia would do very nicely. If in population though not in area it was a much smallercountry, it was also far more Catholic. Unlike the rest of the English-speaking world, it was no social comedownin Australia to be Catholic, no handicap to an aspiring238 politician or businessman or judge. And it was a richcountry, it supported the Church well. No need to fear he would be forgotten by Rome while he was in Australia.
The Archbishop Papal Legate was also a very subtle man, and his eyes over the gold rim95 of his teacup were fixednot on Archbishop Cluny Dark but on FatherRalph de Bricassart, soon to become his own secretary. That Archbishop Dark liked the priest enormously wasa well-known fact, but the Archbishop Papal Legate was wondering how well he was going to like such a man.
They were all so big, these Irish-Australian priests, they towered far above him; he was so weary of foreverhaving to tilt42 his head up to see their faces. Father de Bricassart's manner to his present master was perfect: light,easy, respectful but man-to-man, full of humor. How would he adjust to working for a far different master? Itwas customary to appoint the Legatal secretary from the ranks of the Italian Church, but Father Ralph deBricassart held great interest for the Vatican. Not only did he have the curious distinction of being personallyrich (contrary to popular opinion, his superiors were not empowered to take his money from him, and he had notvolunteered to hand it over), but he had single-handedly brought a great fortune into the Church. So the Vaticanhad decided that the Archbishop Papal Legate was to take Father de Bricassart as his secretary, to study theyoung man and find out exactly what he was like.
One day the Holy Father would have to reward the Australian Church with a cardinal239's biretta, but it would notbe yet. Therefore it was up to him to study priests in Father de Bricassart's age group, and of these Father deBricassart was clearly the leading candidate. So be it. Let Father de Bricassart try his mettle240 against an Italian fora while. It might be interesting. But why couldn't the man have been just a little smaller? As he sipped241 his teagratefully Father Ralph was unusually quiet. The Archbishop Papal Legate noticed that he ate a small sandwichtriangle and eschewed242 the other delicacies243, but drank four cups of tea thirstily, adding neither sugar nor milk.
Well, that was what his report said; in his personal living habits the priest was remarkably244 abstemious245, his onlyweakness being a good (and very fast) car.
"Your name is French, Father," said the Archbishop Papal Legate softly, "but I understand you are an Irishman.
How comes this phenomenon? Was your family French, then?"Father Ralph shook his head, smiling. "It's a Norman name, Your Grace, very old and honorable. I am a directdescendant of one Ranulf de Bricassart, who was a baron246 in the court of William the Conqueror247. In 1066 hecame to invade England with William, and one of his sons took English land. The family prospered248 under theNorman kings of England, and later on some of them crossed the Irish Sea during the time of Henry the Fourth,and settled within the Pale. When Henry the Eighth removed the English Church from Rome's authority we keptthe faith of William, which meant we felt we owed our first allegiance to Rome, not to London. But whenCromwell set up the Commonwealth249 we lost our lands and titles, and they were never restored to us. Charles hadEnglish favorites to reward with Irish land. It is not causeless, you know, the Irish hatred250 of the English.
"However, we descended251 to relative obscurity, still loyal to the Church, and to Rome. My older brother has asuccessful stud farm in County Meath, and hopes to breed a Derby or a Grand National winner. I am the secondson, and it has always been a family tradition that the second son embrace the Church if he feels the wish for it.
I'm very proud of my name and my lineage, you know. For fifteen hundred years there have been de Bricassarts."Ah, that was good! An old, aristocratic name and a perfect record of keeping the faith through emigrations andpersecutions. "And the Ralph?""A constriction252 of Ranulf, Your Grace.""I see.""I'm going to miss you greatly, Father," said Archbishop Cluny Dark, piling jam and whipped cream on half a scone234 and popping it whole into his mouth.
Father Ralph laughed at him. "You place me in a dilemma253, Your Grace! Here I am seated between my oldmaster and my new, and if I answer to please one, I must displease254 the other. But may I say I shall miss YourGrace, while looking forward to serving Your Grace?"It was well said, a diplomat255's answer. Archbishop di Contini-Verchese began to think he might do well withsuch a secretary. But too good-looking by far, with those fine features, the striking coloring, the magnificentbody. Father Ralph lapsed12 back into silence, staring at the tea table without seeing it. He was seeing the youngpriest he had just disciplined, the look in those already tormented176 eyes as he realized they were not even going tolet him say goodbye to his girl. Dear God, what if it had been him, and the girl Meggie? One could get away withit for a while if one was discreet256; forever if one limited women to the yearly vacation away from the parish. Butlet a serious devotion to one woman enter the picture and they would inevitably257 find out.
There were times when only kneeling on the marble floor of the palace chapel until he was stiff with physicalpain prevented him from catching258 the next train back to Gilly and Drogheda. He had told himself that he wassimply the victim of loneliness, that he missed the human affection he had known on Drogheda. He told himselfnothing had changed when he yielded to a passing weakness and kissed Meggie back; that his love for her wasstill located in realms of fancy and delight, that it had not passed into a different world which had a distracting,disturbing wholeness to it the earlier dreams had not. For he couldn't admit anything had changed, and he keptMeggie in his mind as a little girl, shutting out any visions which might contradict this.
He had been wrong. The pain didn't fade. It seemed to grow worse, and in a colder, uglier way. Before, hisloneliness had been an impersonal259 thing, he had never been able to say to himself that the presence in his life ofany one being could remedy it. But now loneliness had a name: Meggie. Meggie, Meggie, Meggie . . .
He came out of his reverie to find Archbishop di Contini-Verchese staring at him unwinkingly, and those largedark eyes were far more dangerously omniscient260 than the round vivid orbs261 of his present master. Far toointelligent to pretend there was nothing causing his brown study, Father Ralph gave his master-to-be aspenetrating a look as he was receiving, then smiled faintly and shrugged262 his shoulders, as if to say: Every manhas sadness in him, and it is no sin to remember a grief. "Tell me, Father, has the sudden slump263 in economicaffairs affected your charge?" the Italian prelate asked smoothly264.
"So far we have nothing to worry about, Your Grace. Michar Limited isn't easily affected by auctuations in themarket. I should imagine those whose fortunes are less carefully invested than Mrs. Carson's are the ones whostand to lose the most. Of course the station Drogheda won't do as well; the price of wool is falling. However,Mrs. Carson was too clever to sink her money into rural pursuits; she preferred the solidity of metal. Though tomy mind this is an excellent time to buy land, not only stations in the country but houses and buildings in themajor cities. Prices are ridiculously low, but they can't remain low forever. I don't see how we can lose on realestate in years to come if we buy now. The Depression will be over one day." "Quite," said the Archbishop PapalLegate. So not only was Father de Bricassart something of a diplomat, he was also something of a businessmanas well! Truly Rome had better keep her eye upon him.
But it was 1930, and Drogheda knew all about the Depression. Men were out of work all over Australia. Thosewho could stopped paying rent and tying them-selves down to the futility265 of looking for work when there wasnone. Left to fend120 alone, wives and children lived in humpies on municipal land and queued for the dole266; fathersand husbands had gone tramping. A man stowed his few essentials inside his blanket, tied it with thongs268 andslung it across his back before setting out on the track, hoping at least for handouts269 of food from the stations hecrossed, if not employment. Humping a bluey through the Outback beat sleeping in the Sydney Domain270.
The price of food was low, and Paddy stocked the Drogheda pantries and storehouses to overflowing271. A mancould always be sure of having his tuckerbag filled when he arrived on Drogheda. The strange thing was that theparade of drifters constantly changed; once full of a good hot meal and loaded with provisions for the track, theymade no attempt to remain, but wandered on in search of only they knew what. Not every place was ashospitable or generous as Drogheda by any means, which only added to the puzzle of why men on the trackseemed not to want to stay. Perhaps the weariness and the purposelessness of having no home, no place to go,made them continue to drift. Most managed to live, some died and if found were buried before the crows andpigs picked their bones clean. The Outback was a huge place, and lonely.
But Stuart was permanently272 in residence again, and the shotgun was never far from the cookhouse door. Goodstockmen were easy to come by, and Paddy had nine single men on his books in the old jackaroo barracks, soStuart could be spared from the paddocks. Fee stopped keeping cash lying about, and had Stuart make acamouflaged cupboard for the safe behind the chapel altar. Few of the swaggies were bad men. Bad menpreferred to stay in the cities and the big country towns, for life on the track was too pure, too lonely and scant273 ofpickings for bad men. Yet no one blamed Paddy for not wanting to take chances with his women; Drogheda wasa very famous name, and might conceivably attract what few undesirables274 there were on the track. That winterbrought bad storms, some dry, some wet, and the following spring and summer brought rain so heavy thatDrogheda grass grew lusher and longer than ever.
Jims and Patsy were plowing275 through their correspondence lessons at Mrs. Smith's kitchen table, and chatterednow of what it would be like when it was time to go to Riverview, their boarding school. But Mrs. Smith wouldgrow so sharp and sour at such talk that they learned not to speak of leaving Drogheda when she was withinhearing distance.
The dry weather came back; the thigh-high grass dried out completely and baked to a silver crisp in a rainlesssummer. Inured276 by ten years . of the black-soil plains to the hey-ho, up we go, hey-ho, down we go oscillationsof drought and flood, the men shrugged and went about each day as if it were the only one that could ever matter.
This was true; the main business was essentially277 to survive between one good year and the next, whenever itmight be. No one could predict the rain. There was a man in Brisbane called Inigo Jones who wasn't bad at long-range weather predictions, using a novel concept of sun spot activity, but out on the black-soil plains no one putmuch credence278 in what he had to say. Let Sydney and Melbourne brides petition him for forecasts; the black-soilplainsmen would stick with that old sensation in their bones. In the winter of 1932 the dry storms came back,along with bitter cold, but the lush grass kept dust to a minimum and the flies weren't as numerous as usual. Noconsolation to the freshly shorn sheep, which shivered miserably279. Mrs. Dominic O'Rourke, who lived in awooden house of no particular distinction, adored to entertain visitors from Sydney; one of the highlights of hertour program was paying a call at Drogheda homestead, to show her visitors that even out on the black-soilplains some people lived graciously. And the subject would always turn to those skinny, drowned-ratlookingsheep, left to face the winter minus the five-and six-inch-long fleeces they would have grown by the timesummer heat arrived. But, as Paddy said gravely to one such visitor, it made for better wool. The wool was thething, not the sheep. Not long after he made that statement a letter appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald,demanding prompt parliamentary legislation to end what it called "grazier cruelty." Poor Mrs. O'Rourke washorrified, but Paddy laughed until his sides ached.
