“About two weeks ago,” he said brusquely, obviously getting a fierce and sullen satisfaction from this absurd lie.
“Where are you living?”
“At the Leopold.”
“Will you be staying there?”
“No, we’re moving out soon.”
“Are you going to live in New York?”
“Yes,” he said doggedly6, “we’ve taken an apartment. . . . Going to move in Monday.”
“Why, Robert!” they cried, having now recovered some fluency7 of speech, “we’re awfully8 glad to know about this.” And the women with some pretence9 at cordiality would turn to Martha, saying, “You must come to see us when you’ve settled down,” and the men would wring10 Robert by the hand, slap him on the back, and dig him in the ribs11. It was obvious that Robert derived12 a fierce and perverse13 pleasure from his stupid lie, but the girl was in a state of smouldering rage which blazed out at him the moment his friends had gone away. “You damn fool,” she snapped, “what do you mean by telling a lie like that?”
“It’s not a lie,” he said, “it’s the truth. You’re my wife in everything but name!”
“You’re a liar14! Take that back! Don’t you believe him.” she said to Eugene, “there’s not a word of truth in what he says. . . . You damned fool!” she blazed out at him. “What do you mean by telling your friends a story like that? Don’t you know they’re going to find out that you lied to them? And then,” she added bitterly, “what are they going to say about me? You never thought of that, did you? Oh, no! You don’t care if you ruin me or not! All you think of is yourself!”
“I don’t care,” he said with a sullen fierceness, “you’re my wife and that’s what I’m going to tell them all!”
“You’re not!”
“I am! I’ll show you if I don’t!”
“I’m not your wife, and you needn’t be so sure I ever will be! I got married once to a sick man, and I’ll think it over a good long time, I assure you, before I get married again to a crazy man! Now, you’d better not be too sure of yourself, Mr. Weaver15! You’re not married to me yet by a long shot!”
A bitter quarrel broke out between them: they snarled, snapped, sneered16, and wrangled17 — their voices rose until people at other tables began to look at them and listen curiously18, but they paid no attention whatever to anyone but themselves. Robert ended the argument suddenly by pushing his chair back from the table, sighing heavily, and saying feverishly20 and impatiently:
“All right, all right, all right! You’re right! I’m wrong! Only, for God’s sake, shut up and let me have a little peace!” Then they got into a taxi and went back to the hotel. They had a bottle of whisky and they all went up to Robert’s room, telephoned for ice and ginger21 ale, and began to drink. It was a little before midnight.
About two o’clock that night, as they sat there, a light, odd step, approaching briskly, came down the corridor and paused outside Robert’s door; then someone rapped lightly and sharply at the door, and with this same movement of an odd, light and exuberant22 vitality23. They looked at one another with the sudden startled look of people who feel the interruption of an intense silence around them — for the Leopold for two hours had been steeped in this silence of sleep, and they now experienced its living and animate24 presence for the first time. A good many sensations of guilt25 — all but the real one — flashed through their minds: that they had been drinking and making more noise than they should, and that a guest had complained to the office about them; or that someone had discovered that Robert had a woman in his room, and that, in the interests of hotel decorum, she was to be commanded to leave and go to her own quarters. The rapping at the door was repeated, more brisk and loud. They were all very still, Robert looked at Eugene nervously, remembering, perhaps, the sum of his past errors at the hotel and his precarious26 standing27 there.
“You go see who it is,” he said.
Eugene went to the door and opened it. A man — or rather, the wisp, the breath, the fume28 of what had been a man — stood there: it was a small figure with nothing on its skeleton of fragile bone which was recognizable as living flesh, with only the covering, it seemed, of a parchment-like skin so tightly drawn29 over the contours of the face and head that the skull30 widened and flared31 with an impression of enormous dome-like width and depth above a face so wizened32 and shrunken that one remembered it later only as a feverish19 glint of teeth, an unshaved furze of beard, and two blazing flags of red, darkened and shadowed by the sunken depth of the sockets33 of the eye, where burned a stare of an incredible size and brilliance34 — that and the whispering ghost of a voice, the final, dominant35, and unforgettable impression.
This wraith36 was clothed, or rather, engulfed37, in garments which, although of good cut and quality, it seemed never to have worn before: they swathed it round and fell away in shapeless folds so that the body was as indecipherable among them as a stick, and the neck emerged from a collar through which it seemed the whole figure of the man might have slipped as easily as through a hoop38.
