HMS _Belfast_ is a gunship of 11,000 tons, commissioned in 1939, which saw active service in the Second World War. Since then it has been moored1 on the south bank of the Thames, in postcard-land, between Tower Bridge and London Bridge, opposite the Tower of London. From its deck one can see St. Paul's Cathedral and the gilt2 top of the columnlike Monument to the Great Fire of London erected3, as so much of London was erected, by Christopher Wren4. The ship serves as a floating museum, as a memorial, as a training ground.
There _is_ a walkway onto the ship from the shore, and they came down the walkway in their twos and threes, and in their dozens. They set up their stalls as early as they could, all the tribes of London Below, united both by the Market Truce5 and by a mutual6 desire to pitch their own stalls as far as possible from the Sewer7 Folk's stall.
It had been agreed well over a century before that the Sewer Folk could only set up a stall at those markets held in the open air. Dunnikin and his folk dumped their booty in a large pile on a rubber sheet, beneath a large gun tower. Nobody ever came to the Sewer Folk's stall immediately: but toward the end of the market they would come, the bargain hunters, the curious, and those few fortunate individuals blessed with no sense of smell.
Richard and Hunter and Door pushed their way through the crowds on the deck. Richard realized that he had somehow lost the need to stop and stare. The people here were no less strange than at the last Floating Market, but, he supposed, he was every bit as strange to them, wasn't he? He looked around, scanning the faces in the crowd as they walked, hunting for the marquis's ironic8 smile. "I don't see him," he said.
They were approaching a smith's stall, where a man who could easily have passed for a small mountain, if one were to overlook the shaggy brown beard, tossed a lump of red-molten metal from a brazier onto an anvil9. Richard had never seen a real anvil before. He could feel the heat from the molten metal and the brazier from a dozen feet away.
"Keep looking. De Carabas'll turn up," said Door, looking behind them. "Like a bad penny." She thought for a moment, and added, "What exactly is a bad penny anyway?" And then, before Richard could answer, she squealed10, "Hammersmith!"
The bearded mountain-man looked up, stopped hitting the molten metal, and roared, "By the Temple and the Arch. Lady Door!" Then he picked her up, as if she weighed no more than a mouse.
"Hello, Hammersmith," said Door. "I hoped you'd be here."
"Never miss a market, lady," he thundered, cheerfully. Then he confided11, like an explosion with a secret, "This's where the business is, y'see. Now," he said, recollecting12 the cooling lump of metal on his anvil, "just you wait here a moment." He put Door down at eye level, on the top of his booth,, seven feet above the deck.
He banged the lump of metal with his hammer, twisting it as he did so with implements13 Richard assumed, correctly, were tongs14. Under the hammer blows it changed from a shapeless blob of orange metal into a perfect black rose. It was a work of astonishing delicacy15, each petal16 perfect and distinct. Hammersmith dipped the rose into a bucket of cold water beside the anvil: it hissed17 and steamed. Then he pulled it out of the bucket, wiped it, and handed it to a fat man in chain mail who was standing18, patiently, to one side; the fat man professed19 himself well satisfied and gave Hammersmith, in return, a green plastic Marks and Spencer shopping bag, filled with various kinds of cheese.
"Hammersmith?" said Door, from her perch20. "These are my friends."
Hammersmith enveloped21 Richard's hand in one several sizes up. His handshake was enthusiastic, but very gentle, as if he had, in the past, had a number of accidents shaking hands and had practiced it until he got it right. "Charmed," he boomed.
"Richard," said Richard.
Hammersmith looked delighted. "Richard! Fine name! I had a horse called Richard." He let go of Richard's hand, turned to Hunter, and said, "And you are . . . Hunter? Hunter! As I live, breathe, and defecate! It is!" Hammersmith blushed like a schoolboy. He spat22 on his hand and attempted, awkwardly, to plaster his hair back. Then he stuck his hand out and realized that he had just spat on it, and he wiped it on his leather apron23, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"Hammersmith," said Hunter, with a perfect caramel smile.
"Hammersmith?" asked Door. "Will you help me down?"