"Just as well the silly bloke never saw a shearer280 rip up a sheep's belly281 and sew it with a baling needle," hecomforted the embarrassed Mrs. O'Rourke. "It's not worth getting upset about, Mrs. Dominic. Down in the citythey don't know how the other half lives, and they can afford the luxury of doting282 on their animals as if they werechildren. Out here it's different. You'll never see man, woman or child in need of help go ignored out here, yet inthe city those same people who dote on their pets will completely ignore a cry of help from a human being."Fee looked up. "He's right, Mrs. Dominic," she said. "We all have contempt for whatever there's too many of.
Out here it's sheep, but in the city it's people."Only Paddy was far afield that day in August when the big storm broke. He got down from his horse, tied theanimal securely to a tree and sat beneath a wilga to wait it out. Shivering in fear, his five dogs huddled283 togethernear him, while the sheep he had been intending to transfer to another paddock scattered284 into jumpy little groupstrotting aimlessly in all directions. And it was a terrible storm, reserving the worst of its fury until the center ofthe maelstrom285 was directly overhead. Paddy stuffed his fingers in his ears, shut his eyes and prayed.
Not far from where he sat with the down-dropping wilga leaves clashing restlessly in the rising wind was asmall collection of dead stumps286 and logs surrounded by tall grass. In the middle of the white, skeletal heap wasone massive dead gum, its bare body soaring forty feet toward the night-black clouds, spindling at its top into asharp, jagged point. A blossoming blue fire so bright it seared his eyes through their closed lids made Paddyjump to his feet, only to be thrown down like a toy in the heave of a huge explosion. He lifted his face from theearth to see the final glory of the lightning bolt playing shimmering halos of glaring blue and purple all up anddown the dead spear of gum tree; then, so quickly he hardly had time to understand what was happening,everything caught fire. The last drop of moisture had long since evaporated from the tissues of that decayedcluster, and the grass everywhere was long and dry as paper. Like some defiant288 answer of the earth to the sky,the giant tree shot a pillar of flame far beyond its tip, the logs and stumps around it went up at the same moment,and in a circle from around the center great sheets of fire swept in the swirling289 wind, round and round and round.
Paddy had not even time to reach his horse.
The parched290 wilga caught and the gum resin291 at its tender heart exploded outward. There were solid walls of firein every direction Paddy looked; the trees were burning fiercely and the grass beneath his feet was roaring intoflames. He could hear his horse screaming and his heart went out to it; he could not leave the poor beast to dietied up and helpless. A dog howled, its howl changing to a shriek292 of agony almost human. For a moment it flaredand danced, a living torch, then subsided294 into the blazing grass. More howls as the other dogs, fleeing, wereenveloped by the racing295 fire, faster in the gale296 than anything on foot or wing. A streaming meteor scorched297 hishair as he stood for a millisecond debating which way was the best to get to his horse; he looked down to see agreat cockatoo roasting at his feet. Suddenly Paddy knew this was the end. There was no way out of the infernofor himself or his horse. Even as he thought it, a desiccated stringybark behind him shot flames in everydirection; the gum in it exploding. The skin on Paddy's arm shriveled and blackened, the hair of his head dimmedat last by something brighter. To die so is indescribable; for fire works its way from outside to in. The last thingsthat go, finally cooked to the point of nonfunction, are brain and heart. His clothes on fire, Paddy caperedscreaming and screaming through the holocaust298. And every awful cry was his wife's name.
All the other men made it back to Drogheda homestead ahead of the storm, turned their mounts into thestockyard and headed for either the big house or the jackaroo barracks. In Fee's brightly lit drawing room with alog fire roaring in the cream-and-pink marble fireplace the Cleary boys sat listening to the storm, not temptedthese days to go outside and watch it. The beautiful pungent299 smell of burning eucalyptus300 wood in the grate andthe heaped cakes and sandwiches on the afternoon tea trolley301 were too alluring302. No one expected Paddy to makeit in.
About four o'clock the clouds rolled away to the east, and everyone unconsciously breathed easier; somehow itwas impossible to relax during a dry storm, even though every building on Drogheda was equipped with alightning conductor. Jack and Bob got up and went outside to get a little fresh air, they said, but in reality torelease pent breath. "Look!" said Bob, pointing westward303.
Above the trees that ringed the Home Paddock round, a great bronze pall217 of smoke was growing, its marginstorn to tattered304 streamers in the high wind. "God Jesus!" Jack cried, running inside to the telephone. "Fire, fire!"he shouted into the receiver, while those still inside the room turned to gape305 at him, then ran outside to see. "Fireon Drogheda, and a big one!" Then he hung up; it was all he needed to say to the Gilly switch and to those alongthe line who habitually306 picked up when the first tinkle307 came. Though there had not been a big fire in the Gillydistrict since the Clearys had come to Drogheda, everyone knew the routine. The boys scattered to get horses,and the stockmen were piling out of the jackaroo barracks, while Mrs. Smith unlocked one of the storehousesand doled308 out hessian bags by the dozen. The smoke was in the west and the wind was blowing from thatdirection, which meant the fire would be heading for the homestead. Fee took off her long skirt and put on a pairof Paddy's pants, then ran with Meggie for the stables; every pair of hands capable of holding a bag would beneeded.
In the cookhouse Mrs. Smith stoked up the range firebox and the maids began bringing down huge pots fromtheir ceiling hooks. "Just as well we killed a steer309 yesterday," said the housekeeper. "Minnie, here's the key to theliquor storehouse. You and Cat fetch all the beer and rum we've got, then start making damper bread while Icarry on with the stew310. And hurry, hurry!"The horses, unsettled by the storm, had smelled smoke and were hard to saddle; Fee and Meggie backed the twotrampling, restive311 thoroughbreds outside the stable into the yard to tackle them better. As Meggie wrestled312 withthe chestnut mare two swaggies came pounding down the track from the Gilly road.
"Fire, Missus, fire! Got a couple of spare horses? Give us a few bags." "Down that way to the stockyards. DearGod, I hope none of you are caught out there!" said Meggie, who didn't know where her father was. The two mengrabbed hessian bags and water bags from Mrs. Smith; Bob and the men had been gone five minutes. The twoswaggies followed, and last to leave, Fee and Meggie rode at a gallop313 down to the creek, across it and awaytoward the smoke.
Behind them Tom, the garden rouseabout, finished filling the big water truck from the bore-drain pump, thenstarted the engine. Not that any amount of water short of a downpour from the sky would help put out a fire thisbig, but he would be needed to keep the bags damp, and the people wielding314 them. As he shoved the truck downinto bottom gear to grind up the far creek bank he looked back for a moment at the empty head stockman'shouse, the two vacant houses beyond it; there was the homestead's soft underbelly, the only place whereflammable things came close enough to the trees on the far side of the creek to catch. Old Tom looked westward,shook his head in sudden decision, and managed to get the truck back across the creek and up the near bank inreverse. They'd never stop that fire out in the paddocks; they'd return. On top of the gully and just beside thehead stockman's house, in which he had been camping, he attached the hose to the tank and began saturating315 thebuilding, then passed beyond it to the two smaller dwellings317, hosed them down. This was where he could helpthe most; keep those three homes so wet they'd never catch.
As Meggie rode beside Fee the ominous318 cloud in the west grew, and stronger and stronger on the wind came thesmell of burning. It was growing dark; creatures fleeing from the west came thicker and thicker across thepaddock, kangaroos and wild pigs, frightened sheep and cattle, emus and goannas, rabbits by the thousands. Bobwas leaving the gates open, she noticed as she rode from Borehead into Billa-Billa; every paddock on Droghedahad a name. But sheep were so stupid they would blunder into a fence and stop three feet from an open gate,never see it. The fire had gone ten miles when they reached it, and it was spreading laterally319 as well, along afront expanding with every second. As the long dry grass and the high wind took it leaping from timber stand totimber stand they sat their frightened, jobbing horses and looked into the west helplessly. No use trying to stop ithere; an army couldn't stop it here. They would have to go back to the homestead and defend that if they could.
Already the front was five miles wide; if they didn't push their weary mounts they too would be caught, andpassed. Too bad for the sheep, too bad. But it couldn't be helped.
Old Tom was still hosing the houses by the creek when they clattered320 through the thin blanket of water on theford.
"Good bloke, Tom!" Bob shouted. "Keep it up until it gets too hot to stay, then get out in plenty of time, hearme? No rash heroism321; you're more important than some bits of wood and glass."The homestead grounds were full of cars, and more headlights were bouncing and glaring down the road fromGilly; a large group of men stood waiting for them as Bob turned into the horse yards.
"How big is it, Bob?" Martin King asked.
"Too big to fight, I think," said Bob despairingly. "I reckon it's about five miles wide and in this wind it'straveling almost as fast as a horse can gallop. I don't know if we can save the homestead, but I think Horry oughtto get ready to defend his place. He's going to get it next, because I don't see how we can ever stop it. "Well,we're overdue322 for a big fire. The last big one was in 1919. I'll organize a party to go to Beel-Beel, but there areplenty of us and more coming. Gilly can put out close to five hundred men to fight a fire. Some of us will stayhere to help. Thank God I'm west of Drogheda is all I can say." Bob grinned. "You're a bloody323 comfort, Martin."Martin looked around. "Where's your father, Bob?" "West of the fire, like Bugela. He was out in Wilgamustering some ewes for the lambing, and Wilga's at least five miles west of where the fire started, I reckon.""No other men you're worried about?""Not today, thank heavens."In a way it was like being in a war, Meggie thought as she entered the house: a controlled speed, a concern forfood and drink, the keeping up of one's strength and courage. And the threat of imminent324 disaster. As more menarrived they went to join those already in the Home Paddock, cutting down the few trees that had sprung up closeto the creek bank, and clearing away any overlong grass on the perimeter325. Meggie remembered thinking whenshe first arrived on Drogheda how much prettier the Home Paddock might have been, for compared to the wealthof timber all around it, it was bare and bleak326. Now she understood why. The Home Paddock was nothing lessthan a gigantic circular firebreak.
Everyone talked of the fires Gilly had seen in its seventy-odd years of existence. Curiously327 enough, fires werenever a major threat during prolonged drought, because there wasn't sufficient grass then to keep a fire going far.
It was times like this, a year or two after heavy rain had made the grass grow so long and tinderlush, that Gillysaw its big fires, the ones which sometimes burned out of control for hundreds of miles. Martin King had takencharge of the three hundred men remaining to defend Drogheda. He was the senior grazier of the district, and hadfought fires for fifty years. "I've got 150,000 acres on Bugela," he said, "and in 1905 I lost every sheep and everytree on the place. It took me fifteen years to recover, and I thought for a while I wouldn't, because wool wasn'tfetching much in those days, nor was beef."The wind was still howling, the smell of burning was everywhere. Night had fallen, but the western sky was litto unholy brilliance328 and lowering smoke was beginning to make them cough. Not long afterward329 they saw thefirst flames, vast tongues leaping and writhing330 a hundred feet into the smoke, and a roaring came to their earslike a huge crowd overexcited at a football game. The trees on the western side of the timber ringing the HomePaddock caught and went up in a solid sheet of fire; as Meggie watched petrified331 from the homestead verandashe could see little pygmy silhouettes333 of men outlined against them, jumping and cavorting334 like anguished335 soulsin Hell. "Meggie, will you get in here and stack those plates on the sideboard, girl! We're not at a picnic, youknow!" came her mother's voice. She turned away reluctantly.