And yet the creature was burning with a savage39 energy which coursed like an electric current through his withered41 body: it bore him along at a light, odd step, capricious and buoyant as the bobbing of a cork42, and it foamed43 and bubbled in him now as he stood impatiently rapping at the door, and it blazed in his eyes with a corrupt44 and fatal glee, a mad flaming exuberance45, a focal intensity of triumph, joy, and hate.
He entered the room immediately as soon as Eugene opened the door: he went in briskly at his light corky step and immediately said briskly and jovially46 in his whispering thread of a voice: “Good evening! Are we all here? Is everyone well? Did someone say something?”— he looked round enquiringly, then, with a disappointed air, continued: “No? I thought someone spoke47. Well, then, come in, Mr. Upshaw. Thank you, I will. Won’t you sit down? Yes, indeed!” He seated himself. “Will you have a drink? I should be delighted”— here he took the bottle, poured a stiff shot of whisky into a glass, and drank it at one gulp48. When he had finished, he looked round more quietly until his gaze rested with a kind of evil temperance on his wife: “Hello, Martha,” he said casually49 and quietly. “How are you?” She did not answer and in a minute he repeated, still with his evil calm but with a more vicious intensity of tone, “Listen, you God-damned bitch! . . . When I ask you a question, you answer. How are you?”
“How did you get here?” she said.
“Oh! — Surprised to see me, is she? — Well, I tell you, darling, how it was. I was going to walk — I was going to walk, if necessary — now that just shows you how anxious I was to see you — I was going to walk the whole damned way from Denver, right over mountains and prairies and rivers and everything — but I didn’t have to. I found a train all ready to go, darling; it was waiting for me when I got there, so ‘Why walk?’ I said. When I got to Kansas City I found an aeroplane waiting there, so I said, ‘Why ride when flying’s faster?’ So that’s the way I got here, darling.”— He paused and drank again.
“How did you know where to find me?” asked Martha sullenly50.
“Oh!” said Upshaw, lightly and gaily51, “that was no trouble at all. Where should I find you, my dear? Where did I expect to find you? Why, right in the bedroom of my dear old pal52, Mr. Robert Weaver, of course, I knew he’d look after you. I knew he wouldn’t leave an innocent young girl like you to wander around all alone in the city. . . . Hi, there, Robert,” he said cordially, lifting his hand in a salute53 of friendly greeting, as if noting Robert’s presence for the first time.
“How are you, boy? I’m glad to see you. You’ve been looking after my wife, haven’t you, Robert? You took care of her, didn’t you? I’m much obliged to you. . . . You son of a bitch,” he added quietly and slowly, and with an accent of infinite loathing54.
No one spoke, and after gazing at his wife a moment longer with this same air of evil quietness, he said, in a tone of mock surprise: “Why, what’s the matter? You don’t look a bit glad to see me, darling. Most men’s wives would be wild about a husband who flew across the country in an aeroplane to see them, most women would be crazy about that.”
“I wish,” the girl said bitterly, “that you had fallen into a river and drowned.”
“Now, is THAT nice? Is THAT kind?” said Upshaw in a tone of grieved reproach.
He turned toward Eugene and spoke to him for the first time. . . . “Now, I leave it to you, Mr. —” he hesitated, “I didn’t catch your name, sir, but is it all right if I call you Mr. Whipple?”
“Yes,” Eugene said. “It’s all right.”
“Good!” he cried. “I knew it would be. The reason I say that is I used to have a friend out in Cleveland named Charley Whipple, who was just the same type of fellow that you are — YOU know,” he said quietly and sneeringly55, “a fine clean-cut fellow, eyes glowing with health, beautiful complexion56, broad-shouldered, both feet on the ground, good to his mother. — Oh! he was a prince! — Just the same sort of looking fellow you are — so you won’t mind if I call you by his name, will you? You remind me so much of him. Well, now, Mr. Whipple, I ask you if you think it’s nice for a man’s wife to talk to him like this? Is it kind? Is it fair?”
“She’s not your wife,” said Robert. “She’s my wife.”
For the first time Upshaw turned and faced his enemy squarely: he surveyed him slowly, up and down, with eyes which burned and glittered with their hatred57. “Did you say something?” he asked.