He looked shamefaced. "Beg pardon, lady," he said, and lifted her down. It came to Richard then that Hammersmith had known Door as a small child, and he found himself feeling unaccountably jealous of the huge man. "Now," Hammersmith was saying to Door, "What can I do for you?"
"Couple of things," she said. "But first of all--" She turned to Richard. "Richard? I've got a job for you."
Hunter raised an eyebrow24. "For him?"
Door nodded. "For both of you. Will you go and find us some food? Please?" Richard felt oddly proud. He had proved himself in the ordeal25. He was One of Them. He would Go, and he would Bring Back Food. He puffed26 out his chest.
"I am your bodyguard27. I stay by your side," said Hunter.
Door grinned. Her eyes flashed. "In the market? It's okay, Hunter. Market Truce holds. No one's going to touch me here. And Richard needs looking after more than I do." Richard deflated28, but no one was watching.
"And what if someone violates the Truce?" asked Hunter.
Hammersmith shivered, despite the heat of his brazier. "Violate the Market Truce? Brrrr."
"It's not going to happen. Go on. Both of you. Curry29, please. And get me some papadums, please. Spicy30 ones."
Hunter ran her hand through her hair. Then she turned and walked off into the crowd, and Richard went with her. "So what would happen if someone violated Market Truce?" asked Richard, as they pushed through the crowds.
Hunter thought about this for a moment. "The last time it happened was about three hundred years ago. A couple of friends got into an argument over a woman, in the market. A knife was pulled and one of them died. The other fled."
"What happened to him? Was he killed?"
Hunter shook her head. "Quite the opposite. He still wishes he had been the one to have died."
"He's still alive?"
Hunter pursed her lips. "Ish," she said, after a while. "Alive-ish."
A moment passed, then _"Phew,"_ Richard thought he was going to be ill. "What's that--that stink31?"
"Sewer Folk."
Richard averted32 his head and tried not to breathe through his nose until they were well away from the Sewer Folk's stall.
"Any sign of the marquis yet?" he asked. Hunter shook her head. She could have reached out her hand and touched him. They went up a gangplank, toward the food stalls, and more welcoming aromas33.
Old Bailey found the Sewer Folk with little difficulty, following his nose.
He knew what he had to do, and he took a certain pleasure in making a bit of a performance of it, ostentatiously examining the dead cocker spaniel, the artificial leg, and the damp and moldy34 portable telephone, and shaking his head dolorously35 at each of them. Then he made a point of noticing the marquis's body. He scratched his nose. He put on his spectacles and peered at it. He nodded to himself, glumly36, hoping to give the vague impression of being a man in need of a corpse38 who was disappointed by the selection but was going to have to make do with what they had. Then he beckoned40 to Dunnikin, and pointed39 to the corpse.
Dunnikin opened his hands wide, smiled beatifically41, and gazed up toward the heavens, conveying the bliss42 with which the marquis's remains43 had entered their life. He put a hand to his forehead, lowered it, and looked devastated44, in order to convey the tragedy that losing such a remarkable45 corpse would be.
Old Bailey put a hand in his pocket and produced a half-used stick of deodorant46. He handed it to Dunnikin, who squinted47 at it, licked it, and handed it back, unimpressed. Old Bailey pocketed it. He looked back at the corpse of the marquis de Carabas, half-dressed, barefoot, still damp from its journey through the sewers48. The body was ashen49, drained of blood from many cuts, small and large, and the skin was wrinkled and prunelike from its time in the water.
Then he pulled out a bottle, three-quarters filled with a yellow liquid, and passed it to Dunnikin. Dunnikin looked at it suspiciously. The Sewer Folk know what a bottle of Chanel No. 5 looks like, and they gathered around Dunnikin, staring. Carefully, self-importantly, he unscrewed the top of the bottle and dabbed50 the tiniest amount on his wrist. Then, with a gravity the finest Parisian _parfumier_ would have envied, Dunnikin sniffed51. Then he nodded his head, enthusiastically, and approached Old Bailey to embrace him and conclude the deal. The old man averted his face and held his breath until the embrace was concluded.