Two hours later the first relay of exhausted336 men staggered in to snatch food and drink, gather up their waningstrength to go back and fight on. For this had the station women toiled337, to make sure there was stew and damperbread, tea and rum and beer aplenty, even for three hundred men. In a fire, everyone did what he or she was bestequipped to do, and that meant the women cooked to keep up the superior physical strength of the men. Caseafter case of liquor emptied and was replaced by new cases; black from soot338 and reeling with fatigue339, the menstood to drink copiously340 and stuff huge chunks341 of damper into their mouths, gobble down a plateful of stewwhen it had cooled, gulp342 a last tumbler of rum, then out again to the fire.
In between trips to the cookhouse Meggie watched the fire, awed185 and terrified. In its way it had a beautybeyond the beauty of anything earthly, for it was a thing of the skies, of suns so far away their light came coldly,of God and the Devil. The front had galloped343 on eastward344, they were completely surrounded now, and Meggiecould pick out details the undefined holocaust of the front did not permit. Now there were black and orange andred and white and yellow; a tall tree in black silhouette332 rimmed with an orange crust that simmered andglowered; red embers floating and pirouetting like frolicsome345 phantoms346 in the air above; yellow pulsations fromthe exhausted hearts of burned-out trees; a shower of spinning crimson347 sparks as a gum exploded; sudden licksof orange-and-white flames from something that had resisted until now, and finally yielded its being to the fire.
Oh, yes, it was beautiful in the night; she would carry the memory of it all her life. A sudden increase in the windvelocity sent all the women up the wistaria boughs348 onto the silver iron roof muffled349 in bags, for all the men wereout in the Home Paddock. Armed with wet bags, their hands and knees scorched even through the bags theywore, they beat out embers on the frying roof, terrified the iron might give way under the coals, drop flamingpieces down into the wooden struts350 below. But the worst of the fire was ten miles eastward on Beel-Beel.
Drogheda homestead was only three miles from the eastern boundary of the property, it being closest to Gilly.
Beel-Beel adjoined it, and beyond that farther east lay Narrengang. When the wind picked up from forty to sixtymiles an hour the whole district knew nothing but rain could prevent the fire burning on for weeks, and layingwaste to hundreds of square miles of prime land.
Through the worst of the blaze the houses by the creek had endured, with Tom like a man possessed filling histank truck, hosing, filling again, hosing again. But the moment the wind increased the houses went up, and Tomretreated in the truck, weeping.
"You'd better get down on your knees and thank God the wind didn't pick up while the front was to the west ofus," said Martin King. "If it had, not only would the homestead have gone, but us as well. God Jesus, I hopethey're all right on Beel-Beel!"Fee handed him a big glass of neat rum; he was not a young man, but he had fought as long as it was needed,and directed operations with a master's touch.
"It's silly," she said to him, "but when it looked as if it all might go I kept thinking of the most peculiar351 things. Ididn't think of dying, or of the children, or of this beautiful house in ruins. All I could think of were my sewingbasket, my half-done knitting, the box of odd buttons I'd been saving for years, my heart-shaped cake pans Frankmade me years ago. How could I survive without them? All the little things, you know, the things which can't bereplaced, or bought in a shop.""That's how most women think, as a matter of fact. Funny, isn't it, how the mind reacts? I remember in 1905 mywife running back into the house while I yelled after her like a madman, just to get a tambour with a bit offancywork on it." He grinned. "But we got out in time, though we lost the house. When I built the new place, thefirst thing she did was finish the fancywork. It was one of those old-fashioned samplers, you know the sort Imean. And it said "Home Sweet Home."" He put down the empty glass, shaking his head over the strangeness ofwomen. "I must go. Gareth Davies is going to need us on Narrengang, and unless I miss my guess so will Anguson Rudna Hunish." Fee whitened. "Oh, Martin! So far away?""The word's out, Fee. Booroo and Bourke are rallying.
For three days more the fire rampaged eastward on a front that kept widening and widening, then came asudden heavy fall of rain that lasted for nearly four days, and quenched352 every last coal. But it had gone over ahundred miles and laid a charred353, blackened path twenty miles wide from midway out across Drogheda to theboundary of the last property in the Gillanbone district eastward, Rudna Hunish. Until it began to rain no oneexpected to hear from Paddy, for they thought him safely on the far side of, the burned zone, cut off from themby heat in the ground and the still-flaring trees. Had the fire not brought the telephone line down, Bob thoughtthey would have got a call from Martin King, for it was logical that Paddy would strike westward for shelter atBugela homestead. But when the rain had been falling for six hours and there was still no sign of him, they beganto worry. For almost four days they had been assuring themselves continually that there was no reason to beanxious, that of course he was just cut off, and had decided to wait until he could head for his own home ratherthan go to Bugela.
"He ought to be in by now," said Bob, pacing up and down the drawing room while the others watched; theirony of it was that the rain had brought a dank chill into the air, and once more a bright fire burned in the marblehearth.
"What do you think, Bob?" Jack asked.
"I think it's high time we went looking for him. He might be hurt, or he might be on foot and facing a long walkhome. His horse might have panicked and thrown him, he might be lying somewhere unable to walk. He hadfood for overnight, but nothing like enough for four days, though he won't have passed out from starvation yet.
Best not to create a fuss just now, so I won't recall the men from Narrengang. But if we don't find him bynightfall I'll ride to Dominic's and we'll get the whole district out tomorrow. Lord, I wish those PMG blokeswould get a move on with those phone lines!" Fee was trembling, her eyes feverish354, almost savage94.
"I'll put on a pair of trousers," she said. "I can't bear to sit here waiting.""Mum, stay home!" Bob pleaded.
"If he's hurt it might be anywhere, Bob, and he might be in any sort of condition. You sent the stockmen toNarrengang, and that leaves us mighty355 short for a search party. If I go paired with Meggie the two of us will bestrong enough together to cope with whatever we find, but if Meggie goes on her own she'll have to search withone of you, and that's wasting her, not to mention me."Bob gave in. "All right, then. You can have Meggie's gelding; you rode it to the fire. Everyone take a rifle, andplenty of shells."They rode off across the creek and into the heart of that blasted landscape. Not a green or a brown thing was leftanywhere, just a vast expanse of soggy black coals, incredibly still steaming after hours of rain. Every leaf ofevery tree was frizzled to a curling limp string, and where the grass had been they could see little black bundleshere and there, sheep caught in the fire, or an occasional bigger mound356 which had been a steer or a pig. Theirtears mingled357 with the rain on their faces. Bob and Meggie headed the little procession, Jack and Hughie in themiddle, Fee and Stuart bringing up the rear. For Fee and Stuart it was a peaceful progress; they drew comfortfrom being close together, not talking, each content in the company of the other. Sometimes the horses drewclose or shied apart at the sight of some new horror, but it seemed not to affect the last pair of riders. The mudmade the going slow and hard, but the charred, matted grass lay like a coir-rope rug on the soil to give the horsesa foothold. And every few yards they expected to see Paddy appear over the far flat horizon, but time went onand he never did.
With sinking hearts they realized the fire had begun farther out than first imagined, in Wilga paddock. Thestorm clouds must have disguised the smoke until the fire had gone 'q a long way. The borderland wasastonishing. One side of a clearly drawn line was just black, glistening tar10, while the other side was the land asthey had always known it, fawn358 and blue and drear in the rain, but alive. Bob stopped and drew back to talk toeveryone.
"Well, here's where we start. I'm going due west from here; it's the most likely direction and I'm the strongest.
Has everyone got plenty of ammunition359? Good. If you find anything, three shots in the air, and those who hearmust answer with one shot each. Then wait. Whoever fired the three shots will fire three more five minutes later,and keep on firing three shots every five minutes. Those who hear, one shot in answer. "Jack, you go south alongthe fire line. Hughie, you go southwest. I'm going west. Mum and Meggie, you go northwest. Stu, follow the fireline due north. And go slowly, everyone, please. The rain doesn't make it any easier to see far, and there's a lot oftimber out here in places. Call often; he might not see you where he would hear you. But remember, no shotsunless you find something, because he didn't have a gun with him and if he should hear a shot and be out ofvoice range to answer, it would be dreadful for him. "Good luck, and God bless."Like pilgrims at the final crossroads they straggled apart in the steady grey rain, getting farther and farther awayfrom each other, smaller and smaller, until each disappeared along the appointed path. Stuart had gone a barehalf mile when he noticed that a stand of burned timber drew very close to the fire's demarcation line. There wasa little wilga as black and crinkled as a pickaninny's mop, and the remains360 of a great stump287 standing close to thecharred boundary. What he saw was Paddy's horse, sprawled361 and fused into the trunk of a big gum, and two ofPaddy's dogs, little black stiff things with all four limbs poking362 up like sticks. He got down from his horse, bootssinking ankle deep in mud, and took his rifle from its saddle scabbard. His lips moved, praying, as he picked hisslippery way across the sticky coals. Had it not been for the horse and the dogs he might have hoped for aswaggie or some down-and equals out wayfarer363 caught, trapped. But Paddy was horsed and had five dogs withhim; no one on the track rode a horse or had more than one. dog. This was too far inside Drogheda land to thinkof drovers, or stockmen from Bugela to the west. Farther away were three more incinerated dogs; five altogether,five dogs. He knew he would not find a sixth, nor did he.
And not far from the horse, hidden as he approached by a log, was what had been a man. There could be nomistake. Glistening and shiny in the rain, the black thing lay on its back, and its back was arched like a great bowso that it bent upward in the middle and did not touch the ground except at the buttocks and shoulders. The armswere flung apart and curved at the elbows as if beseeching364 heaven, the fingers with the flesh dropping off themto reveal charred bones were clawing and grasping at nothing. The legs were splayed apart also but flexed365 at theknees, and the blob of a head looked up sightless, eyeless at the sky.
For a moment Stuart's clear, all-seeing gaze rested on his father, and saw not the ruined shell but the man, as hehad been in life. He pointed his rifle at the sky, fired a shot, reloaded, fired a second shot, reloaded, let off thethird. Faintly in the distance he heard one answering report, then, farther off and very faintly, a second answer. Itwas then he remembered the closer shot would have-come from his mother and sister. They were northwest, hewas north. Without waiting the stipulated366 five minutes, he put another shell in the rifle breech, pointed the gundue south, and fired. A pause to reload, the second shot, reload, the third shot. He put the weapon back on theground and stood looking south, his head cocked, listening. This time the first answer was from the west, Bob'sshot, the second from Jack or Hughie, and the third from his mother. He sighed in relief; he didn't want thewomen reaching him first.
