I
After leaving Vienna, and long before you come to Buda-Pesth, the Danube enters a region of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters spread away on all sides regardless of a main channel, and the country becomes a swamp for miles upon miles, covered by a vast sea of low willow1-bushes. On the big maps this deserted2 area is painted in a fluffy3 blue, growing fainter in color as it leaves the banks, and across it may be seen in large straggling letters the word Sümpfe, meaning marshes5.
In high flood this great acreage of sand, shingle-beds, and willow-grown islands is almost topped by the water, but in normal seasons the bushes bend and rustle6 in the free winds, showing their silver leaves to the sunshine in an ever-moving plain of bewildering beauty. These willows7 never attain8 to the dignity of trees; they have no rigid9 trunks; they remain humble10 bushes, with rounded tops and soft outline, swaying on slender stems that answer to the least pressure of the wind; supple11 as grasses, and so continually shifting that they somehow give the impression that the entire plain is moving and alive. For the wind sends waves rising and falling over the whole surface, waves of leaves instead of waves of water, green swells12 like the sea, too, until the branches turn and lift, and then silvery white as their under-side turns to the sun.
Happy to slip beyond the control of stern banks, the Danube here wanders about at will among the intricate network of channels intersecting the islands everywhere with broad avenues down which the waters pour with a shouting sound; making whirlpools, eddies15, and foaming16 rapids; tearing at the sandy banks; carrying away masses of shore and willow-clumps19; and forming new islands innumerable which shift daily in size and shape and possess at best an impermanent life, since the flood-time obliterates20 their very existence.
Properly speaking, this fascinating part of the river's life begins soon after leaving Pressburg, and we, in our Canadian canoe, with gipsy tent and frying-pan on board, reached it on the crest22 of a rising flood about mid-July. That very same morning, when the sky was reddening before sunrise, we had slipped swiftly through still-sleeping Vienna, leaving it a couple of hours later a mere23 patch of smoke against the blue hills of the Wienerwald on the horizon; we had breakfasted below Fischeramend under a grove24 of birch trees roaring in the wind; and had then swept on the tearing current past Orth, Hainburg, Petronell (the old Roman Carnuntum of Marcus Aurelius), and so under the frowning heights of Theben on a spur of the Carpathians, where the March steals in quietly from the left and the frontier is crossed between Austria and Hungary.
Racing25 along at twelve kilometers an hour soon took us well into Hungary, and the muddy waters—sure sign of flood—sent us aground on many a shingle-bed, and twisted us like a cork26 in many a sudden belching27 whirlpool before the towers of Pressburg (Hungarian, Poszóny) showed against the sky; and then the canoe, leaping like a spirited horse, flew at top speed under the gray walls, negotiated safely the sunken chain of the Fliegende Brücke ferry, turned the corner sharply to the left, and plunged28 on yellow foam17 into the wilderness30 of islands, sand-banks, and swamp-land beyond—the land of the willows.
The change came suddenly, as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps down on the streets of a town and shifts without warning into the scenery of lake and forest. We entered the land of desolation on wings, and in less than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing-hut nor red roof, nor any single sign of human habitation and civilization within sight. The sense of remoteness from the world of human kind, the utter isolation31, the fascination32 of this singular world of willows, winds, and waters, instantly laid its spell upon us both, so that we allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by rights to have held some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat audaciously, come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom of wonder and magic—a kingdom that was reserved for the use of others who had a right to it, with everywhere unwritten warnings to trespassers for those who had the imagination to discover them.
Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most tempestuous34 wind made us feel weary, and we at once began casting about for a suitable camping-ground for the night. But the bewildering character of the islands made landing difficult; the swirling35 flood carried us in-shore and then swept us out again; the willow branches tore our hands as we seized them to stop the canoe, and we pulled many a yard of sandy bank into the water before at length we shot with a great sideways blow from the wind into a backwater and managed to beach the bows in a cloud of spray. Then we lay panting and laughing after our exertions36 on hot yellow sand, sheltered from the wind, and in the full blaze of a scorching37 sun, a cloudless blue sky above, and an immense army of dancing, shouting willow bushes, closing in from all sides, shining with spray and clapping their thousand little hands as though to applaud the success of our efforts.
"What a river!" I said to my companion, thinking of all the way we had traveled from the source in the Black Forest, and how we had often been obliged to wade38 and push in the upper shallows at the beginning of June.
"Won't stand much nonsense now, will it?" he said, pulling the canoe a little farther into safety up the sand, and then composing himself for a nap.