“You heard me,” said Robert.
“Did anyone speak to you? Did anyone say anything to you?” Upshaw whispered. He was silent a moment; then he leaned forward slightly over the table. “Let me give you some advice,” he said. “The only pity about this is that you’re not going to be able to use it. — But I’m going to give it to you, anyway: here it is — Don’t fool with a dying man, Robert. If you’re going to play around with anyone, play around with the living, and not with the dead. Dead men are bad people to play around with.”
“All right! All right!” cried Robert in a hoarse58, excited tone. “That constitutes a threat! . . . Martha, Eugene. . . . I call on you to bear witness that he threatened me! We’ll just see how that sounds in a court of law.”
“Courts! Law!” said Upshaw; and even as he spoke they all felt instantly how preposterous59 was Robert’s threat and how meaningless such terms had become for this wisp of a man.
“Do you think I care one good God-damn now for all the courts and laws that ever were? . . . Do you think there has been a time for the last two years when I gave a damn whether I lived or died?”
“Except to spite Martha and me,” said Robert bitterly. “You cared about that, all right!”
“Yes,” said Upshaw quietly. “You’re right. I would have hung on to life as long as I could gasp60 a breath of air into what was left of my lung, and I would have lived on without a lung to breathe with in order to spoil your filthy61 game — that was the way I hated the two of you. You don’t understand that, do you, Robert? You don’t understand a man being able to hate so hard he can keep alive on it, he can use it instead of a lung to breathe with, he can use it instead of air. You don’t know anything about that, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” said Robert. “I knew you hated me all along!”
“Hated you!” Upshaw snarled. “Why, damn you, I hated the earth you walked upon, the air you breathed, the house you lived in, the places you went to; I hated all the people who saw you or spoke to you or had ever spent an hour in your company — you polluted the atmosphere for me if I even heard the sound of your voice.”
“I know you did,” said Robert, nodding. “What did I tell you?” he cried to Martha, with a note of triumphant62 conviction.
“You KNOW! You KNOW!” cried Upshaw fiercely. “Why, damn you, you poor cheap imitation of a contriving63 rascal64, you damned little drugstore Casanova, you dirty little swine of a country-club snob65, you village fortune-teller, you know nothing! . . . For two years I stayed alive with not enough sound lung left in me to cover the size of a silver dollar — and do you think it was because I was afraid to die, or wanted to live? No! No!” he whispered, and his face, or rather that eloquence66 of eye and tooth, grew passionate67 with the bitterest disgust and loathing he had ever seen. “I’ve had more than thirty years of it, and Christ! it’s been enough! I’ve had my bellyful of it. . . . I’m fed up all the way to here!” he whispered, and he struck himself fiercely at the base of the throat. He coughed, suddenly, briefly68, terribly, and with a swift impatient movement of his hot corded fingers he snatched a towel from the rack beside the water-basin, pressed his lowered face into it and then stared for a moment with an expression of intent and fascinated disgust into its folds, then he flung the bloodied69 rag away impatiently.
“You know,” he said again more calmly, and for the first time now with a touch of weariness, as if the fierce flame of this incredible energy of passion which had thus far upheld him had now been spent. “Why, you know nothing. It took a MAN to hate like that,” he said. . . . “— a better man than you could ever be- yes! . . . with no more lung than a rabbit, I’m still a better man than you could ever be, for you are nothing but a thing without the courage even of your own rotten convictions —
“God!” he looked with weary disgust from one to the other as they sat sullen, dumbly sodden70, saying nothing. “The two of you! What a pair! . . . And to think of the time I wasted hating you . . . to think of all the time when I might have been pushing daisies in some quiet spot . . . keeping myself alive by thinking of this moment.” His body was shaken again by a horrible soundless laughter. “Christ! . . . To think that I should ever have wanted to kill either of you.”
“To kill us!” said Robert hoarsely71, not with fear but accusingly, as if he were collecting damning evidence in a trial.
“Yes,” Upshaw answered with the same weary tranquillity72, “to kill you! . . . I’ve breathed and drunk and thought it for two years. I’ve lived just for this moment. I came two thousand miles across the continent to blow your brains out . . . .”
“Did you hear him?” cried Robert, jumping up from the table. “Did you hear what he said, Martha? Did you hear him threaten me?”