Thus he didn't see the great wild pig emerge from the trees to the north; he smelled it. As big as a cow, itsmassive bulk rolled and quivered on short, powerful legs as it drove its head down, raking at the burned wetground. The shots had disturbed it, and it was in pain. The sparse black hair on one side of its body was singedoff and the skin was redly raw; what Stuart smelled as he stared into the south was the delectable367 odor of bubbledpork skin, just as it is on a roasted joint368 fresh from the oven and crisp all over the slashed369 outer husk. Surprisedout of the curiously peaceful sorrow he always seemed to have known, his head turned, even as he thought tohimself that he must have been here before, that this sodden370 black place had been etched into some part of hisbrain on the day of his birth. Stooping, he groped for the rifle, remembering it wasn't loaded. The boar stoodperfectly still, its little reddened eyes mad with pain, the great yellow tusks371 sharp and curving upward in a halfcircle. Stuart's horse neighed, smelling the beast; the pig's massive head swung to watch it, then lowered for thecharge. While its attention was on the horse Stuart saw his only chance, bent quickly for the rifle and snapped thebreech open, his other hand in his jacket pocket for a shell. All around the rain was dropping down, mufflingother sounds in its own unchanging patter. But the pig heard the bolt slide back, and at the last moment changedthe direction of its charge from the horse to Stuart. It was almost upon him when he got one shot off straight intothe beast's chest, without slowing it down. The tusks slewed372 up and sideways, and caught him in the groin. Hefell, blood appearing like a faucet373 turned all the way on and saturating his clothes, spurting374 over the ground.
Turning awkwardly as it began to feel the bullet, the pig came back to gore375 him again, faltered376, swayed, andtottered. The whole of that fifteen-hundred-pound bulk came down across him, and crushed his face into the tarrymud. For a moment his hands clawed at the ground on either side in a frantic, futile377 struggle to be free; this thenwas what he had always known, why he had never hoped or dreamed or planned, only sat and drunk of the livingworld so deeply there had not been time to grieve for his waiting fate. He thought: Mum, Mum! I can't stay withyou, Mum!, even as his heart burst within him.
"I wonder why Stu hasn't fired again?" Meggie asked her mother as they trotted378 toward the sound of those twofirst triple volleys, not able to go any faster in the mud, and desperately75 anxious. "I suppose he decided we'dheard," Fee said. But in the back of her mind she was remembering Stuart's face as they parted in differentdirections on the search, the way his hand had gone out to clasp hers, the way he had smiled at her. "We can't befar away now," she said, and pushed her mount into a clumsy, sliding canter.
But Jack had got there first, so had Bob, and they headed the women off as they came across the last of theliving land toward the place where the bushfire had begun.
"Don't go in, Mum," said Bob as she dismounted. Jack had gone to Meggie, and held her arms.
The two pairs of grey eyes turned, not so much in bewilderment or dread16 as in knowledge, as if they did notneed to be told anything. "Paddy?" asked Fee in a voice not like her own. "Yes. And Stu."Neither of her sons could look at her.
"Stu? Stu! What do you mean, Stu? Oh, God, what is it, what's happened? Not both of them-no!""Daddy got caught in the fire; he's dead. Stu must have disturbed a boar, and it charged him. He shot it, but itfell on him as it was dying and smothered379 him. He's dead too, Mum."Meggie screamed and struggled, trying to break free of Jack's hands, but Fee stood between Bob's grimy,bloody ones as if turned to stone, her eyes as glassy as a gazing-ball. "It is too much," she said at last, and lookedup at Bob with the rain running down her face and her hair in straggling wisps around her neck like goldenrunnels. "Let me go to them, Bob. I am the wife of one and the mother of one. You can't keep me away-you haveno right to keep me away. Let me go to them."Meggie had quietened, and stood within Jack's arms with her head on his shoulder. As Fee began to walk acrossthe ruins with Bob's arm around her waist, Meggie looked after them, but she made no move to follow. Hughieappeared out of the dimming rain; Jack nodded toward his mother and Bob. "Go after them, Hughie, stay withthem. Meggie and I are going back to Drogheda, to bring the dray." He let Meggie go, and helped her onto thechestnut mare. "Come on, Meggie; it's nearly dark. We can't leave them out all night in this, and they won't gountil we get back."It was impossible to put the dray or anything else wheeled upon the mud; in the end Jack and old Tom chaineda sheet of corrugated380 iron behind two draft horses, Tom leading the team on a stock horse while Jack rode aheadwith the biggest lamp Drogheda possessed.
Meggie stayed at the homestead and sat in front of the drawing room fire while Mrs. Smith tried to persuade herto eat, tears running down her face to see the girl's still, silent shock, the way she did not weep. At the sound ofthe front door knocker she turned and went to answer it, wondering who on earth had managed to get through themud, and as always astonished at the speed with which news traveled the lonely miles between the far-flunghomesteads.
Father Ralph was standing on the veranda, wet and muddy, in riding clothes and oilskins.
"May I come in, Mrs. Smith?""Oh, Father, Father!" she cried, and threw herself into his astounded381 arms. "How did you know?""Mrs. Cleary telegrammed me, a manager-to-owner courtesy I appreciated very much. I got leave to come fromArchbishop di Contini-Verchese. What a mouth-ful! Would you believe I have to say it a hundred times a day? Iflew up. The plane bogged382 as it landed and pitched on its nose, so I knew what the ground was like before I somuch as stepped on it. Dear, beautiful Gilly! I left my suitcase with Father Watty at the presbytery and cadged383 ahorse from the Imperial publican, who thought I was crazy and bet me a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label I'dnever get through the mud. Oh, Mrs. Smith, don't cry so! My dear, the world hasn't come to an end because of afire, no matter how big and nasty it was!" he said, smiling and patting her heaving shoulders. "Here am I doingmy best to make light of it, and you're just not doing your best to respond. Don't cry so, please.""Then you don't know," she sobbed384.
"What? Know what? What is it-what's happened?" "Mr. Cleary and Stuart are dead."His face drained of color; his hands pushed the housekeeper away. "Where's Meggie?" he barked.
"In the drawing room. Mrs. Cleary's still out in the paddock with the bodies. Jack and Tom have gone to bringthem in. Oh, Father, sometimes in spite of my faith I can't help thinking God is too cruel! Why did He have totake both of them?"But all Father Ralph had stayed to hear was where Meggie was; he had gone into the drawing room sheddinghis oilskins as he went, trailing muddy water behind him.
"Meggie!" he said, coming to her and kneeling at one side of her chair, taking her cold hands in his wet onesfirmly.
She slipped from the chair and crawled into his arms, pillowed her head on his dripping shirt and closed hereyes, so happy in spite of her pain and grief that she never wanted the moment to end. He had come, it was avindication of her power over him, she hadn't failed.
"I'm wet, darling Meggie; you'll get soaked," he whispered, his cheek on her hair.
"It doesn't matter. You've come.""Yes, I've come. I wanted to be sure you were safe, I had a feeling I was needed, I had to see for myself. Oh,Meggie, your father and Stu! How did it happen?""Daddy was caught in the fire, and Stu found him. He was killed by a boar; it fell on him after he shot it. Jackand Tom have gone out to bring them in."He said no more, but held her and rocked her as if she were a baby until the heat of the fire partially385 dried hisshirt and hair and he felt some of the stiffness drain from her. Then he put his hand beneath her chin, tilted43 herhead until she looked up at him, and without thinking kissed her. It was a confused impulse not rooted in desire,just something he instinctively386 offered when he saw what lay in the grey eyes. Something apart, a different kindof sacrament. Her arms slid up under his to meet across his back; he could not stop himself flinching387, suppressthe exclamation of pain. She drew back a little. "What's the matter?""I must have bruised388 my ribs when the plane came in. We bogged to the fuselage in good old Gilly mud, so itwas a pretty rough landing. I wound up balanced on the back of the seat in front of me.""Here, let me see."Fingers steady, she unbuttoned the damp shirt and peeled it off his arms, pulled it free of his breeches. Underthe surface of the smooth brown skin a purpling ugly patch extended from one side clear across to the otherbelow the rib32 cage; her breath caught.
"Oh, Ralph! You rode all the way from Gilly with this? How it must have hurt! Do you feel all right? Nofaintness? You might have ruptured390 something inside!""No, I'm fine, and I didn't feel it, honestly. I was so anxious to get here,. make sure you were all right, thatI suppose I simply eliminated it from my mind. If I was bleeding internally I'd have known about. it long beforenow, I expect. God, Meggie, don't!" Her head had gone down, she was delicately touching391 her lips to the bruise389,her palms sliding up his chest to his shoulders with a deliberate sensuousness392 that staggered him. Fascinated,terrified, meaning to free himself at any cost, he pulled her head away; but somehow all he succeeded in doingwas having her back in his arms, a snake coiled tightly about his will, strangling it. Pain was forgotten, Churchwas forgotten, God was forgotten. He found her mouth, forced it open hungrily, wanting more and more of her,not able to hold her close enough to assuage393 the ghastly drive growing in him. She gave him her neck, bared hershoulders where the skin was cool, smoother and glossier394 than satin; it was like drowning, sinking deeper anddeeper, gasping395 and helpless. Mortality pressed down on him, a great weight crushing his soul, liberating396 thebitter dark wine of his senses in a sudden flood. He wanted to weep; the last of his desire trickled397 away under theburden of his mortality, and he wrenched398 her arms from about his wretched body, sat back on his heels with hishead sunken forward, seeming to become utterly399 absorbed in watching his hands tremble on his knees. Meggie,what have you done to me, what might you do to me if I let you? "Meggie, I love you, I always will. But I'm apriest, I can't .... I just can't!"She got to her feet quickly, straightened her blouse, stood looking down at him and smiling a twisted smilewhich only threw the failed pain in her eyes into greater emphasis.
"It's all right, Ralph. I'll go and see if Mrs. Smith can get you something to eat, then I'll bring you the horseliniment. It's marvelous for bringing out a bruise; stops the soreness much better than kisses ever could, Idaresay.""Is the phone working?" he managed to say.
"Yes. They strung a temporary line on the trees and reconnected us a couple of hours ago."But it was some minutes after she left him before he could compose himself sufficiently400 to seat himself at Fee'sescritoire. "Give me trunks, please, switch. This is Father de Bricassart at Drogheda-Oh, hello, Doreen; still onthe switch, I see. Nice to hear your voice, too. One never knows who switch is in Sydney; she's just a boredvoice. I want to put an urgent call through to His Grace the Archbishop Papal Legate in Sydney. His number isXX-2324. And while I'm waiting for Sydney, put me through to Bugela, Doreen."There was barely time to tell Martin King what had happened before Sydney was on the line, but one word toBugela was enough. Gilly would know from him and the eavesdroppers on the party line, and those who wishedto brave a ride through Gilly mud would be at the funerals.