I lay by his side, happy and peaceful in the bath of the elements—water, wind, sand, and the great fire of the sun—thinking of the long journey that lay behind us, and of the great stretch before us to the Black Sea, and how lucky I was to have such a delightful39 and charming traveling companion as my friend, the Swede.
We had made many similar journeys together, but the Danube, more than any other river I knew, impressed us from the very beginning with its aliveness. From its tiny bubbling entry into the world among the pinewood gardens of Donaueschingen, until this moment when it began to play the great river-game of losing itself among the deserted swamps, unobserved, unrestrained, it had seemed to us like following the growth of some living creature. Sleepy at first, but later developing violent desires as it became conscious of its deep soul, it rolled, like some huge fluid being, through all the countries we had passed, holding our little craft on its mighty40 shoulders, playing roughly with us sometimes, yet always friendly and well-meaning, till at length we had come inevitably41 to regard it as a Great Personage.
How, indeed, could it be otherwise, since it told us so much of its secret life? At night we heard it singing to the moon as we lay in our tent, uttering that odd sibilant note peculiar42 to itself and said to be caused by the rapid tearing of the pebbles43 along its bed, so great is its hurrying speed. We knew, too, the voice of its gurgling whirlpools, suddenly bubbling up on a surface previously44 quite calm; the roar of its shallows and swift rapids; its constant steady thundering below all mere surface sounds; and that ceaseless tearing of its icy waters at the banks. How it stood up and shouted when the rains fell flat upon its face! And how its laughter roared out when the wind blew upstream and tried to stop its growing speed! We knew all its sounds and voices, its tumblings and foamings, its unnecessary splashing against the bridges; that self-conscious chatter45 when there were hills to look on; the affected46 dignity of its speech when it passed through the little towns, far too important to laugh; and all these faint, sweet whisperings when the sun caught it fairly in some slow curve and poured down upon it till the steam rose.
It was full of tricks, too, in its early life before the great world knew it. There were places in the upper reaches among the Swabian forests, when yet the first whispers of its destiny had not reached it, where it elected to disappear through holes in the ground, to appear again on the other side of the porous47 limestone48 hills and start a new river with another name; leaving, too, so little water in its own bed that we had to climb out and wade and push the canoe through miles of shallows!
And a chief pleasure, in those early days of its irresponsible youth, was to lie low, like Brer Fox, just before the little turbulent tributaries49 came to join it from the Alps, and to refuse to acknowledge them when in, but to run for miles side by side, the dividing line well marked, the very levels different, the Danube utterly50 declining to recognize the new-comer. Below Passau, however, it gave up this particular trick, for there the Inn comes in with a thundering power impossible to ignore, and so pushes and incommodes the parent river that there is hardly room for them in the long twisting gorge51 that follows, and the Danube is shoved this way and that against the cliffs, and forced to hurry itself with great waves and much dashing to and fro in order to get through in time. And during the fight our canoe slipped down from its shoulder to its breast, and had the time of its life among the struggling waves. But the Inn taught the old river a lesson, and after Passau it no longer pretended to ignore new arrivals.
This was many days back, of course, and since then we had come to know other aspects of the great creature, and across the Bavarian wheat plain of Straubing she wandered so slowly under the blazing June sun that we could well imagine only the surface inches were water, while below there moved, concealed53 as by a silken mantle54, a whole army of Undines, passing silently and unseen down to the sea, and very leisurely55 too, lest they be discovered.
Much, too, we forgave her because of her friendliness56 to the birds and animals that haunted the shores. Cormorants57 lined the banks in lonely places in rows like short black palings; gray crows crowded the shingle-beds; storks58 stood fishing in the vistas59 of shallower water that opened up between the islands, and hawks60, swans, and marsh4 birds of all sorts filled the air with glinting wings and singing, petulant61 cries. It was impossible to feel annoyed with the river's vagaries62 after seeing a deer leap with a splash into the water at sunrise and swim past the bows of the canoe; and often we saw fawns63 peering at us from the underbrush, or looked straight into the brown eyes of a stag as we charged full tilt64 round a corner and entered another reach of the river. Foxes, too, everywhere haunted the banks, tripping daintily among the driftwood and disappearing so suddenly that it was impossible to see how they managed it.
But now, after leaving Pressburg, everything changed a little, and the Danube became more serious. It ceased trifling65. It was halfway66 to the Black Sea, within scenting67 distance almost of other, stranger countries where no tricks would be permitted or understood. It became suddenly grown-up, and claimed our respect and even our awe68. It broke out into three arms, for one thing, that only met again a hundred kilometers farther down, and for a canoe there were no indications which one was intended to be followed.