Old Bailey held up one finger and tried his best to mime52 that he was not so young as once he was and that, dead or not, the marquis de Carabas was a bit on the heavy side. Dunnikin picked his nose thoughtfully, and then, with a hand gesture indicating not only magnanimity but also a foolish and misplaced generosity53 that would, obviously, send him, Dunnikin, and the rest of the Sewer Folk, to the poorhouse, he had one of the younger Sewer Folk tie the corpse to the bottom half of the old baby carriage.
The old roof-man covered the body with a cloth, and he pulled it away from the Sewer Folk, across the crowded deck.
"One portion of vegetable curry, please," said Richard, to the woman at the curry stall. "And, um, I was wondering. The meat curry. What kind of meat is it, then?" The woman told him. "Oh," said Richard. "Right. Um. Better just make that vegetable curries54 all round."
"Hello again," said a rich voice beside him. It was the pale woman they had met in the caves, with the black dress and the foxglove eyes.
"Hullo," said Richard, with a smile. "--Oh, and some papadums, please. You, um. Here for curry?"
She fixed55 him with her violet gaze and said, in mock Bela Lugosi, "I do not eat . . . curry." And then she laughed, a lavish56, delighted laugh, and Richard found himself realizing how long it had been since he had shared a joke with a woman.
"Oh. Um. Richard. Richard Mayhew." He stuck out his hand. She touched it with her own hand, in something a little like a handshake. Her fingers were very cold, but then, late at night, at the end of autumn, on a ship out on the Thames, everything is very cold.
"Lamia," she said. "I'm a Velvet57."
"Ah," he said. "Right. Are there a lot of you?"
"A few," she said.
Richard collected the containers with the curry. "What do you do?" he asked.
"When I'm not looking for food," she said, with a smile, "I'm a guide. I know every inch of the Underside."
Hunter, who Richard could have sworn had been over on the other side of the stall, was standing next to Lamia. She said, "He's not yours."
Lamia smiled sweetly. "I'll be the judge of that," she said.
Richard said, "Hunter, this is Lamia. She's a Velcro."
"Vel-vet," corrected Lamia, sweetly.
"She's a guide."
"I'll take you wherever you want to go."
Hunter took the bag with the food in it from Richard. "Time to go back," she said.
"Well," said Richard. "If we're off to see the you-know-what, maybe she could help."
Hunter said nothing; instead, she looked at Richard. Had she looked at him that way the day before, he would have dropped the subject. But that was then. "Let's see what Door thinks," said Richard. "Any sign of the marquis?"
"Not yet," said Hunter.
Old Bailey had dragged the corpse down the gangplank tied to its baby carriage-base, like a ghastly Guy Fawkes, one of the effigies58 that, not so very long ago, the children of London had wheeled and dragged around in early November, displaying to passersby59 before tossing them to their flaming demise60 on the bonfires of the fifth of November, Bonfire Night. He pulled the corpse over Tower Bridge, and, muttering and complaining, he hauled it up the hill past the Tower of London. He made his way west toward Tower Hill Station and stopped a little before the station, beside a large gray jut61 of wall. It wasn't a roof, thought Old Bailey, but it would do. It was one of the last remnants of the London Wall. The London Wall, according to tradition, was built on the orders of the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, in the third century A.D., at the request of his mother Helena. At that point, London was one of the few great cities of the Empire that did not yet have a magnificent wall. When it was finished it enclosed the small city completely; it was thirty feet high, and eight feet wide, and was, unarguably, the London Wall.
It was no longer thirty feet high, the ground level having risen since Constantine's mother's day (most of the original London Wall is fifteen feet below street level today), and it no longer enclosed the city. But it was still an imposing62 lump of wall. Old Bailey nodded vigorously to himself. He fastened a length of rope to the baby carriage, and he scrambled63 up the wall; then, grunting64 and 'bless-me'-ing, he hauled the marquis up to the top of the wall. He untied65 the body from the carriage wheels and laid it gently out on its back, arms at its side. There were wounds on the body that were still oozing66. It was very dead. "You stupid bugger," whispered Old Bailey, sadly. "What did you want to get yourself killed for, anyway?"