"Your Grace? This is Father de Bricassart . . . . Yes, thank you, I arrived safely, but the plane's bogged to itsfuselage in mud and I'll have to come back by train . . . . Mud, Your Grace, m-u-d mud. No, Your Grace,everything up here becomes impassable when it rains. I had to ride from Gillanbone to Drogheda on horseback;that's the only way one can even try in rain . . . . That's why I'm phoning, Your Grace. It was as well I came. Isuppose I must have had some sort of premonition . . . .yes, things are bad, very bad. Padraic Cleary and his sonStuart are dead, one burned to death in the fire, one smothered by a boar . . . . A b-o-a-r boar, Your Grace, a wildpig .... Yes, you're right, one does speak a slightly bizarre English up here." All down the faint line he could heargasps from the listeners, and grinned in spite of himself. One couldn't yell into the phone that everybody must getoff the line-it was the sole entertainment of a mass nature Gilly had to offer its contact-hungry citizens-but if theywould only get off the line His Grace might stand a better chance of hearing. "With your permission, YourGrace, I'll remain to conduct the funerals and make sure the widow and her surviving children are all right . . . .
Yes, your Grace, thank you. I'll return to Sydney as soon as I can."Switch was listening, too; he clicked the lever and spoke again immediately. "Doreen, put me back to Bugela,please." He talked to Martin King for a few minutes, and decided since it was August and wintercold to delay thefunerals until the day after this coming day. Many people would want to attend in spite of the mud and beprepared to ride to get there, but it was slow and arduous401 work.
Meggie came back with the horse liniment, but made no offer to rub it on, just handed him the bottle silently.
She informed him abruptly that Mrs. Smith was laying him a hot supper in the small dining room in an hour, sohe would have time to bathe. He was uncomfortably aware that in some way Meggie thought he had failed her,but he didn't know why she should think so, or on what basis she had judged him. She knew what he was; whywas she angry?
In grey dawnlight the little cavalcade402 escorting the bodies reached the creek, and stopped. Though the waterwas still contained within its banks, the Gillan had become a river in full spate403, running fast and thirty feet deep.
Father Ralph swam his chestnut mare across to meet them, stole around his neck and the instruments of hiscalling in a saddlebag. While Fee, Bob, Jack, Hughie and Tom stood around, he stripped the canvas off thebodies and prepared to anoint them. After Mary Carson nothing could sicken him; yet he found nothingrepugnant about Paddy and Stu. They were both black after their fashion, Paddy from the fire and Stu fromsuffocation, but the priest kissed them with love and respect.
For fifteen miles the rough sheet of iron had jarred and bounced over the ground behind the team of drafthorses, scarring the mud with deep gouges404 which would still be visible years later, even in the grass of otherseasons. But it seemed they could go no farther; the swirling creek would keep them on its far side, withDrogheda only a mile away. They stood staring at the tops of the ghost gums, clearly visible even in the rain.
"I have an idea," said Bob, turning to Father Ralph. "Father, you're the only one on a fresh horse; it will have tobe you. Ours will only swim the creek oncethey've got no more in them after the mud and the cold. Go back andfind some empty forty-four-gallon drums, and seal their lids shut so they can't possibly leak or slip off. Solderthem if necessary. We'll need twelve of them, ten if you can't find more. Tie them together and bring them backacross the creek. We'll lash44 them under the iron and float it across like a barge405."Father Ralph did as he was told without question; it was a better idea than any he had to offer. DominicO'Rourke of Dibban-Dibban had ridden in with two of his sons; he was a neighbor and not far away as distanceswent. When Father Ralph explained what had to be done they set about it quickly, scouring406 the sheds for emptydrums, tipping chaff407 and oats out of drums empty of petrol but in use for storage, searching for lids, soldering408 thelids to the drums if they were rustfree and looked likely to withstand the battering409 they would get in the water.
The rain was still falling, falling. It wouldn't stop for another two days.
"Dominic, I hate to ask it of you, but when these people come in they're going to be half dead. We'll have tohold the funerals tomorrow, and even if the Gilly undertaker could make the coffins410 in time, we'd never get themout through the mud. Can any of you have a go at making a couple of coffins? I only need one man to swim thecreek with me."The O'Rourke sons nodded; they didn't want to see what the fire had done to Paddy or the boar to Stuart.
"We'll do it, Dad," said Liam.
Dragging the drums behind their horses, Father Ralph and Dominic O'Rourke rode down to the creek and swamit.
"There's one thing, Father!" shouted Dominic. "We don't have to dig graves in this bloody mud! I used to thinkold Mary was putting on the dog a bit too much when she put a marble vault411 in her backyard for Michael, butright at this minute if she was here, I'd kiss her!""Too right!" yelled Father Ralph.
They lashed182 the drums under the sheet of iron, six on either side, tied the canvas shroud412 down firmly, and swamthe exhausted draft horses across on the rope which would finally tow the raft. Dominic and Tom sat astride thegreat beasts, and at the top of the Drogheda-side bank paused, looking back, while those still marooned413 hookedup the makeshift barge, pushed it to the bank and shoved it in. The draft horses began walking, Tom andDominic cooeeing shrilly414 as the raft began to float. It bobbed and wallowed badly, but it stayed afloat longenough to be hauled out safely; rather than waste time dismantling415 the pontoons, the two impromptu416 postilionsurged their mounts up the track toward the big house, the sheet of iron sliding along on its drums better than ithad without them.
There was a ramp267 up to great doors at the baling end of the shearing417 shed, so they put the raft and its burden inthe huge empty building amid the reeks418 of tar, sweat, lanolin and dung. Muffled in oilskins, Minnie and Cat hadcome down from the big house to take first vigil, and knelt one on either side of the iron bier, rosary beadsclicking, voices rising and falling in cadences419 too well known to need the effort of memory.
The house was filling up. Duncan Gordon had arrived from Each-Uisge, Gareth Davies from Narrengang,Horry Hopeton from Beel-Beel, Eden Carmichael from Barcoola. Old Angus MacQueen had flagged down oneof the ambling420 local goods trains and ridden with the engine driver to Gilly, where he borrowed a horse fromHarry Gough and rode out with him. He had covered over two hundred miles of mud, one way or another. "I'mwiped out, Father," Horry said to the priest later as the seven of them sat in the small dining room eating steakand-kidney pie. "The fire went through me from one end to the other and left hardly a sheep alive or a tree green.
Lucky the last few years have been good is all I can say. I can afford to restock, and if this rain keeps up thegrass will come back real quick. But heaven help us from another disaster during the next ten years, Father,because I won't have anything put aside to meet it. "Well, you're smaller than me, Horry," Gareth Davies said,cutting into Mrs. Smith's meltingly light flaky pastry421 with evident enjoyment422. Nothing in the line of disasterscould depress a black-soil plainsman's appetite for long; he needed his food to meet them. "I reckon I lost abouthalf of my acreage, and maybe twothirds of my sheep, worse luck. Father, we need your prayers.""Aye," said old Angus. "I wasna sae hard hit as wee Horry and Garry, Father, but bad enough for a" that. I lostsixty thoosand of ma acres, and half ma wee sheep. "Tis times like this, Father, make me wish I hadna left Skyeas a young laddie."Father Ralph smiled. "It's a passing wish, Angus, you know that. You left Skye for the same reason I leftClunamara. It was too small for you." "Aye, nae Boot. The heather. doesna make sic a bonnie blaze as the gums,eh, Father?"It would be a strange funeral, thought Father Ralph as he looked around; the only women would be Droghedawomen, for all the visiting mourners were men. He had taken a huge dose of laudanum to Fee after Mrs. Smithhad stripped her, dried her and put her into the big bed she had shared with Paddy, and when she refused to drinkit, weeping hysterically423, he had held her nose and tipped it ruthlessly down her throat. Funny, he hadn't thoughtof Fee breaking down. It had worked quickly, for she hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours. Knowing she was soundasleep, he rested easier. Meggie he kept tabs on; she was out in the cookhouse at the moment helping424 Mrs. Smithprepare food. The boys were all in bed, so exhausted they could hardly manage to peel off their wet things beforecollapsing. When Minnie and Cat concluded their stint425 of the vigil custom demanded because the bodies lay in adeserted, unblessed place, Gareth Davies and his son Enoch were taking over; the others allotted426 hour-long spansamong themselves as they talked and ate.
None of the young men had joined their elders in the dining room. They were all in the cookhouse ostensiblyhelping Mrs. Smith, but in reality so they could look at Meggie. When he realized this fact Father Ralph wasboth annoyed and relieved. Well, it was out of their ranks she must choose her husband, as she inevitably would.
Enoch Davies was twenty-nine, a "black Welshman," which meant he was black-haired and very dark-eyed, ahandsome man; Liam O'Rourke was twenty-six, sandy-haired and blue-eyed, like his twenty-five-year-oldbrother Rory; Connor Carmichael was the spit of his sister, older at thirty-two, and very good-looking indeed, ifa little arrogant427; the pick of the bunch in Father Ralph's estimation was old Angus's grandson Alastair, the closestto Meggie in age at twenty-four and a sweet young man, with his grandfather's beautiful blue. Scots eyes and hairalready gray, a family trait. Let her fall in love with one of them, marry him, have the children she wanted sobadly. Oh, God, my God, if You will do that for me, I'll gladly bear the pain of loving her, gladly . . . .
No flowers smothered these coffins, and the vases all around the chapel were empty. What blossoms hadsurvived the terrible heat of the fiery428 air two nights ago had succumbed429 to the rain, and laid themselves downagainst the mud like ruined butterflies. Not even a stalk of bottle brush, or an early rose. And everyone was tired,so tired. Those who had ridden the long miles in the mud to show their liking430 for Paddy were tired, those whohad brought the bodies in were tired, those who had slaved to cook and clean were tired, Father Ralph was sotired he felt as if he moved in a dream, eyes sliding away from Fee's pinched, hopeless face, Meggie's expressionof mingled sorrow and anger, the collective grief of that collective cluster Bob, Jack and Hughie . . . . He gave noeulogy; Martin King spoke briefly and movingly on behalf of those assembled, and the priest went on into theRequiem immediately. He had as a matter of course brought his chalice432, his sacraments and a stole, for no prieststirred without them when he went offering comfort or aid, but he had no vestments with him, and the housepossessed none. But old Angus had called in at the presbytery in Gilly on his way, and carried the blackmourning garb433 of a Requiem431 Mass wrapped in an oilskin across his saddle. So he stood properly attired434 with therain hissing435 against the windows, drumming on the iron roof two stories up.