"If you take a side channel," said the Hungarian officer we met in the Pressburg shop while buying provisions, "you may find yourselves, when the flood subsides69, forty miles from anywhere, high and dry, and you may easily starve. There are no people, no farms, no fishermen. I warn you not to continue. The river, too, is still rising, and this wind will increase."
The rising river did not alarm us in the least, but the matter of being left high and dry by a sudden subsidence of the waters might be serious, and we had consequently laid in an extra stock of provisions. For the rest, the officer's prophecy held true, and the wind, blowing down a perfectly70 clear sky, increased steadily71 till it reached the dignity of a westerly gale72.
It was earlier than usual when we camped, for the sun was a good hour or two from the horizon, and leaving my friend still asleep on the hot sand, I wandered about in desultory73 examination of our hotel. The island, I found, was less than an acre in extent, a mere sandy bank standing74 some two or three feet above the level of the river. The far end, pointing into the sunset, was covered with flying spray which the tremendous wind drove off the crests75 of the broken waves. It was triangular76 in shape, with the apex77 upstream.
I stood there for several minutes, watching the impetuous crimson78 flood bearing down with a shouting roar, dashing in waves against the bank as though to sweep it bodily away, and then swirling by in two foaming streams on either side. The ground seemed to shake with the shock and rush while the furious movement of the willow bushes as the wind poured over them increased the curious illusion that the island itself actually moved. Above, for a mile or two, I could see the great river descending79 upon me: it was like looking up the slope of a sliding hill, white with foam, and leaping up everywhere to show itself to the sun.
The rest of the island was too thickly grown with willows to make walking pleasant, but I made the tour, nevertheless. From the lower end the light, of course, changed, and the river looked dark and angry. Only the backs of the flying waves were visible, streaked80 with foam, and pushed forcibly by the great puffs81 of wind that fell upon them from behind. For a short mile it was visible, pouring in and out among the islands, and then disappearing with a huge sweep into the willows, which closed about it like a herd83 of monstrous84 antediluvian85 creatures crowding down to drink. They made me think of gigantic sponge-like growths that sucked the river up into themselves. They caused it to vanish from sight. They herded86 there together in such overpowering numbers.
Altogether it was an impressive scene, with its utter loneliness, its bizarre suggestion; and as I gazed, long and curiously87, a singular emotion began stir somewhere in the depths of me. Midway in my delight of the wild beauty, there crept unbidden and unexplained, a curious feeling of disquietude, almost of alarm.
A rising river, perhaps, always suggests something of the ominous88: many of the little islands I saw before me would probably have been swept away by the morning; this resistless, thundering flood of water touched the sense of awe. Yet I was aware that my uneasiness lay deeper far than the emotions of awe and wonder. It was not that I felt. Nor had it directly to do with the power of the driving wind—this shouting hurricane that might almost carry up a few acres of willows into the air and scatter89 them like so much chaff90 over the landscape. The wind was simply enjoying itself, for nothing rose out of the flat landscape to stop it, and I was conscious of sharing its great game with a kind of pleasurable excitement. Yet this novel emotion had nothing to do with the wind. Indeed, so vague was the sense of distress91 I experienced, that it was impossible to trace it to its source and deal with it accordingly, though I was aware somehow that it had to do with my realization92 of our utter insignificance93 before this unrestrained power of the elements about me. The huge-grown river had something to do with it too—a vague, unpleasant idea that we had somehow trifled with these great elemental forces in whose power we lay helpless every hour of the day and night. For here, indeed, they were gigantically at play together, and the sight appealed to the imagination.
But my emotion, so far as I could understand it, seemed to attach itself more particularly to the willow bushes, to these acres and acres of willows, crowding, so thickly growing there, swarming94 everywhere the eye could reach, pressing upon the river as though to suffocate96 it, standing in dense97 array mile after mile beneath the sky, watching, waiting, listening. And, apart quite from the elements, the willows connected themselves subtly with my malaise, attacking the mind insidiously99 somehow by reason of their vast numbers, and contriving100 in some way or other to represent to the imagination a new and mighty power, a power, moreover, not altogether friendly to us.
Great revelations of nature, of course, never fail to impress in one way or another, and I was no stranger to moods of the kind. Mountains overawe and oceans terrify, while the mystery of great forests exercises a spell peculiarly its own. But all these, at one point or another, somewhere link on intimately with human life and human experience. They stir comprehensible, even if alarming, emotions. They tend on the whole to exalt101.
