They walked for hours in silence, following the winding1 stone road downwards2. Richard was still in pain; he was limping, and experiencing a strange mental and physical turmoil3: feelings of defeat and betrayal roiled4 within him, which, combined with the near loss of his life to Lamia, the damage inflicted5 by Mr. Vandemar, and his experiences on the plank6 far above, left him utterly7 wrecked8. Yet, he was certain that his experiences of the last day paled into something small and insignificant9 when placed beside whatever the marquis had experienced. So he said nothing.
The marquis kept silent, as every word he uttered hurt his throat. He was content to let it heal, and to concentrate on Hunter. He knew that, should he let his attention flag for even a moment, she would know it, and she would be away, or she would turn on them. So he said nothing.
Hunter walked a little ahead of them. She, also, said nothing.
After some hours, they reached the bottom of Down Street. The street ended in a vast Cyclopean gateway--built of enormous rough stone blocks. _Giants built that gate,_ thought Richard, half-remembered tales of long-dead kings of mythical10 London churning in his head, tales of King Bran and of the giants Gog and Magog, with hands the size of oak trees, and severed11 heads as big as hills. The portal itself had long since rusted13 and crumbled14 away. Fragments of it could be seen in the mud beneath their feet, dangling15 uselessly from a rusted hinge on the side of the gate. The hinge was taller than Richard.
The marquis gestured for Hunter to stop. He moistened his lips, and said, "This gate marks the end of Down Street, and the beginning of the labyrinth16. And beyond the labyrinth waits the Angel Islington. And in the labyrinth is the Beast."
"I still don't understand," said Richard. "Islington. I actually met him. It. Him. He's an angel. I mean, a real angel."
The marquis smiled, without humor. "When angels go bad, Richard, they go worse than anyone. Remember, Lucifer used to be an angel."
Hunter watched Richard with nut brown eyes. "The place you visited is Islington's citadel17, and also its prison," she said. It was the first thing she had said in hours. "It cannot leave."
The marquis addressed her directly. "I assume that the labyrinth and the Beast are there to discourage visitors."
She inclined her head. "So I would assume also."
Richard turned on the marquis, all his anger and impotence and frustration18 spewing out of him in one angry blast. "Why are you even talking to her? Why is she still with us? She was a traitor19--she tried to make us think that you were the traitor."
"And I saved your life, Richard Mayhew," said Hunter, quietly. "Many times. On the bridge. At the gap. On the board up there." She looked into his eyes, and it was Richard who looked away.
Something echoed through the tunnels: a bellow20, or a roar. The hairs on the back of Richard's neck prickled. It was far away, but that was the only thing about it in which he could take any comfort. He knew that sound: he had heard it in his dreams, but now it sounded neither like a bull nor like a boar; it sounded like a lion; it sounded like a dragon.
"The labyrinth is one of the oldest places in London Below," said the marquis. "Before King Lud founded the village on the Thames marshes21, there was a labyrinth here."
"No Beast, though," said Richard.
"Not then."
Richard hesitated. The distant roaring began again. "I . . . I think I've had dreams about the Beast," he said.
The marquis raised an eyebrow23. "What kind of dreams?"
"Bad ones," said Richard.
The marquis thought about this, eyes flickering24. And then he said, "Look, Richard. I'm taking Hunter. But if you want to wait here, well, no one could accuse you of cowardice25."
Richard shook his head. Sometimes there is nothing you can do. "I'm not turning back. Not now. They've got Door."
"Right," said the marquis. "Well then. Shall we go?"
Hunter's perfect caramel lips twisted into a sneer26. "You'd have to be mad to go in there," she said. "Without the angel's token you could never find your way. Never get past the boar."
The marquis reached his hand under his poncho27 blanket and produced the little obsidian28 statue he had taken from Door's father's study. "One of these, you mean?" he asked. The marquis felt, then, that much of what he had gone through in the previous week was made up for by the expression on Hunter's face. They went through the gate, into the labyrinth.