The moon was bright and small and high in the cold night, and autumn constellations67 speckled the blue-black sky like the dust of crushed diamonds. A nightingale fluttered onto the wall, examined the corpse of the marquis de Carabas, and chirruped sweetly. "None of your beak," said Old Bailey, gruffly. "You birds don't smell like flipping69 roses, neither." The bird chirped70 a melodious71 nightingale obscenity at him, and flew off into the night.
Old Bailey reached into his pocket and pulled out the black rat, who had gone to sleep. It stared about it sleepily, then yawned, displaying a vast and ratty expanse of piebald tongue. "Personally," said Old Bailey to the black rat, "I'll be happy if I never smell anything ever again." He put it down by his feet on the stones of London Wall, and it chittered at him, and gestured with its front paws. Old Bailey sighed. Carefully, he took the silver box out of his pocket, and, from an inner pocket, he pulled the toasting fork.
He placed the silver box on de Carabas's chest, then, nervously72, he reached out the toasting fork, and flipped73 open the lid of the box. Inside the silver box, on a nest of red velvet, was a large duck's egg, pale blue green in the moonlight. Old Bailey raised the toasting fork, closed his eyes, and brought it down on the egg.
There was a _whup_ as it imploded74. There was a great stillness for several seconds after that; then the wind began. It had no direction, but seemed somehow to be coming from everywhere, a swirling75 sudden gale68. Fallen leaves, newspaper pages, all the city's detritus76 blew up from the ground and was driven through the air. The wind touched the surface of the Thames and carried the cold water into the sky in a fine and driving spray. It was a dangerous, crazy wind. The stall holders77 on the deck of the _Belfast_ cursed it and clutched their possessions to keep them from blowing away.
And then, when it seemed that the wind would become so strong that it would blow the world away and blow the stars away and send the people tumbling through the air like so many desiccated autumn leaves--
Just then--
--it was over, and the leaves, and the papers, and the plastic shopping bags, tumbled to the earth, and the road, and the water.
High on the remnant of the London Wall, the silence that followed the wind was, in its way, as loud as the wind had been. It was broken by a cough; a horrid78, wet coughing. This was followed by the sound of someone awkwardly rolling over; and then the sound of someone being sick.
The marquis de Carabas vomited79 sewer water over the side of the London Wall, staining the gray stones with brown foulness80. It took a long time to purge81 the water from his body. And then he said, in a hoarse82 voice that was little more than a grinding whisper, "I think my throat's been cut. Have you anything to bind83 it with?"
Old Bailey fumbled84 in his pockets and pulled out a grubby length of cloth. He passed it to the marquis, who wrapped it around his throat a few times and then tied it tight. Old Bailey found himself reminded, incongruously, of the high-wrapped Beau Brummel collars of the Regency dandies. "Anything to drink?" croaked85 the marquis.
Old Bailey pulled out his hip-flask and unscrewed the top, and passed it to the marquis, who swigged back a mouthful, then winced86 with pain, and coughed weakly. The black rat, who had watched all this with interest, now began to climb down the fragment of wall and away. It would tell the Golden: all favors had been repaid, all debts were done.
The marquis gave Old Bailey back his hip-flask. Old Bailey put it away. "How are ye feeling?" he asked.
"I've felt better." The marquis sat up, shivering. His nose was running, and his eyes flickered87 about: he was staring at the world as if he had never seen it before.
"What did you have to go and get yourself killed for, anyway, that's what I want to know," asked Old Bailey.
"Information," whispered the marquis. "People tell you so much more when they know you're just about to be dead. And then they talk around you, when you are."
"Then you found out what you wanted to know?"
The marquis fingered the wounds in his arms and his legs, "Oh yes. Most of it. I have more than an inkling of what this affair is actually about." Then he closed his eyes once more, and wrapped his arms about himself, and swayed, slowly, back and forth88.
"What's it like then?" asked Old Bailey. "Being dead?"