With this multitude of willows, however, it was something far different, I felt. Some essence emanated102 from them that besieged103 the heart. A sense of awe awakened104, true, but of awe touched somewhere by a vague terror. Their serried105 ranks growing everywhere darker about me as the shadows deepened, moving furiously yet softly in the wind, woke in me the curious and unwelcome suggestion that we had trespassed106 here upon the borders of an alien world, a world where we were intruders, a world where we were not wanted or invited to remain—where we ran grave risks perhaps!
The feeling, however, though it refused to yield its meaning entirely107 to analysis, did not at the time trouble me by passing into menace. Yet it never left me quite, even during the very practical business of putting up the tent in a hurricane of wind and building a fire for the stew108-pot. It remained, just enough to bother and perplex, and to rob a most delightful camping-ground of a good portion of its charm. To my companion, however, I said nothing, for he was a man I considered devoid109 of imagination. In the first place, I could never have explained to him what I meant, and in the second, he would have laughed stupidly at me if I had.
There was a slight depression in the center of the island, and here we pitched the tent. The surrounding willows broke the wind a bit.
"A poor camp," observed the imperturbable110 Swede when at last the tent stood upright; "no stones and precious little firewood. I'm for moving on early to-morrow—eh? This sand won't hold anything."
But the experience of a collapsing111 tent at midnight had taught us many devices, and we made the cosy112 gipsy house as safe as possible, and then set about collecting a store of wood to last till bedtime. Willow bushes drop no branches, and driftwood was our only source of supply. We hunted the shores pretty thoroughly113. Everywhere the banks were crumbling114 as the rising flood tore at them and carried away great portions with a splash and a gurgle.
"The island's much smaller than when we landed," said the accurate Swede. "It won't last long at this rate. We'd better drag the canoe close to the tent, and be ready to start at a moment's notice. I shall sleep in my clothes."
He was a little distance off, climbing along the bank, and I heard his rather jolly laugh as he spoke115.
"By Jove!" I heard him call, a moment later, and turned to see what had caused his exclamation116; but for the moment he was hidden by the willows, and I could not find him.
"What in the world's this?" I heard him cry again, and this time his voice had become serious.
I ran up quickly and joined him on the bank. He was looking over the river, pointing at something in the water.
"Good Heavens, it's a man's body!" he cried excitedly. "Look!"
A black thing, turning over and over in the foaming waves, swept rapidly past. It kept disappearing and coming up to the surface again. It was about twenty feet from the shore, and just as it was opposite to where we stood it lurched round and looked straight at us. We saw its eyes reflecting the sunset, and gleaming an odd yellow as the body turned over. Then it gave a swift, gulping117 plunge29, and dived out of sight in a flash.
It was an otter, alive, and out on the hunt; yet it had looked exactly like the body of a drowned man turning helplessly in the current. Far below it came to the surface once again, and we saw its black skin, wet and shining in the sunlight.
Then, too, just as we turned back, our arms full of driftwood, another thing happened to recall us to the river bank. This time it really was a man, and what was more, a man in a boat. Now a small boat on the Danube was an unusual sight at any time, but here in this deserted region, and at flood time, it was so unexpected as to constitute a real event. We stood and stared.
Whether it was due to the slanting120 sunlight, or the refraction from the wonderfully illumined water, I cannot say, but, whatever the cause, I found it difficult to focus my sight properly upon the flying apparition122. It seemed, however, to be a man standing upright in a sort of flat-bottomed boat, steering124 with a long oar21, and being carried down the opposite shore at a tremendous pace. He apparently125 was looking across in our direction, but the distance was too great and the light too uncertain for us to make out very plainly what he was about. It seemed to me that he was gesticulating and making signs at us. His voice came across the water to us shouting something furiously but the wind drowned it so that no single word was audible. There was something curious about the whole appearance—man, boat, signs, voice—that made an impression on me out of all proportion to its cause.
"He's crossing himself!" I cried. "Look, he's making the sign of the cross!"
"I believe you're right," the Swede said, shading his eyes with his hand and watching the man out of sight. He seemed to be gone in a moment, melting away down there into the sea of willows where the sun caught them in the bend of the river and turned them into a great crimson wall of beauty. Mist, too, had begun to rise, so that the air was hazy126.
"But what in the world is he doing at nightfall on this flooded river?" I said, half to myself. "Where is he going at such a time, and what did he mean by his signs and shouting? D'you think he wished to warn us about something?"