Then out into it, the grieving rain, across the lawn all browned and scorched by heat, to the little white-railingedcemetery. This time there were pallbearers willing to shoulder the plain rectangular boxes, slipping and sliding inthe mud, trying to see where they were going through the rain beating in their eyes. And the little bells on theChinese cook's grave tinkled436 drably: Hee Sing, Hee Sing, Hee Sing.
It got itself over and done with. The mourners departed on their horses, backs hunched437 inside their oilskins,some of them staring miserably at the prospect438 of ruin; others thanking God they had escaped death and the fire.
And Father Ralph got his few things together, knowing he must go before he couldn't go.
He went to see Fee, where she sat at the escritoire staring mutely down at her hands.
"Fee, will you be all right?" he asked, sitting where he could see her. She turned toward him, so still andquenched within her soul that he was afraid, and closed his eyes.
"Yes, Father, I'll be all right. I have the books to keep, and five sons left-six if you count Frank, only I don'tsuppose we can count Frank, can we? Thank you for that, more than I can ever say. It's such a comfort to meknowing your people are watching out for him, making his life a little easier. Oh, if I could see him, just once!"She was like a lighthouse, he thought; flashes of grief every time her mind came round to that pitch of emotionwhich was too great to be contained. A huge flare293, and then a long period of nothing.
"Fee, I want you to think about something.""Yes, what?" She was dark again.
"Are you listening to me?" he asked sharply, worried and suddenly more frightened than before.
For a long moment he thought she had retreated so far into herself even the harshness of his voice hadn'tpenetrated, but up blazed the beacon439 again, and her lips parted. "My poor Paddy! My poor Stuart! My poorFrank!" she mourned, then got herself under that iron control once more, as if she was determined440 to elongate441 herperiods of darkness until the light shone no more in her lifetime.
Her eyes roamed the room without seeming to recognize it. "Yes, Father, I'm listening," she said.
"Fee, what about your daughter? Do you ever remember that you have a daughter?"The grey eyes lifted to his face, dwelled on it almost pityingly. "Does any woman? What's a daughter? Just areminder of the pain, a younger version of oneself who will do all the things one has done, cry the same tears.
No, Father. I try to forget I have a daughter-if I do think of her, it is as one of my sons. It's her sons a motherremembers.""Do you cry tears, Fee? I've only seen them once.""You'll never see them again, for I've finished with tears forever." Her whole body quivered. "Do you knowsomething, Father? Two days ago I discovered how much I love Paddy, but it was like all of my life too late. Toolate for him, too late for me. If you knew how I wanted the chance to take him in my arms, tell him I loved him!
Oh, God, I hope no other human being ever has to feel my pain!"He turned away from that suddenly ravaged443 face, to give it time to don its calm, and himself time to cope withunderstanding the enigma444 who was Fee. He said, "No one else can ever feel your pain."One corner of her mouth lifted in a stern smile. "Yes. That's a comfort, isn't it? It may not be enviable, but mypain is mine.""Will you promise me something, Fee?""If you like.""Look after Meggie, don't forget her. Make her go to the local dances, let her meet a few young men, encourageher to think of marriage and a home of her own. I saw all the young men eyeing her today. Give her theopportunity to meet them again under happier circumstances than these.""Whatever you say, Father."Sighing, he left her to the contemplation of her thin white hands. Meggie walked with him to the stables, wherethe Imperial publican's bay gelding had been stuffing itself on hay and bran and dwelling316 in some sort of equineheaven for two days. He flung the publican's battered445 saddle on its back and bent to strap446 the surcingle and girthwhile Meggie leaned against a bale of straw and watched him.
"Father, look what I found," she said as he finished and straightened. She held out her hand, in it one pale,pinkish-gray rose. "It's the only one. I found it on a bush under the tank stands, at the back. I suppose it didn't getthe same heat in the fire, and it was sheltered from the rain. So I picked it for you. It's something to remember meby."He took the half-open bloom from her, his hand not quite steady, and stood looking down at it. "Meggie, I needno reminder442 of you, not now, not ever. I carry you within me, you know that. There's no way I could hide it fromyou, is there?""But sometimes there's a reality about a keepsake," she insisted. "You can take it out and look at it, andremember when you see it all the things you might forget otherwise. Please take it, Father.""My name is Ralph," he said. He opened his little sacrament case and took out the big missal which was hisown property, bound in costly447 mother-of-pearl. His dead father had given it to him at his ordination448, thirteen longyears ago. The pages fell open at a great thick white ribbon; he turned over several more, laid the rose down, andshut the book upon it. "Do you want a keepsake from me, Meggie, is that it?" "Yes.""I won't give you one. I want you to forget me, I want you to look around your world and find some good kindman, marry him, have the babies you want so much. You're a born mother. You mustn't cling to me, it isn't right.
I can never leave the Church, and I'm going to be completely honest with you, for your own sake. I don't want toleave the Church, because I don't love you the way a husband will, do you understand? Forget me, Meggie!""Won't you kiss me goodbye?"For answer he pulled himself up on the publican's bay and walked it to the door before putting on the publican'sold felt hat. His blue eyes flashed a moment, then the horse moved out into the rain and slithered reluctantly upthe track toward Gilly. She did not attempt to follow him, but stayed in the gloom of the damp stable, breathingin the smells of horse dung and hay; it reminded her of the barn in New Zealand, and of Frank.
Thirty hours later Father Ralph walked into the Archbishop Papal Legate's chamber, crossed the room to kisshis master's ring, and flung himself wearily into a chair. It was only as he felt those lovely, omniscient eyes onhim that he realized how peculiar he must look, why so many people had stared at him since he got off the trainat Central. Without remembering the suit-case Father Watty Thomas was keeping for him at the presbytery, hehad boarded the night mail with two minutes to spare and come six hundred miles in a cold train clad in shirt,breeches and boots, soaking wet, never noticing the chill. So he looked down at himself with a rueful smile, thenacross at the Archbishop.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace. So much has happened I didn't think how odd I must look.""Don't apologize, Ralph." Unlike his predecessor449, he preferred to call his secretary by his Christian450 name. "Ithink you look very romantic and dashing. Only a trifle too secular451, don't you agree?""Very definitely on the secular bit, anyway. As to the romantic and dashing, Your Grace, it's just that you're notused to seeing what is customary garb in Gillanbone.""My dear Ralph, if you took it into your head to don sackcloth and ashes, you'd manage to make yourself seemromantic and dashing! The riding habit suits you, though, it really does. Almost as well as a soutane, and don'twaste your breath telling me you aren't very well aware it becomes you more than a priest's black suit. You havea peculiar and a most attractive way of moving, and you have kept your fine, figure; I think perhaps you alwayswill. I also think that when I am recalled to Rome I shall take you with me. It will afford me great amusement towatch your effect on our short, fat Italian prelates. The beautiful sleek452 cat among the plump startled pigeons."Rome! Father Ralph sat up in his chair.
"Was it very bad, my Ralph?" the Archbishop went on, smoothing his beringed milky hand rhythmically453 acrossthe silky back of his purring Abyssinian cat. "Terrible, Your Grace.""These people, you have a great fondness for them.""Yes.""And do you love all of them equally, or do you love some of them more than others?"But Father Ralph was at least as wily as his master, and he had been with him now long enough to know howhis mind worked. So he parried the smooth question with deceptive160 honesty, a trick he had discovered lulled454 HisGrace's suspicions at once. It never occurred to that subtle, devious455 mind that an outward display of franknessmight be more mendacious456 than any evasion457. "I do love all of them, but as you say, some more than others. It'sthe girl Meggie I love the most. I've always felt her my special responsibility, because the family is so son-oriented they forget she exists." "How old is this Meggie?""I'm not sure exactly. Oh, somewhere around twenty, I imagine. But I made her mother promise to lift her headout of her ledgers long enough to make sure the girl got to a few dances, met a few young men. She's going towaste her life away stuck on Drogheda, which is a shame."He spoke nothing but the truth; the Archbishop's ineffably458 sensitive nose sniffed459 it out at once. Though he wasonly three years his secretary's senior, his career within the Church hadn't suffered the checks Ralph's had, and inmany ways he felt immeasurably older thanRalph would ever be; the Vatican sapped one of some vital essence if one was exposed to it very early, andRalph possessed that vital essence in abundance.
Relaxing his vigilance somewhat, he continued to watch his secretary and resumed his interesting game ofworking out precisely460 what made Father Ralph de Bricassart tick. At first he had been sure there would be afleshly weakness, if not in one direction, in another. Those stunning20 good looks and the accompanying bodymust have made him the target of many desires, too much so to preserve innocence or unawareness461. And as timewent on he had found himself half right; the awareness462 was undoubtedly463 there, but with it he began to beconvinced was a genuine innocence. So whatever Father Ralph burned for, it was not the flesh. He had thrownthe priest together with skilled and quite irresistible464 homosexuals if one was a homosexual; no result. He hadwatched him with the most beautiful women in the land; no result. Not a flicker465 of interest or desire, even whenhe was not in the slightest aware he was under observation. For the Archbishop did not always do his ownwatching, and when he employed minions466 it was not through secretarial channels. He had begun to think FatherRalph's weaknesses were pride in being a priest, and ambition; both were facets467 of personality he understood, forhe possessed them himself. The Church had places for ambitious men, as did all great and self-perpetuatinginstitutions. Rumor468 had it that Father Ralph had cheated these Clearys he purported469 to love so much out of theirrightful inheritance. If indeed he had, he was well worth hanging on to. And how those wonderful blue eyes hadblazed when he mentioned Rome! Perhaps it was time he tried another gambit. He poked forward aconversational pawn470 lazily, but his eyes under hooded471 lids were very keen.
"I had news from the Vatican while you were away,Ralph," he said, shifting the cat slightly. "My Sheba, you are selfish; you make my legs numb6.""Oh?" Father Ralph was sinking down in his chair, and his eyes were having a hard time staying open.
"Yes, you may go to bed, but not before you have heard my news. A little while ago I sent a personal andprivate communication to the Holy Father, and an answer came back today from my friend Cardinal Monteverdi-I wonder if he is a descendant of the Renaissance472 musician? Why do I never remember to ask him when I seehim? Oh, Sheba, must you insist upon digging in your claws when you are happy?""I'm listening, Your Grace, I haven't fallen asleep yet," said Father Ralph, smiling. "No wonder you like cats somuch. You're one yourself, playing with your prey206 for your own amusement." He snapped his fingers. "Here,Sheba, leave him and come to me! He is unkind."The cat jumped down off the purple lap immediately, crossed the carpet and leaped delicately onto the priest'sknees, stood waving its tail and sniffing473 the strange smells of horses and mud, entranced. Father Ralph's blueeyes smiled into the Archbishop's brown ones, both half closed, both absolutely alert.