Door's arms were bound behind her back, and Mr. Vandemar walked behind her, one huge beringed hand resting on her shoulder, pushing her along. Mr. Croup scuttled29 on ahead of them, holding the talisman30 he had taken from her on high, and peering edgily31 from side to side, like a particularly pompous32 weasel on its way to raid the henhouse.
The labyrinth itself was a place of pure madness. It was built of lost fragments of London Above: alleys34 and roads and corridors and sewers35 that had fallen through the cracks over the millennia36, and entered the world of the lost and the forgotten. The two men and the girl walked over cobbles, and through mud, and through dung of various kinds, and over rotting wooden boards. They walked through daylight and night, through gaslit streets, and sodium-lit streets, and streets lit with burning rushes and links. It was an ever-changing place: and each path divided and circled and doubled back on itself.
Mr. Croup felt the tug37 of the talisman, and let it take him where it wanted to go. They walked down a tiny alleyway, which had once been part of a Victorian "rookery"--a slum comprised in equal parts of theft and penny gin, of twopenny-halfpenny squalor and threepenny sex--and they heard it, snuffling and snorting somewhere nearby. And then it bellowed38, deep and dark. Mr. Croup hesitated, before hurrying forward, up a short wooden staircase; and then, at the end of the alley33, he stopped, squinting39 about him, before he led them down some steps into a long stone tunnel that had once run across the Fleet Marshes, in the Templars' time. Door said, "You're afraid, aren't you?" Croup glared at her. "Hush40 your tongue." She smiled, although she did not feel like smiling. "You're scared that your safe-conduct token won't get you past the Beast. What are you planning now? To kidnap Islington? Sell both of us to the highest bidder41?"
"Quiet," said Mr. Vandemar. But Mr. Croup simply chuckled42; and Door knew then that the Angel Islington was not her friend.
She began to shout. "Hey! Beast! Here!" Mr. Vandemar cuffed43 her head and knocked her against the wall. "Said to be quiet," he told her, calmly. She tasted blood in her mouth and spat44 scarlet45 on the mud. Then she parted her lips to begin shouting once more. Mr. Vandemar, anticipating this, had taken a handkerchief from his pocket, and he forced it into her mouth. She tried to bite his thumb as he did so, but it made no appreciable46 impression on him.
"Now you'll be quiet," he told her. Mr. Vandemar was very proud of his handkerchief, which was spattered with green and brown and black and had originally belonged to an overweight snuff dealer47 in the 1820s, who had died of apoplexy and been buried with his handkerchief in his pocket. Mr. Vandemar still occasionally found fragments of snuff merchant in it, but it was, he felt, a fine handkerchief for all that. They continued in silence.
Richard made another entry in his mental diary. _Today,_ he thought, _I've survived walking the plank, the kiss of death, and a lecture on inflicting48 pain. Right now, I'm on my way through a labyrinth with a mad bastard49 who came back from the dead and a bodyguard50 who turned out to be a . . . whatever the opposite of a bodyguard is. I am so far out of my depth that . . . _ Metaphors52 failed him, then. He had gone beyond the world of metaphor51 and simile53 into the place of things that _are,_ and it was changing him.
They were wading54 through a narrow passage of wet, marshy55 ground, between dark stone walls. The marquis held both the token and the crossbow, and he took care to walk, at all times, about ten feet behind Hunter. Richard, in the lead, was carrying Hunter's Beast spear and a yellow flare56 the marquis had produced from beneath his blanket, which illuminated57 the stone walls and the mud, and he walked well in front of Hunter. The marshland stank58, and huge mosquitoes had begun to settle upon Richard's arms and legs and face, biting him painfully and raising huge, itching59 welts. Neither Hunter nor the marquis so much as mentioned the mosquitoes.
Richard was beginning to suspect that they were quite lost. It did not help his mood any that there were a large number of dead people in the marsh22: leathery preserved bodies, discolored skeletal bones, and pallid60, water-swollen corpses62. He wondered how long the corpses had been there, and whether they had been killed by the Beast or by the mosquitoes. He said nothing as they walked on for another five minutes and eleven mosquito bites, and then he called out, "I think we're lost. We've been through this way before."