The marquis sighed. And then he twisted his lips up into a smile, and with a glitter of his old self, he replied, "Live long enough, Old Bailey, and you can find out for yourself."
Old Bailey looked disappointed. "Bastard89. After all I done to bring you back from that dread90 bourne from which there is no returning. Well usually no returning."
The marquis de Carabas looked up at him. His eyes were very white in the moonlight. And he whispered, "What's it like being dead? It's very cold, my friend. Very dark, and very cold."
Door held up the chain. The silver key hung from it, red and orange in the light of Hammersmith's brazier. She smiled. "Fine work, Hammersmith."
"Thank you, lady."
She hung the chain around her neck and hid the key away inside her layers of clothes. "What would you like in return?"
The smith looked abashed91. "I hardly want to presume upon your good nature . . . " he mumbled92.
Door made her "get on with it" face. He bent93 down and produced a black box from beneath a pile of metalworking tools. It was made of dark wood, inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, and was the size of a large dictionary. He turned it over and over in his hands. "It's a puzzle-box," he explained. "I took it in return for some smithing a handful of years back. I can't get it to open, though I've tried so hard."
Door took the box and ran her fingers over the smooth surface. "I'm not surprised you haven't been able to open it. The mechanism's all jammed. It's completely fused shut."
Hammersmith looked glum37. "So I'll never find out what's in it."
Door made an amused face. Her fingers explored the surface of the box. A rod slid-out of the side of the box. She half-pushed the rod back into the box, then twisted. There was a _clunk_ from deep inside it, and a door opened in the side. "Here," said Door.
"My lady," said Hammersmith. He took the box from her and pulled the door open all the way. There was a drawer inside the box, which he pulled open. The small toad94, in the drawer, croaked and looked about itself with copper95 eyes, incuriously. Hammersmith's face fell. "I was hoping it would be diamonds and pearls," he said.
Door reached out a hand and stroked the toad's head. "He's got pretty eyes," she said. "Keep him, Hammersmith. He'll bring you luck. And thank you again. I know I can rely on your discretion96."
"You can rely on me, lady," said Hammersmith, earnestly.
They sat together on the top of the London Wall, not speaking. Old Bailey slowly lowered the baby carriage wheels to the ground below them. "Where's the market?" asked the marquis.
Old Bailey pointed to the gunship. "Over there."
"Door and the others. They'll be expecting me."
"You aren't in any condition to go anywhere." The marquis coughed, painfully. It sounded, to Old Bailey, like there was still plenty of sewer in his lungs. "I've made a long enough journey today," de Carabas whispered. "A little farther won't hurt." He examined his hands, flexed97 the fingers slowly, as if to see whether or not they would do as he wished. And then he twisted his body around, and began, awkwardly, to climb down the side of the wall. But before he did so, he said, hoarsely98 and perhaps a little sadly, "It would seem, Old Bailey, that I owe you a favor."
When Richard returned with the curries, Door ran to him and threw her arms around him. She hugged him tightly, and even patted his bottom, before seizing the paper bag from him and pulling it open with enthusiasm. She took a container of vegetable curry and began, happily, to eat.
"Thanks," said Door, with her mouth full. "Any sign of the marquis yet?"
"None," said Hunter.
"Croup and Vandemar?"
"No."
"Yummy curry. This is really good."
"Got the chain all right?" asked Richard. Door pulled the chain up from around her neck, enough to show it was there, and she let it fall again, the weight of the key pulling it back down.
"Door," said Richard, "this is Lamia. She's a guide. She says she can take us anywhere in the Underside."
"Anywhere?" Door munched99 a papadum.
"Anywhere," said Lamia.
Door put her head on one side. "Do you know where the Angel Islington is?"
Lamia blinked, slowly, long lashes100 covering and revealing her foxglove-colored eyes. "Islington?" she said. "You can't go there . . . "
"Do you know?"
"Down Street," said Lamia. "The end of Down Street. But it's not safe."
Hunter had been watching this conversation, arms folded and unimpressed. Now she said, "We don't need a guide."