"He saw our smoke, and thought we were spirits probably," laughed my companion. "These Hungarians believe in all sorts of rubbish: you remember the shopwoman at Pressburg warning us that no one ever landed here because it belonged to some sort of beings outside man's world! I suppose they believe in fairies and elementals, possibly demons127 too. That peasant in the boat saw people on the islands for the first time in his life," he added, after a slight pause, "and it scared him, that's all." The Swede's tone of voice was not convincing, and his manner lacked something that was usually there. I noted128 the change instantly while he talked, though without being able to label it precisely129.
"If they had enough imagination," I laughed loudly—I remember trying to make as much noise as I could—"they might well people a place like this with the old gods of antiquity130. The Romans must have haunted all this region more or less with their shrines131 and sacred groves133 and elemental deities134."
The subject dropped and we returned to our stew-pot, for my friend was not given to imaginative conversation as a rule. Moreover, just then I remember feeling distinctly glad that he was not imaginative; his stolid135, practical nature suddenly seemed to me welcome and comforting. It was an admirable temperament136, I felt: he could steer123 down rapids like a red Indian, shoot dangerous bridges and whirlpools better than any white man I ever saw in a canoe. He was a grand fellow for an adventurous137 trip, a tower of strength when untoward138 things happened. I looked at his strong face and light curly hair as he staggered along under his pile of driftwood (twice the size of mine!), and I experienced a feeling of relief. Yes, I was distinctly glad just then that the Swede was—what he was, and that he never made remarks that suggested more than they said.
"The river's still rising, though," he added, as if following out some thoughts of his own, and dropping his load with a gasp139. "This island will be under water in two days if it goes on."
The flood, indeed, had no terrors for us; we could get off at ten minutes' notice, and the more water the better we liked it. It meant an increasing current and the obliteration140 of the treacherous141 shingle-beds that so often threatened to tear the bottom out of our canoe.
Contrary to our expectations, the wind did not go down with the sun. It seemed to increase with the darkness, howling overhead and shaking the willows round us like straws. Curious sounds accompanied it sometimes, like the explosion of heavy guns, and it fell upon the water and the island in great flat blows of immense power. It made me think of the sounds a planet must make, could we only hear it, driving along through space.
But the sky kept wholly clear of clouds, and soon after supper the full moon rose up in the east and covered the river and the plain of shouting willows with a light like the day.
We lay on the sandy patch beside the fire, smoking, listening to the noises of the night round us, and talking happily of the journey we had already made, and of our plans ahead. The map lay spread in the door of the tent, but the high wind made it hard to study, and presently we lowered the curtain and extinguished the lantern. The firelight was enough to smoke and see each other's faces by, and the sparks flew about overhead like fireworks. A few yards beyond, the river gurgled and hissed142, and from time to time a heavy splash announced the falling away of further portions of the bank.
Our talk, I noticed, had to do with the far-away scenes and incidents of our first camps in the Black Forest, or of other subjects altogether remote from the present setting, for neither of us spoke of the actual moment more than was necessary—almost as though we had agreed tacitly to avoid discussion of the camp and its incidents. Neither the otter nor the boatman, for instance, received the honor of a single mention, though ordinarily these would have furnished discussion for the greater part of the evening. They were, of course, distinct events in such a place.
The scarcity143 of wood made it a business to keep the fire going, for the wind, that drove the smoke in our faces wherever we sat, helped at the same time to make a forced draught144. We took it in turn to make foraging145 expeditions into the darkness, and the quantity the Swede brought back always made me feel that he took an absurdly long time finding it; for the fact was I did not care much about being left alone, and yet it always seemed to be my turn to grub about among the bushes or scramble146 along the slippery banks in the moonlight. The long day's battle with wind and water—such wind and such water!—had tired us both, and an early bed was the obvious program. Yet neither of us made the move for the tent. We lay there, tending the fire, talking in desultory fashion, peering about us into the dense willow bushes, and listening to the thunder of wind and river. The loneliness of the place had entered our very bones, and silence seemed natural, for after a bit the sound of our voices became a trifle unreal and forced; whispering would have been the fitting mode of communication, I felt, and the human voice, always rather absurd amid the roar of the elements, now carried with it something almost illegitimate. It was like talking out loud in church, or in some place where it was not lawful147, perhaps not quite safe, to be overheard.
The eeriness148 of this lonely island, set among a million willows, swept by a hurricane, and surrounded by hurrying deep waters, touched us both, I fancy. Untrodden by man, almost unknown to man, it lay there beneath the moon, remote from human influence, on the frontier of another world, an alien world, a world tenanted by willows only and the souls of willows. And we, in our rashness, had dared to invade it, even to make use of it! Something more than the power of its mystery stirred in me as I lay on the sand, feet to fire, and peered up through the leaves at the stars. For the last time I rose to get firewood.