The marquis held up the token. "No. We're fine," he said. "The token is leading us straight. Clever little thing."
"Yeah," said Richard, who was not impressed. "Very clever."
It was then that the marquis stepped, barefoot, on the shattered rib63 cage of a half-buried corpse61, puncturing64 his heel, and causing him to stumble. The little black statue went flying through the air and tumbled into the black marsh with the satisfied plop of a leaping fish returning to the water. The marquis righted himself and pointed65 the crossbow at Hunter's back.
"Richard," he called. "I dropped it. Can you come back here?" Richard walked back, holding the flare high, hoping for the glint of flame on obsidian, seeing nothing but wet mud. "Get down into the mud and look," said the marquis.
Richard groaned66.
"You've dreamed of the Beast, Richard," said the marquis. "Do you really want to encounter it?"
Richard thought about this for not very long, then he pushed the haft of the bronze spear into the surface of the marsh and stood the flare up into the mud beside it, illuminating67 the surface of the marsh with a fitful amber68 light. He got down on his hands and knees in the bog69, searching for the statue. He ran his hands over the surface of the marsh, hoping not to encounter any dead faces or hands. "It's hopeless. It could be anywhere."
"Keep looking," said the marquis.
Richard tried to remember how he usually found things. First he let his mind go as blank as he could, then he let his gaze wander over the surface of the marsh, purposelessly, idly. Something glittered on the boggy70 surface, five feet to his left. It was the Beast statue. "I can see it," called Richard.
He floundered toward it through the mud. The little glassy beast was head-down in a puddle71 of dark water. Perhaps the mud was disturbed by Richard's approach; more likely, as Richard was convinced forever after, it was just the sheer cussedness of the material world. Whatever the cause, he was almost next to the little statue when the marsh made a noise that sounded like a giant stomach rumbling72, and a large bubble of gas floated up and popped noxiously73 and obscenely beside the talisman, which vanished beneath the water.
Richard reached the place where the talisman had been and pushed his arms deep into the mud, searching for it wildly, not caring what else his fingers might encounter. It was no use. It was gone forever. "What do we do now?" asked Richard.
The marquis sighed. "Get back over here, and we'll figure out something."
Richard said, quietly, "Too late."
It was coming toward them so slowly, so ponderously74 that he thought for a fragment of a second that it was old, sick, even dying. That was his first thought. And then he realized how much ground it was covering as it approached, mud and foul75 water splashing up from its hooves as it ran, and he realized how wrong he had been in thinking it slow. Thirty feet away from them the Beast slowed, and stopped, with a grunt76. Its flanks were steaming. It bellowed, in triumph, and in challenge. There were broken spears, and shattered swords, and rusted knives, bristling77 from its sides and back. The yellow flare light glinted in its red eyes, and on its tusks78, and its hooves.
It lowered its massive head. It was some kind of boar, thought Richard, and then realized that that had to be nonsense: no boar could be so huge. It was the size of an ox, of a bull elephant, of a lifetime. It stared at them, and it paused for a hundred years, which transpired80 in a dozen heartbeats.
Hunter knelt, in one fluid motion, and pulled up the spear from the Fleet Marsh, which released it with a sucking noise. And, in a voice that was pure joy, she said, "Yes. At last."
She had forgotten them all; forgotten Richard down in the mud, and the marquis and his foolish crossbow, and the world. She was delighted and transported, in a perfect place, the world she lived for. Her world contained two things: Hunter, and the Beast. The Beast knew that too. It was the perfect match, the hunter and the hunted. And who was who, and which was which, only time would reveal; time and the dance.
The Beast charged.