"Well," said Richard, "I think we do. The marquis isn't around anywhere. We know it's going to be a dangerous journey. We have to get the . . . the thing I got . . . to the Angel. And then he'll tell Door about her family, and he'll tell me how to get home."
Lamia looked up at Hunter with delight. "And he can give you brains," she said, cheerfully, "and me a heart."
Door wiped the last of the curry from her bowl with her fingers, and licked them. "We'll be fine, just the three of us, Richard. We cannot afford a guide."
Lamia bridled101. "I'll take my payment from him, not you."
"And what payment would your kind demand?" asked Hunter.
"That," said Lamia with a sweet smile, "is for me to know and him to wonder."
Door shook her head. "I really don't think so."
Richard snorted. "You just don't like it that I'm figuring everything out for once, instead of following blindly behind you, going where I'm told."
"That's not it at all."
Richard turned to Hunter. "Well, Hunter. Do _you_ know the way to Islington?" Hunter shook her head.
Door sighed. "We should get a move on. Down Street, you say?"
Lamia smiled with plum-colored lips. "Yes, lady."
By the time the marquis reached the market they were gone.
收听单词发音 |
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moored
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| adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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wren
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| n.鹪鹩；英国皇家海军女子服务队成员 | |
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truce
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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ironic
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| adj.讽刺的，有讽刺意味的，出乎意料的 | |
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anvil
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| n.铁钻 | |
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squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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tongs
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| n.钳；夹子 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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petal
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| n.花瓣 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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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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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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eyebrow
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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deflated
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| adj. 灰心丧气的 | |
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curry
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| n.咖哩粉，咖哩饭菜；v.用咖哩粉调味，用马栉梳，制革 | |
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spicy
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| adj.加香料的；辛辣的，有风味的 | |
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stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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aromas
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| n.芳香( aroma的名词复数 )；气味；风味；韵味 | |
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34
moldy
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| adj.发霉的 | |
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dolorously
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| adj. 悲伤的；痛苦的；悲哀的；阴沉的 | |
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glumly
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| adv.忧郁地，闷闷不乐地；阴郁地 | |
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glum
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| adj.闷闷不乐的，阴郁的 | |
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38
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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39
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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40
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
beatifically
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| adj. 祝福的, 幸福的, 快乐的, 慈祥的 | |
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42
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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43
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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44
devastated
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| v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词)；摧毁；毁灭；在感情上（精神上、财务上等）压垮adj.毁坏的；极为震惊的 | |
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45
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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46
deodorant
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| adj.除臭的；n.除臭剂 | |
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47
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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48
sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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50
dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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51
sniffed
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| 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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52
mime
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| n.指手画脚，做手势，哑剧演员，哑剧；vi./vt.指手画脚的表演，用哑剧的形式表演 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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curries
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| n.咖喱食品( curry的名词复数 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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lavish
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| adj.无节制的；浪费的；vt.慷慨地给予，挥霍 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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effigies
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| n.（人的）雕像，模拟像，肖像( effigy的名词复数 ) | |
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passersby
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| n. 过路人(行人,经过者) | |
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60
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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61
jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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constellations
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| n.星座( constellation的名词复数 )；一群杰出人物；一系列（相关的想法、事物）；一群（相关的人） | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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74
imploded
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| v.（使）向心聚爆( implode的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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76
detritus
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| n.碎石 | |
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holders
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| 支持物( holder的名词复数 )； 持有者； （支票等）持有人； 支托（或握持）…之物 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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79
vomited
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80
foulness
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| n. 纠缠, 卑鄙 | |
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81
purge
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| n.整肃，清除，泻药，净化；vt.净化，清除，摆脱；vi.清除，通便，腹泻，变得清洁 | |
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82
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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83
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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84
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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85
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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86
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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88
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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89
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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90
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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94
toad
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| n.蟾蜍，癞蛤蟆 | |
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95
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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97
flexed
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| 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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98
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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99
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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101
bridled
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| 给…套龙头( bridle的过去式和过去分词 )； 控制； 昂首表示轻蔑（或怨忿等）； 动怒，生气 | |
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