“Sit down!” said Upshaw quietly. “I’ve seen you now and I’m satisfied. I wouldn’t touch you. Why, God-damn you, you’re not worth it, either of you.” Again he surveyed them with slow loathing, and broke into his soundless laughter. “Kill you! Why, I wouldn’t do either of you so big a favour. You don’t deserve such luck! I’ll let you live and rot together. . . . Take her! . . . Take her!” he cried, more strongly, his eyes burning into fury. “Take her! . . . But before you do”— with a swift movement he withdrew from his pocket a small and crumpled73 wad of dollar bills —“here! I want to give you something!” And he flung them straight at Robert’s face, “Take that . . . and go and get yourself a GOOD prostitute while you’re at it!”
Robert sat perfectly74 still for a moment; then he got up slowly, went over to the door, and flung it open and walked back to the table. . . . “Get out of here,” he said. Upshaw did not move: he sat regarding him silently, with an intent, contemptuous, catlike stare.
“Did you hear me?” said Robert. . . . “Get out of my room!”
“Sit down,” said Upshaw. “You’re going to annoy me.”
“Annoy you! I’ll annoy you, you damned rascal,” Robert cried furiously, and suddenly he slapped Upshaw in the face, shouting, “You’re going out of here this minute, do you hear? . . . I’ll show you if you can insult me in my own place,” and he lunged viciously towards him.
What happened then was so sudden and swift that Eugene could never thereafter remember clearly the order in which all of the events occurred: as Robert plunged75 towards the little man, Martha spoke sharply to him, commanding him to be still, at the same moment the table and two chairs overturned with a crash of glassware . . . and Upshaw, somehow, with an incredible speed of movement, was on his feet and moving backward out of the way of Robert’s lunging fist. Eugene had a brief and terribly clear sensation of a gesture of catlike speed as Upshaw thrust his hand into the pocket of his coat and then the bright wicked wink76 of steel. Then Martha was on top of him, clinging frantically77 to his arm, wrestling him into the wall, and in a moment wrenching78 the weapon from his grasp.
For a moment there was no sound in the room whatever save the sound of three excited people breathing rapidly and heavily, and another sound, the terrible sound of Upshaw’s breathing, hoarse, rattling79, painful, breaking suddenly and sharply into a torn gasping80 cough that was thick with blood. The first words spoken came from Martha:
“Close that door!” she commanded curtly81.
Robert, instead of obliging her, turned to Eugene with an awed82 and quieted light in his eye.
“Did you see that?” he whispered to Eugene. —“Did you see him pull that gun on me? . . . Why!” he cried with a kind of sudden astonishment83, “it was assault with a deadly weapon! That’s what it was! He tried to murder me!” He was beside himself with astonishment and excitement. “I’m going to get the police,” and he rushed out into the hall.
“Go get that damned fool and bring him back here,” she said to Eugene. “AND CLOSE THAT DOOR!”
Eugene ran out into the corridor just in time to see Robert disappearing at his long stiff stride around the corner that led to the lifts in the main building. When Eugene got there Robert was pressing buttons feverishly, but unfortunately, because the hour was so late and the lift-man was asleep below, his call had not yet been answered. Eugene seized him by the arm and began to pull him along back towards his room.
“Let go of me!” he said.
“You damned fool! . . . Do you want to ruin us all?”
He seemed to sober up and grew calmer after a moment or two of excited prayer and protest. They went back to the room quietly enough. When they got there Martha was supporting Upshaw’s body against the basin of the washstand. The man, by this time, was either unconscious or semi-conscious: all the savage and unholy energy which had burned for a space so incredibly that it had the power to hurl84 this diseased and near-dead mite85 across a continent had now flared utterly86 out and the creature which the girl supported in her arms, with a kind of dark and sullen tenderness, seemed to have died and dwindled87 with it; the body was no longer discernible, it seemed to have faded, a fabric88 of rotten sticks, into a shapeless heap of clothing; it dangled89 shapelessly and grotesquely90 like some deflated92 figure, and yet from the head, from that death’s-head of skull and tooth and blazing eyes, there were spurting93 unbelievable, incredible fountains of blood: it burst simultaneously94 from the mouth and nostrils95 in a steady torrent96 until his skin was laced with it; it filled the basin, it was incredible that such fountains of bright blood should pour out of this withered squirrel of a man.