"How do you do that?" demanded the Archbishop. "A cat will never go to anyone, but Sheba goes to you as ifyou gave her caviar and valerian. Ingrate474 animal.""I'm waiting, Your Grace.""And you punish me for it, taking my cat from me. All right, you have won, I yield. Do you ever lose? Aninteresting question. You are to be congratulated, my dear Ralph. In future you will wear the miter and the cope,and be addressed as My Lord, Bishop de Bricassart."That brought the eyes wide open! he noted475 with glee. For once Father Ralph didn't attempt to dissimulate476, orconceal his true feelings. He just beamed.
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16 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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17 veranda | |
n.走廊;阳台 | |
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18 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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19 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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20 stunning | |
adj.极好的;使人晕倒的 | |
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21 vein | |
n.血管,静脉;叶脉,纹理;情绪;vt.使成脉络 | |
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22 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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23 hideousness | |
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24 flick | |
n.快速的轻打,轻打声,弹开;v.轻弹,轻轻拂去,忽然摇动 | |
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25 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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26 congregate | |
v.(使)集合,聚集 | |
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27 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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28 huddle | |
vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
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29 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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30 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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31 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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32 rib | |
n.肋骨,肋状物 | |
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33 meticulous | |
adj.极其仔细的,一丝不苟的 | |
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34 wastefulness | |
浪费,挥霍,耗费 | |
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35 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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36 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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37 haphazardly | |
adv.偶然地,随意地,杂乱地 | |
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38 carving | |
n.雕刻品,雕花 | |
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39 painstakingly | |
adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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40 gilt | |
adj.镀金的;n.金边证券 | |
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41 stilted | |
adj.虚饰的;夸张的 | |
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42 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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43 tilted | |
v. 倾斜的 | |
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44 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
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45 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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46 ashtray | |
n.烟灰缸 | |
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47 ashtrays | |
烟灰缸( ashtray的名词复数 ) | |
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48 cozy | |
adj.亲如手足的,密切的,暖和舒服的 | |
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49 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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50 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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51 invitingly | |
adv. 动人地 | |
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52 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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53 spinet | |
n.小型立式钢琴 | |
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54 bustled | |
闹哄哄地忙乱,奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 ); 催促 | |
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55 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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56 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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57 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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58 earrings | |
n.耳环( earring的名词复数 );耳坠子 | |
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59 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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60 dour | |
adj.冷酷的,严厉的;(岩石)嶙峋的;顽强不屈 | |
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61 dourness | |
n.性情乖僻,酸味,坏心眼 | |
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62 agog | |
adj.兴奋的,有强烈兴趣的; adv.渴望地 | |
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63 milky | |
adj.牛奶的,多奶的;乳白色的 | |
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64 opalescent | |
adj.乳色的,乳白的 | |
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65 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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66 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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67 drenching | |
n.湿透v.使湿透( drench的现在分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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68 crates | |
n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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69 perches | |
栖息处( perch的名词复数 ); 栖枝; 高处; 鲈鱼 | |
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70 strutted | |
趾高气扬地走,高视阔步( strut的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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72 poked | |
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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73 ruffle | |
v.弄皱,弄乱;激怒,扰乱;n.褶裥饰边 | |
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74 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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75 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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76 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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77 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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78 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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79 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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80 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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81 boxer | |
n.制箱者,拳击手 | |
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82 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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83 laborer | |
n.劳动者,劳工 | |
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84 mete | |
v.分配;给予 | |
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85 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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86 constables | |
n.警察( constable的名词复数 ) | |
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87 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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88 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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89 Amended | |
adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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90 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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91 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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92 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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93 clemency | |
n.温和,仁慈,宽厚 | |
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94 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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95 rim | |
n.(圆物的)边,轮缘;边界 | |
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96 precluded | |
v.阻止( preclude的过去式和过去分词 );排除;妨碍;使…行不通 | |
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97 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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98 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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99 squatted | |
v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 );非法擅自占用(土地或房屋);为获得其所有权;而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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100 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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101 blight | |
n.枯萎病;造成破坏的因素;vt.破坏,摧残 | |
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102 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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103 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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104 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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105 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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106 plight | |
n.困境,境况,誓约,艰难;vt.宣誓,保证,约定 | |
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107 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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108 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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109 pivot | |
v.在枢轴上转动;装枢轴,枢轴;adj.枢轴的 | |
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110 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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111 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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112 adherence | |
n.信奉,依附,坚持,固着 | |
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113 perusal | |
n.细读,熟读;目测 | |
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114 participation | |
n.参与,参加,分享 | |
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115 grudging | |
adj.勉强的,吝啬的 | |
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116 ardor | |
n.热情,狂热 | |
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117 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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118 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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119 loyalties | |
n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 );忠心;忠于…感情;要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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120 fend | |
v.照料(自己),(自己)谋生,挡开,避开 | |
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121 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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122 bouts | |
n.拳击(或摔跤)比赛( bout的名词复数 );一段(工作);(尤指坏事的)一通;(疾病的)发作 | |
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123 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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124 privately | |
adv.以私人的身份,悄悄地,私下地 | |
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125 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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126 auditors | |
n.审计员,稽核员( auditor的名词复数 );(大学课程的)旁听生 | |
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127 rimmed | |
adj.有边缘的,有框的v.沿…边缘滚动;给…镶边 | |
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128 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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129 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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130 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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131 savings | |
n.存款,储蓄 | |
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132 alterations | |
n.改动( alteration的名词复数 );更改;变化;改变 | |
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133 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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134 ledgers | |
n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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135 starch | |
n.淀粉;vt.给...上浆 | |
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136 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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137 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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138 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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139 snobby | |
a.虚荣的 | |
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140 full-time | |
adj.满工作日的或工作周的,全时间的 | |
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141 musters | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的第三人称单数 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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142 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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143 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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144 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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145 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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146 longingly | |
adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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147 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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148 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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149 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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150 engendered | |
v.产生(某形势或状况),造成,引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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151 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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152 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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153 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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154 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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155 moody | |
adj.心情不稳的,易怒的,喜怒无常的 | |
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156 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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157 tawny | |
adj.茶色的,黄褐色的;n.黄褐色 | |
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158 shimmering | |
v.闪闪发光,发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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159 mirages | |
n.海市蜃楼,幻景( mirage的名词复数 ) | |
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160 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
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161 streak | |
n.条理,斑纹,倾向,少许,痕迹;v.加条纹,变成条纹,奔驰,快速移动 | |
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162 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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163 goaded | |
v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
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164 mustering | |
v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的现在分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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165 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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166 wary | |
adj.谨慎的,机警的,小心的 | |
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167 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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168 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
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169 parodies | |
n.拙劣的模仿( parody的名词复数 );恶搞;滑稽的模仿诗文;表面上模仿得笨拙但充满了机智用来嘲弄别人作品的作品v.滑稽地模仿,拙劣地模仿( parody的第三人称单数 ) | |
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170 obnoxious | |
adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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171 repertoire | |
n.(准备好演出的)节目,保留剧目;(计算机的)指令表,指令系统, <美>(某个人的)全部技能;清单,指令表 | |
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172 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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173 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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174 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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175 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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176 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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177 moths | |
n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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178 hoof | |
n.(马,牛等的)蹄 | |
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179 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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180 burrows | |
n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 );翻寻 | |
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181 hopped | |
跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 ); 单足蹦跳; 齐足(或双足)跳行; 摘葎草花 | |
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182 lashed | |
adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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183 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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184 burrowing | |
v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的现在分词 );翻寻 | |
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185 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186 spines | |
n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 );脊椎;(动植物的)刺;书脊 | |
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187 inundated | |
v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 );(洪水般地)涌来;充满;给予或交予(太多事物)使难以应付 | |
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188 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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189 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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190 adoration | |
n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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191 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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192 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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193 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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194 daydream | |
v.做白日梦,幻想 | |
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195 rambled | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的过去式和过去分词 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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196 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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197 deluge | |
n./vt.洪水,暴雨,使泛滥 | |
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198 sniff | |
vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
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199 inchoate | |
adj.才开始的,初期的 | |
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200 irritability | |
n.易怒 | |
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201 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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202 reined | |
勒缰绳使(马)停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 ); 驾驭; 严格控制; 加强管理 | |
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203 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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204 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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205 preyed | |
v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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206 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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207 reassurances | |
n.消除恐惧或疑虑( reassurance的名词复数 );恢复信心;使人消除恐惧或疑虑的事物;使人恢复信心的事物 | |
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208 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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209 tautly | |
adv.绷紧地;紧张地; 结构严谨地;紧凑地 | |
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210 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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211 dispel | |
vt.驱走,驱散,消除 | |
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212 supervisors | |
n.监督者,管理者( supervisor的名词复数 ) | |
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213 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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214 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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215 veered | |
v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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216 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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217 pall | |
v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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218 spoke | |
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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219 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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220 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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221 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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222 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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223 belongings | |
n.私人物品,私人财物 | |
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224 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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225 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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226 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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227 antithesis | |
n.对立;相对 | |
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228 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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229 strands | |
n.(线、绳、金属线、毛发等的)股( strand的名词复数 );缕;海洋、湖或河的)岸;(观点、计划、故事等的)部份v.使滞留,使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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230 ascetic | |
adj.禁欲的;严肃的 | |
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231 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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232 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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233 scones | |
n.烤饼,烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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234 scone | |
n.圆饼,甜饼,司康饼 | |
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235 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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236 hierarchy | |
n.等级制度;统治集团,领导层 | |
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237 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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238 aspiring | |
adj.有志气的;有抱负的;高耸的v.渴望;追求 | |
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239 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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240 mettle | |
n.勇气,精神 | |
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241 sipped | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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242 eschewed | |
v.(尤指为道德或实际理由而)习惯性避开,回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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243 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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244 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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245 abstemious | |