"When this has burnt up," I said firmly, "I shall turn in," and my companion watched me lazily as I moved off into the surrounding shadows.
For an unimaginative man I thought he seemed unusually receptive that night, unusually open to suggestion of things other than sensory149. He too was touched by the beauty and loneliness of the place. I was not altogether pleased, I remember, to recognize this slight change in him, and instead of immediately collecting sticks, I made my way to the far point of the island where the moonlight on plain and river could be seen to better advantage. The desire to be alone had come suddenly upon me; my former dread151 returned in force; there was a vague feeling in me I wished to face and probe to the bottom.
When I reached the point of sand jutting152 out among the waves, the spell of the place descended153 upon me with a positive shock. No mere "scenery" could have produced such an effect. There was something more here, something to alarm.
I gazed across the waste of wild waters; I watched the whispering willows; I heard the ceaseless beating of the tireless wind; and, one and all, each in its own way, stirred in me this sensation of a strange distress. But the willows especially: for ever they went on chattering154 and talking among themselves, laughing a little, shrilly155 crying out, sometimes sighing—but what it was they made so much to-do about belonged to the secret life of the great plain they inhabited. And it was utterly alien to the world I knew, or to that of the wild yet kindly157 elements. They made me think of a host of beings from another plane of life, another evolution altogether, perhaps, all discussing a mystery known only to themselves. I watched them moving busily together, oddly shaking their big bushy heads, twirling their myriad158 leaves even when there was no wind. They moved of their own will as though alive, and they touched, by some incalculable method, my own keen sense of the horrible.
There they stood in the moonlight, like a vast army surrounding our camp, shaking their innumerable silver spears defiantly159, formed all ready for an attack.
The psychology160 of places, for some imaginations at least, is very vivid; for the wanderer, especially, camps have their "note" either of welcome or rejection161. At first it may not always be apparent, because the busy preparations of tent and cooking prevent, but with the first pause—after supper usually—it comes and announces itself. And the note of this willow-camp now became unmistakably plain to me: we were interlopers, trespassers, we were not welcomed. The sense of unfamiliarity162 grew upon me as I stood there watching. We touched the frontier of a region where our presence was resented. For a night's lodging163 we might perhaps be tolerated; but for a prolonged and inquisitive164 stay—No! by all the gods of the trees and the wilderness, no! We were the first human influences upon this island, and we were not wanted. The willows were against us.
Strange thoughts like these, bizarre fancies, borne I know not whence, found lodgment in my mind as I stood listening. What, I thought, if, after all, these crouching165 willows proved to be alive; if suddenly they should rise up, like a swarm95 of living creatures, marshaled by the gods whose territory we had invaded, sweep towards us off the vast swamps, booming overhead in the night—and then settle down! As I looked it was so easy to imagine they actually moved, crept nearer, retreated a little, huddled166 together in masses, hostile, waiting for the great wind that should finally start them a-running. I could have sworn their aspect changed a little, and their ranks deepened and pressed more closely together.
The melancholy167 shrill156 cry of a night bird sounded overhead, and suddenly I nearly lost my balance as the piece of bank I stood upon fell with a great splash into the river, undermined by the flood. I stepped back just in time, and went on hunting for firewood again, half laughing at the odd fancies that crowded so thickly into my mind and cast their spell upon me. I recall the Swede's remark about moving on next day, and I was just thinking that I fully121 agreed with him, when I turned with a start and saw the subject of my thoughts standing immediately in front of me. He was quite close. The roar of the elements had covered his approach.
"You've been gone so long," he shouted above the wind, "I thought something must have happened to you."
But there was that in his tone, and a certain look in his face as well, that conveyed to me more than his actual words, and in a flash I understood the real reason for his coming. It was because the spell of the place had entered his soul too, and he did not like being alone.
"River still rising," he cried, pointing to the flood in the moonlight, "and the wind's simply awful."
He always said the same things, but it was the cry for companionship that gave the real importance to his words.
"Lucky," I cried back, "our tent's in the hollow. I think it'll hold all right." I added something about the difficulty of finding wood, in order to explain my absence, but the wind caught my words and flung them across the river, so that he did not hear, but just looked at me through the branches, nodding his head.
"Lucky if we get away without disaster!" he shouted, or words to that effect; and I remember feeling half angry with him for putting the thought into words, for it was exactly what I felt myself. There was disaster impending168 somewhere, and the sense of presentiment169 lay unpleasantly upon me.