Hunter waited until she could see the white spittle dripping from its mouth, and as it lowered its head she stabbed up with the spear; but, as she tried to sink the spear into its side, she understood that she had moved just a fraction of a second too late, and the spear went tumbling out of her numbed81 hands, and a tusk79 sharper than the sharpest razor blade opened her side. And as she fell beneath its monstrous82 weight, she felt its sharp hooves crushing down on her arm, and her hip83, and her ribs84. And then it was gone, vanished back into the darkness, and the dance was done.
Mr. Croup was more relieved than he would have admitted to be through the labyrinth. But he and Mr. Vandemar were through it, unharmed, as was their prey85. There was a rock face in front of them, an oaken double door set in the rock face, and an oval mirror set in the right-hand door.
Mr. Croup touched the mirror with one grimy hand. The surface of the mirror clouded at his touch, seethed86 for a moment, bubbling and roiling87 like a vat88 of boiling quicksilver, and then was still. The Angel Islington looked out at them. Mr. Croup cleared his throat. "Good morning, sir. It is us, and we have the young lady you sent us to fetch for you."
"And the key?" The angel's gentle voice seemed to come from all around them.
"Hanging around her swanlike neck," said Mr. Croup, a little more anxiously than he intended to.
"Then enter," said the angel. The oak doors swung open at his words, and they went in.
It had all happened so fast. The Beast had come out of the darkness, Hunter had snatched the spear, and it had charged her and disappeared back into the darkness.
Richard strained to hear the Beast. He could hear nothing but, somewhere close to him, the slow _drip, drip_ of water, and the high, maddening whine89 of mosquitoes. Hunter lay on her back in the mud. One arm was twisted at a peculiar90 angle. He crawled toward her, through the mire91. "Hunter?" he whispered. "Can you hear me?"
There was a pause. And then, a whisper so faint he thought for a moment he had imagined it, "Yes."
The marquis was still some yards away, standing92 stock-still beside a wall. Now he called out, "Richard--stay where you are. The creature's just biding93 its time. It'll be back."
Richard ignored him. He spoke94 to Hunter. "Are you . . . " he paused. It seemed such a stupid thing to say. He said it anyway. "Are you going to be all right?" She laughed, then, with blood-flecked lips, and shook her head. "Are there any medical people down here?" he asked the marquis.
"Not in the sense you're thinking of. We have some healers, a handful of leeches95 and chirurgeons . . . "
Hunter coughed, then, and winced96. Bright red, arterial blood trickled97 from the corner of her mouth. The marquis edged a little closer. "Do you keep your life hidden anywhere, Hunter?" he asked.
"I'm a hunter," she whispered, disdainfully. "We don't go in for that kind of thing . . . " She pulled air into her lungs with an effort, then exhaled98, as if the simple effort of breathing were becoming too much for her. "Richard, have you ever used a spear?"
"No."
"Take it," she whispered.
"But . . . "
"Do it." Her voice was low and urgent. "Pick it up. Hold it at the blunt end."
Richard picked up the fallen spear. He held it at the blunt end. "I knew that part," he told her.
A glimmer99 of a smile breathed across her face. "I know."
"Look," said Richard, feeling, not for the first time, like the only sane100 person in a madhouse. "Why don't we just stay very quiet. Maybe it'll go away. We'll try to get you some help." And, not for the first time, the person he was talking to ignored him utterly.
"I did a bad thing, Richard Mayhew," she whispered, sadly. "I did a very bad thing. Because I wanted to be the one to kill the Beast. Because I needed the spear." And then, impossibly, she began to haul herself to her feet. Richard had not realized how badly she had been injured; nor could he now imagine what pain she must be in: he could see her right arm hanging uselessly, a white shard101 of bone protruding102 horribly from the skin. Blood ran from a cut in her side. Her rib cage looked _wrong._
"Stop it," he hissed103, futilely104. "Get down."
With her left hand she pulled a knife from her belt, put it into her right hand, closed the nerveless fingers around the hilt. "I did a bad thing," she repeated. "And now I make amends105."
She began humming, then. Humming high and humming low, until she found the note that made the walls and the pipes and the room reverberate106, and she hummed that note until it felt like the entire labyrinth must be echoing to her hum. And then, sucking the air into her shattered rib cage, she shouted, "Hey. Big boy? Where are you?" There came no reply. No noise but the low drip of water. Even the mosquitoes were quiet.