adj.有节制的,节俭的 | |
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246 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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247 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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248 prospered | |
成功,兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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249 commonwealth | |
n.共和国,联邦,共同体 | |
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250 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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251 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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252 constriction | |
压缩; 紧压的感觉; 束紧; 压缩物 | |
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253 dilemma | |
n.困境,进退两难的局面 | |
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254 displease | |
vt.使不高兴,惹怒;n.不悦,不满,生气 | |
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255 diplomat | |
n.外交官,外交家;能交际的人,圆滑的人 | |
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256 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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257 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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258 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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259 impersonal | |
adj.无个人感情的,与个人无关的,非人称的 | |
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260 omniscient | |
adj.无所不知的;博识的 | |
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261 orbs | |
abbr.off-reservation boarding school 在校寄宿学校n.球,天体,圆形物( orb的名词复数 ) | |
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262 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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263 slump | |
n.暴跌,意气消沉,(土地)下沉;vi.猛然掉落,坍塌,大幅度下跌 | |
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264 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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265 futility | |
n.无用 | |
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266 dole | |
n.救济,(失业)救济金;vt.(out)发放,发给 | |
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267 ramp | |
n.暴怒,斜坡,坡道;vi.作恐吓姿势,暴怒,加速;vt.加速 | |
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268 thongs | |
的东西 | |
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269 handouts | |
救济品( handout的名词复数 ); 施舍物; 印刷品; 讲义 | |
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270 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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271 overflowing | |
n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的,充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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272 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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273 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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274 undesirables | |
不受欢迎的人,不良分子( undesirable的名词复数 ) | |
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275 plowing | |
v.耕( plow的现在分词 );犁耕;费力穿过 | |
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276 inured | |
adj.坚强的,习惯的 | |
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277 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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278 credence | |
n.信用,祭器台,供桌,凭证 | |
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279 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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280 shearer | |
n.剪羊毛的人;剪切机 | |
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281 belly | |
n.肚子,腹部;(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分,膛 | |
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282 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
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283 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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284 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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285 maelstrom | |
n.大乱动;大漩涡 | |
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286 stumps | |
(被砍下的树的)树桩( stump的名词复数 ); 残肢; (板球三柱门的)柱; 残余部分 | |
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287 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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288 defiant | |
adj.无礼的,挑战的 | |
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289 swirling | |
v.旋转,打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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290 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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291 resin | |
n.树脂,松香,树脂制品;vt.涂树脂 | |
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292 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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293 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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294 subsided | |
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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295 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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296 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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297 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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298 holocaust | |
n.大破坏;大屠杀 | |
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299 pungent | |
adj.(气味、味道)刺激性的,辛辣的;尖锐的 | |
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300 eucalyptus | |
n.桉树,桉属植物 | |
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301 trolley | |
n.手推车,台车;无轨电车;有轨电车 | |
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302 alluring | |
adj.吸引人的,迷人的 | |
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303 westward | |
n.西方,西部;adj.西方的,向西的;adv.向西 | |
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304 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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305 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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306 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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307 tinkle | |
vi.叮当作响;n.叮当声 | |
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308 doled | |
救济物( dole的过去式和过去分词 ); 失业救济金 | |
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309 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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310 stew | |
n.炖汤,焖,烦恼;v.炖汤,焖,忧虑 | |
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311 restive | |
adj.不安宁的,不安静的 | |
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312 wrestled | |
v.(与某人)搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 );扭成一团;扭打;(与…)摔跤 | |
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313 gallop | |
v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔;飞速发展 | |
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314 wielding | |
手持着使用(武器、工具等)( wield的现在分词 ); 具有; 运用(权力); 施加(影响) | |
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315 saturating | |
浸湿,浸透( saturate的现在分词 ); 使…大量吸收或充满某物 | |
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316 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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317 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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318 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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319 laterally | |
ad.横向地;侧面地;旁边地 | |
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320 clattered | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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321 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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322 overdue | |
adj.过期的,到期未付的;早该有的,迟到的 | |
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323 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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324 imminent | |
adj.即将发生的,临近的,逼近的 | |
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325 perimeter | |
n.周边,周长,周界 | |
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326 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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327 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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328 brilliance | |
n.光辉,辉煌,壮丽,(卓越的)才华,才智 | |
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329 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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330 writhing | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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331 petrified | |
adj.惊呆的;目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆,使惊呆;变僵硬;使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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332 silhouette | |
n.黑色半身侧面影,影子,轮廓;v.描绘成侧面影,照出影子来,仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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333 silhouettes | |
轮廓( silhouette的名词复数 ); (人的)体形; (事物的)形状; 剪影 | |
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334 cavorting | |
v.跳跃( cavort的现在分词 ) | |
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335 anguished | |
adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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336 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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337 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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338 soot | |
n.煤烟,烟尘;vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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339 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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340 copiously | |
adv.丰富地,充裕地 | |
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341 chunks | |
厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 ); (某物)相当大的数量或部分 | |
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342 gulp | |
vt.吞咽,大口地吸(气);vi.哽住;n.吞咽 | |
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343 galloped | |
(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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344 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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345 frolicsome | |
adj.嬉戏的,闹着玩的 | |
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346 phantoms | |
n.鬼怪,幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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347 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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348 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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349 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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350 struts | |
(框架的)支杆( strut的名词复数 ); 支柱; 趾高气扬的步态; (尤指跳舞或表演时)卖弄 | |
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351 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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352 quenched | |
解(渴)( quench的过去式和过去分词 ); 终止(某事物); (用水)扑灭(火焰等); 将(热物体)放入水中急速冷却 | |
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353 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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354 feverish | |
adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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355 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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356 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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357 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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358 fawn | |
n.未满周岁的小鹿;v.巴结,奉承 | |
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359 ammunition | |
n.军火,弹药 | |
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360 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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361 sprawled | |
v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词);蔓延;杂乱无序地拓展;四肢伸展坐着(或躺着) | |
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362 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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363 wayfarer | |
n.旅人 | |
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364 beseeching | |
adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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365 flexed | |
adj.[医]曲折的,屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 );弯曲;(为准备大干而)显示实力;摩拳擦掌 | |
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366 stipulated | |
vt.& vi.规定;约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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367 delectable | |
adj.使人愉快的;美味的 | |
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368 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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369 slashed | |
v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 );鞭打;割破;削减 | |
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370 sodden | |
adj.浑身湿透的;v.使浸透;使呆头呆脑 | |
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371 tusks | |
n.(象等动物的)长牙( tusk的名词复数 );獠牙;尖形物;尖头 | |
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372 slewed | |
adj.喝醉的v.杀死,宰杀,杀戮( slay的过去式 )( slew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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373 faucet | |
n.水龙头 | |
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374 spurting | |
(液体,火焰等)喷出,(使)涌出( spurt的现在分词 ); (短暂地)加速前进,冲刺; 溅射 | |
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375 gore | |
n.凝血,血污;v.(动物)用角撞伤,用牙刺破;缝以补裆;顶 | |
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376 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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377 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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378 trotted | |
小跑,急走( trot的过去分词 ); 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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379 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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380 corrugated | |
adj.波纹的;缩成皱纹的;波纹面的;波纹状的v.(使某物)起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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381 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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382 bogged | |
adj.陷于泥沼的v.(使)陷入泥沼, (使)陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 );妨碍,阻碍 | |
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383 cadged | |
v.乞讨,乞得,索取( cadge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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384 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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385 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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386 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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387 flinching | |
v.(因危险和痛苦)退缩,畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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388 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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389 bruise | |
n.青肿,挫伤;伤痕;vt.打青;挫伤 | |
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390 ruptured | |
v.(使)破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 );(使体内组织等)断裂;使(友好关系)破裂;使绝交 | |
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391 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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392 sensuousness | |
n.知觉 | |
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393 assuage | |
v.缓和,减轻,镇定 | |
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394 glossier | |
光滑的( glossy的比较级 ); 虚有其表的; 浮华的 | |
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395 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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396 liberating | |
解放,释放( liberate的现在分词 ) | |
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397 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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398 wrenched | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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399 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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400 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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401 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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402 cavalcade | |
n.车队等的行列 | |
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403 spate | |
n.泛滥,洪水,突然的一阵 | |
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404 gouges | |
n.凿( gouge的名词复数 );乱要价;(在…中)抠出…;挖出…v.凿( gouge的第三人称单数 );乱要价;(在…中)抠出…;挖出… | |
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405 barge | |
n.平底载货船,驳船 | |
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406 scouring | |
擦[洗]净,冲刷,洗涤 | |
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407 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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408 soldering | |
n.软焊;锡焊;低温焊接;热焊接v.(使)焊接,焊合( solder的现在分词 ) | |
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409 battering | |
n.用坏,损坏v.连续猛击( batter的现在分词 ) | |
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410 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
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411 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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412 shroud | |
n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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413 marooned | |
adj.被围困的;孤立无援的;无法脱身的 | |
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414 shrilly | |
尖声的; 光亮的,耀眼的 | |
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415 dismantling | |
(枪支)分解 | |
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416 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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417 shearing | |
n.剪羊毛,剪取的羊毛v.剪羊毛( shear的现在分词 );切断;剪切 | |
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418 reeks | |
n.恶臭( reek的名词复数 )v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的第三人称单数 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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419 cadences | |
n.(声音的)抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 );节奏;韵律;调子 | |
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420 ambling | |
v.(马)缓行( amble的现在分词 );从容地走,漫步 | |
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421 pastry | |
n.油酥面团,酥皮糕点 | |
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422 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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423 hysterically | |
ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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424 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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425 stint | |
v.节省,限制,停止;n.舍不得化,节约,限制;连续不断的一段时间从事某件事 | |
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426 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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427 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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428 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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429 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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430 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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431 requiem | |
n.安魂曲,安灵曲 | |
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432 chalice | |
n.圣餐杯;金杯毒酒 | |
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433 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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434 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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435 hissing | |
n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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436 tinkled | |
(使)发出丁当声,(使)发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 ); 叮当响着发出,铃铃响着报出 | |
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437 hunched | |
(常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦)耸肩弓身的,伏首前倾的 | |
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438 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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439 beacon | |
n.烽火,(警告用的)闪火灯,灯塔 | |
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440 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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441 elongate | |
v.拉长,伸长,延长 | |
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442 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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443 ravaged | |
毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 ); 蹂躏; 劫掠; 抢劫 | |
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444 enigma | |
n.谜,谜一样的人或事 | |
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445 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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446 strap | |
n.皮带,带子;v.用带扣住,束牢;用绷带包扎 | |
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447 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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448 ordination | |
n.授任圣职 | |
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449 predecessor | |
n.前辈,前任 | |
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450 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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451 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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452 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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453 rhythmically | |
adv.有节奏地 | |
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454 lulled | |
vt.使镇静,使安静(lull的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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455 devious | |
adj.不坦率的,狡猾的;迂回的,曲折的 | |
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456 mendacious | |
adj.不真的,撒谎的 | |
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457 evasion | |
n.逃避,偷漏(税) | |
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458 ineffably | |
adv.难以言喻地,因神圣而不容称呼地 | |
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459 sniffed | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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460 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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461 unawareness | |
不知觉;不察觉;不意;不留神 | |
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462 awareness | |
n.意识,觉悟,懂事,明智 | |
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463 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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464 irresistible | |
adj.非常诱人的,无法拒绝的,无法抗拒的 | |
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465 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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466 minions | |
n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 );走狗;宠儿;受人崇拜者 | |
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467 facets | |
n.(宝石或首饰的)小平面( facet的名词复数 );(事物的)面;方面 | |
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468 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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469 purported | |
adj.传说的,谣传的v.声称是…,(装得)像是…的样子( purport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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470 pawn | |
n.典当,抵押,小人物,走卒;v.典当,抵押 | |
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471 hooded | |
adj.戴头巾的;有罩盖的;颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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472 renaissance | |
n.复活,复兴,文艺复兴 | |
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473 sniffing | |
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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474 ingrate | |
n.忘恩负义的人 | |
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475 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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476 dissimulate | |
v.掩饰,隐藏 | |
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