We went back to the fire and made a final blaze, poking170 it up with our feet. We took a last look round. But for the wind the heat would have been unpleasant. I put this thought into words, and I remember my friend's reply struck me oddly: that he would rather have the heat, the ordinary July weather, than this "diabolical171 wind."
Everything was snug172 for the night; the canoe lying turned over beside the tent, with both yellow paddles beneath her; the provision sack hanging from a willow stem, and the washed-up dishes removed to a safe distance from the fire, all ready for the morning meal.
We smothered173 the embers of the fire with sand, and then turned in. The flap of the tent door was up, and I saw the branches and the stars and the white moonlight. The shaking willows and the heavy buffetings of the wind against our taut175 little house were the last things I remembered as sleep came down and covered all with its soft and delicious forgetfulness.
II
Suddenly I found myself lying awake, peering from my sandy mattress176 through the door of the tent. I looked at my watch pinned against the canvas, and saw by the bright moonlight that it was past twelve o'clock—the threshold of a new day—and I had therefore slept a couple of hours. The Swede was asleep still beside me; the wind howled as before something plucked at my heart and made me feel afraid. There was a sense of disturbance177 in my immediate150 neighborhood.
I sat up quickly and looked out. The trees were swaying violently to and fro as the gusts179 smote180 them, but our little bit of green canvas lay snugly181 safe in the hollow, for the wind passed over it without meeting enough resistance to make it vicious. The feeling of disquietude did not pass however, and I crawled quietly out of the tent to see if our belongings182 were safe. I moved carefully so as not to waken my companion. A curious excitement was on me.
I was halfway out, kneeling on all fours, when my eye first took in that the tops of the bushes opposite, with their moving tracery of leaves, made shapes against the sky. I sat back on my haunches and stared. It was incredible, surely, but there, opposite and slightly above me, were shapes of some indeterminate sort among the willows, and as the branches swayed in the wind they seemed to group themselves about these shapes, forming a series of monstrous outlines that shifted rapidly beneath the moon. Close, about fifty feet in front of me, I saw these things.
My first instinct was to waken my companion that he too might see them, but something made me hesitate—the sudden realization, probably, that I should not welcome corroboration183; and meanwhile I crouched184 there staring in amazement185 with smarting eyes. I was wide awake. I remember saying to myself that I was not dreaming.
They first became properly visible, these huge figures, just within the tops of the bushes—immense bronze-colored, moving, and wholly independent of the swaying of the branches. I saw them plainly and noted, now I came to examine them more calmly, that they were very much larger than human, and indeed that something in their appearance proclaimed them to be not human at all. Certainly they were not merely the moving tracery of the branches against the moonlight. They shifted independently. They rose upwards186 in a continuous stream from earth to sky, vanishing utterly as soon as they reached the dark of the sky. They were interlaced one with another, making a great column, and I saw their limbs and huge bodies melting in and out of each other, forming this serpentine187 line that bent188 and swayed and twisted spirally with the contortions189 of the wind-tossed trees. They were nude190, fluid shapes, passing up the bushes, within the leaves almost—rising up in a living column into the heavens. Their faces I never could see. Unceasingly they poured upwards, swaying in great bending curves, with a hue191 of dull bronze upon their skins.
I stared, trying to force every atom of vision from my eyes. For a long time I thought they must every moment disappear and resolve themselves into the movements of the branches and prove to be an optical illusion. I searched everywhere for a proof of reality, when all the while I understood quite well that the standard of reality had changed. For the longer I looked the more certain I became that these figures were real and living, though perhaps not according to the standards that the camera and the biologist would insist upon.
Far from feeling fear, I was possessed192 with a sense of awe and wonder such as I have never known. I seemed to be gazing at the personified elemental forces of this haunted and primeval region. Our intrusion had stirred the powers of the place into activity. It was we who were the cause of the disturbance, and my brain filled to bursting with stories and legends of the spirits and deities of places that have been acknowledged and worshiped by men in all ages of the world's history. But, before I could arrive at any possible explanation, something impelled193 me to go farther out, and I crept forward on to the sand and stood upright. I felt the ground still warm under my bare feet; the wind tore at my hair and face; and the sound of the river burst upon my ears with a sudden roar. These things, I knew, were real, and proved that my senses were acting194 normally. Yet the figures still rose from earth to heaven, silent, majestically195, in a great spiral of grace and strength that overwhelmed me at length with a genuine deep emotion of worship. I felt that I must fall down and worship—absolutely worship.