"Maybe it's . . . gone away," said Richard, gripping the spear so tightly that it hurt his hands.
"I doubt it," muttered the marquis.
"Come on, you bastard," Hunter screamed. "Are you scared?"
There was a deep bellow from off front of them, and the Beast came out of the dark, and it charged once more. This time there could be no room for mistakes. "The dance," whispered Hunter. "The dance is not yet over."
As the Beast came toward her, its horns lowered, she shouted, "Now--Richard. Strike! Under and up! _Now_!" before the Beast hit her and her words turned into a wordless scream.
Richard saw the Beast come out from the darkness, into the light of the flare. It all happened very slowly. It was like a dream. It was like all his dreams. The Beast was so close he could smell the shit-and-blood animal stench of it, so close he could feel its warmth. And Richard stabbed with the spear, as hard as he could, pushing up into its side and letting it sink in.
A bellow, then, or a roar, of anguish107, and hatred108, and pain. And then silence.
He could hear his heart, thudding in his ears, and he could hear water dripping. The mosquitoes began to whine once more. He realized he was still holding tight to the haft of the spear, although the blade of it was buried deep within the body of the immobile Beast. He let go of it, and staggered around the beast, looking for Hunter. She was trapped beneath the Beast. It occurred to him that if he moved her, pulling her out from under it, he might cause her death, so instead he pushed, as hard as he could, against the warm dead flanks of the Beast, trying to move it. It was like trying to push-start a Sherman tank, but eventually, awkwardly, he tumbled it half-off her.
Hunter lay on her back, staring up at the darkness above them. Her eyes were open, and unfocussed, and Richard knew, somehow, that they saw nothing at all. "Hunter?" he said.
"I'm still here, Richard Mayhew." Her voice sounded almost detached. She made no effort to find him with her eyes, no effort to focus. "Is it dead?"
"I think so. It's not moving."
And then she laughed; it was a strange sort of laugh, as if she had just heard the funniest joke that ever the world told a hunter. And, between her spasms109 of laughter, and the wet, racking coughs that interrupted them, she shared the joke with him. "You killed the Beast," she said. "So now you're the greatest hunter in London Below. The Warrior110 . . . " And then she stopped laughing. "I can't feel my hands. Take my right hand." Richard fumbled111 under the Beast's body, and wrapped his hand around Hunter's chill fingers. They felt so small, suddenly. "Is there still a knife in my hand?" she whispered.
"Yes." He could feel it, cold and sticky.
"Take the knife. She's yours."
"I don't want your . . . "
_"Take her."_ He pried112 the knife free from her fingers. "She's yours now," whispered Hunter. Nothing was moving, save her lips; and her eyes were clouding. "She's always looked after me. Clean my blood off her, though . . . mustn't rust12 the blade . . . a hunter always looks after her weapons." She gulped113 air. "Now . . . touch the Beast's blood . . . to your eyes and tongue . . . "
Richard was not sure that he had heard her correctly, nor that he believed what he had heard. "What?"
Richard had not noticed the marquis approach, but now he spoke intently into Richard's ear. "Do it, Richard. She's right. It'll get you through the labyrinth. Do it."
Richard put his hand down to the spear, ran it up the haft until he felt the Beast's hide and the warm stickiness of the Beast's blood. Feeling slightly foolish, he touched his hand to his tongue, tasting the salt of the creature's blood: it did not, to his surprise, revolt him. It tasted utterly natural, like tasting an ocean. He touched his bloody114 fingers to his eyes, where the blood stung like sweat.
Then, "I did it," he told her.
"That's good," whispered Hunter. She said nothing more.
The marquis de Carabas reached out his hand and closed her eyes. Richard wiped Hunter's knife on his shirt. It was what she had told him to do. It saved having to think.
"Better get a move on," said the marquis, standing up.
"We can't just leave her here."