Robert sat down sullenly in a chair by the table after saying, “Now, this is your last chance. . . . I’ve had as much as I can stand. You’ve got to decide between us here and now!” She did not answer him, and he said no more, relapsing into a sullen and half-drunken stupor97.
The girl washed the blood away from Upshaw’s face with a towel: in a moment more she asked Eugene if he would help her carry him to the bed. Eugene picked him up and put him on the bed; his body felt like a handful of light dry sticks, he weighed no more than a child of ten; already his figure seemed, under the strange and terrible chemistry of death, to shrink and wither40 visibly from one moment to another, but his head rested above that shapeless and grotesque91 bundle of clothing as if it had been severed98 from the body — with an immense austerity of line and light, a cold, stiffening99, and upthrust calm.
Eugene went down to the office and told them what had happened. The night clerk, a fat, shuffling100 old man with a mild, pasty face, and the black African negro who was at the telephone-board, received the news with astonishing calmness and matter of factness, and then acted with admirable coolness, speed and quiet precision, of which Eugene often thought in the months that followed, because it revealed to him a kind of secret knowledge, a hidden seriousness in the hotel’s working, and it showed, moreover, how much knowledge, ability, and decision may be stored behind the faces of inept101 and foolish-looking men.
Eugene looked at the clock above the office desk: it was now ten minutes after three o’clock in the morning. Within twenty minutes they had an ambulance, a doctor, and two stretcher-bearers at the hotel; the doctor, a young Jew with a little moustache, walked quietly and casually into the room, with the ends of a stethoscope fastened in his ears. Eugene thought that Upshaw was already dead! His face had the upthrust marble rigidity102 of death, but after a moment’s examination the doctor spoke quietly to the two men with him, they put the stretcher on the floor and laid the withered little figure on it. As they started to move out of the room Upshaw’s arms began to flop103 and jerk stiffly and grotesquely with every step they took: at another word from the doctor they put their burden on the floor again, the doctor knelt swiftly, unknotted the cravat104 in Upshaw’s collar and loosely tied his wrists together. Then they all went out, and Martha followed, holding Upshaw’s hat. She rode over in the ambulance to the hospital, which was only a few blocks away in Fifteenth Street. Robert and Eugene followed in a taxi; there was no one on the streets, the buildings and the pavements had the hard, bare angularity they have early in the morning: they waited downstairs in a little room until shortly after five o’clock in the morning, when Martha came down to see them and to tell them that Upshaw had just died.
Then Eugene left Robert and Martha there together and walked back towards the hotel. The streets were still bare, but in the east there was the first width of morning light, cold steel-grey, harsh and sharply clean: day was beginning to break, and he could hear the rumbling105 jingle106 of a milk-wagon and the sound of hoof107 and wheel behind him in the lonely street.
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1
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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fluency
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| n.流畅，雄辩，善辩 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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ribs
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| 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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derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wrangled
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| v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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ginger
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| n.姜，精力，淡赤黄色；adj.淡赤黄色的；vt.使活泼，使有生气 | |
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exuberant
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| adj.充满活力的；（植物）繁茂的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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animate
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| v.赋于生命，鼓励；adj.有生命的，有生气的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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brilliance
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| n.光辉，辉煌，壮丽，（卓越的）才华，才智 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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37
engulfed
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| v.吞没，包住( engulf的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38
hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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39
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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wither
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| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
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41
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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42
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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43
foamed
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| 泡沫的 | |
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44
corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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45
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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46
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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47
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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48
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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49
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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52
pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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53
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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54
loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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sneeringly
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| 嘲笑地，轻蔑地 | |
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56
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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contriving
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| （不顾困难地）促成某事( contrive的现在分词 )； 巧妙地策划，精巧地制造（如机器）； 设法做到 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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bloodied
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| v.血污的( bloody的过去式和过去分词 )；流血的；屠杀的；残忍的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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82
awed
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| 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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83
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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84
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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85
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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86
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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87
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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89
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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91
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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92
deflated
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| adj. 灰心丧气的 | |
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93
spurting
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| （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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94
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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95
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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96
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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97
stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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98
severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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99
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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100
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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101
inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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102
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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103
flop
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| n.失败(者)，扑通一声；vi.笨重地行动，沉重地落下 | |
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104
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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105
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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106
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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107
hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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