"We can. We can come back for the body later."
Richard polished the blade as hard as he could on his shirt. He was crying, now, but he had not noticed. "And if there isn't any later?"
"Then we'll just have to hope that someone disposes of all our remains115. Including the Lady Door's. And she must be getting tired of waiting for us." Richard looked down. He wiped the last of Hunter's blood off her knife, and put it through his belt. Then he nodded. "You go," said de Carabas. "I'll follow as fast as I can."
Richard hesitated; and then, as best he could, he ran.
Perhaps it was the Beast's blood that did it; he certainly had no other explanation. Whatever the reason, he ran straight and true through the labyrinth, which no longer held any mysteries for him. He felt that he knew every twist, every path, every alley and lane and runnel of it. He ran, stumbling and falling, and still running, exhausted116, through the labyrinth, his blood pounding in his temples. A rhyme coursed through his head, as he ran, pounding and echoing to the rhythm of his feet. It was something he had heard as a child.
_This aye night, this aye night
Every night and all
Fire and fleet and candlelight
And Christ receive thy soul._
The words went around and around, dirgelike, in his head. _Fire and fleet and candlelight . . . _
At the end of the labyrinth was a sheer granite117 cliff, and set in the cliff were high wooden double doors. There was an oval mirror hanging on one of the doors. The doors were closed. He touched the wood, and the door opened, silently, to his touch.
Richard went inside.
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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roiled
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| v.搅混（液体）( roil的过去式和过去分词 )；使烦恼；使不安；使生气 | |
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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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utterly
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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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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rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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labyrinth
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| n.迷宫；难解的事物；迷路 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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frustration
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| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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traitor
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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marshes
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| n.沼泽，湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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eyebrow
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flickering
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cowardice
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sneer
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poncho
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obsidian
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scuttled
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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edgily
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pompous
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的；夸大的；豪华的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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36
millennia
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| n.一千年，千禧年 | |
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37
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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38
bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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39
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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40
hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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41
bidder
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| n.(拍卖时的)出价人，报价人，投标人 | |
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42
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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45
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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46
appreciable
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| adj.明显的，可见的，可估量的，可觉察的 | |
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47
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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48
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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49
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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50
bodyguard
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| n.护卫，保镖 | |
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51
metaphor
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| n.隐喻，暗喻 | |
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52
metaphors
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| 隐喻( metaphor的名词复数 ) | |
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53
simile
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| n.直喻，明喻 | |
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54
wading
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的现在分词 ) | |
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55
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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56
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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57
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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58
stank
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| n. (英)坝，堰，池塘 动词stink的过去式 | |
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59
itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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60
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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61
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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62
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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63
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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64
puncturing
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的现在分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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65
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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66
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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67
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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68
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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69
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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boggy
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| adj.沼泽多的 | |
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71
puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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72
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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73
noxiously
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74
ponderously
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75
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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76
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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77
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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78
tusks
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| 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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79
tusk
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| n.獠牙，长牙，象牙 | |
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80
transpired
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| （事实，秘密等）被人知道( transpire的过去式和过去分词 )； 泄露； 显露； 发生 | |
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81
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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82
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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83
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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84
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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85
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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86
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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87
roiling
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| v.搅混（液体）( roil的现在分词 )；使烦恼；使不安；使生气 | |
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88
vat
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| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
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89
whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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90
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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91
mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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92
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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93
biding
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| v.等待，停留( bide的现在分词 )；居住；（过去式用bided）等待；面临 | |
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94
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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95
leeches
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| n.水蛭( leech的名词复数 )；蚂蟥；榨取他人脂膏者；医生 | |
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96
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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97
trickled
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| 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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98
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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99
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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100
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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101
shard
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| n.（陶瓷器、瓦等的）破片，碎片 | |
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102
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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103
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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104
futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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105
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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106
reverberate
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| v.使回响，使反响 | |
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107
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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108
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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109
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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110
warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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111
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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112
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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113
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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114
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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115
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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116
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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117
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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