Perhaps in another minute I might have done so, when a gust178 of wind swept against me with such force that it blew me sideways, and I nearly stumbled and fell. It seemed to shake the dream violently out of me. At least it gave me another point of view somehow. The figures still remained, still ascended196 into heaven from the heart of the night, but my reason at last began to assert itself. It must be a subjective197 experience, I argued—none the less real for that, but still subjective. The moonlight and the branches combined to work out these pictures upon the mirror of my imagination, and for some reason I projected them outwards198 and made them appear objective. I knew this must be the case, of course. I was the subject of a vivid and interesting hallucination. I took courage, and began to move forward across the open patches of sand. By Jove, though, was it all hallucination? Was it merely subjective? Did not my reason argue in the old futile199 way from the little standard of the known?
I only know that great column of figures ascended darkly into the sky for what seemed a very long period of time, and with a very complete measure of reality as most men are accustomed to gauge200 reality. Then suddenly they were gone!
And, once they were gone and the immediate wonder of their great presence had passed, fear came down upon me with a cold rush. The esoteric meaning of this lonely and haunted region suddenly flamed up within me and I began to tremble dreadfully. I took a quick look round—a look of horror that came near to panic—calculating vainly ways of escape; and then, realizing how helpless I was to achieve anything really effective, I crept back silently into the tent and lay down again upon my sandy mattress, first lowering the door-curtain to shut out the sight of the willows in the moonlight, and then burying my head as deeply as possible beneath the blankets to deaden the sound of the terrifying wind.
III
As though further to convince me that I had not been dreaming, I remember that it was a long time before I fell again into a troubled and restless sleep; and even then only the upper crust of me slept, and underneath201 there was something that never quite lost consciousness, but lay alert and on the watch.
But this second time I jumped up with a genuine start of terror. It was neither the wind nor the river that woke me, but the slow approach of something that caused the sleeping portion of me to grow smaller and smaller till at last it vanished altogether, and I found myself sitting bolt upright—listening.
Outside there was a sound of multitudinous little patterings. They had been coming, I was aware, for a long time, and in my sleep they had first become audible. I sat there nervously202 wide awake as though I had not slept at all. It seemed to me that my breathing came with difficulty, and that there was a great weight upon the surface of my body. In spite of the hot night, I felt clammy with cold and shivered. Something surely was pressing steadily against the sides of the tent and weighing down upon it from above. Was it the body of the wind? Was this the pattering rain, the dripping of the leaves? The spray blown from the river by the wind and gathering203 in big drops? I thought quickly of a dozen things.
Then suddenly the explanation leaped into my mind: a bough204 from the poplar, the only large tree on the island, had fallen with the wind. Still half caught by the other branches, it would fall with the next gust and crush us, and meanwhile its leaves brushed and tapped upon the tight canvas surface of the tent. I raised the loose flap and rushed out, calling to the Swede to follow.
But when I got out and stood upright I saw that the tent was free. There was no hanging bough; there was no rain or spray; nothing approached.
A cold, gray light filtered down through the bushes and lay on the faintly gleaming sand. Stars still crowded the sky directly overhead, and the wind howled magnificently, but the fire no longer gave out any glow, and I saw the east reddening in streaks205 through the trees. Several hours must have passed since I stood there before, watching the ascending206 figures, and the memory of it now came back to me horribly, like an evil dream. Oh, how tired it made me feel, that ceaseless raging wind! Yet, though the deep lassitude of a sleepless207 night was on me, my nerves were tingling208 with the activity of an equally tireless apprehension209, and all idea of repose210 was out of the question. The river I saw had risen further. Its thunder filled the air, and a fine spray made itself felt through my thin sleeping shirt.
Yet nowhere did I discover the slightest evidences of anything to cause alarm. This deep, prolonged disturbance in my heart remained wholly unaccounted for.
My companion had not stirred when I called him, and there was no need to waken him now. I looked about me carefully, noting everything: the turned-over canoe; the yellow paddles—two of them, I'm certain; the provision sack and the extra lantern hanging together from the tree; and, crowding everywhere about me, enveloping211 all, the willows, those endless, shaking willows. A bird uttered its morning cry, and a string of duck passed with whirring flight overhead in the twilight212. The sand whirled, dry and stinging, about my bare feet in the wind.
I walked round the tent and then went out a little way into the bush, so that I could see across the river to the farther landscape, and the same profound yet indefinable emotion of distress seized upon me again as I saw the interminable sea of bushes stretching to the horizon, looking ghostly and unreal in the wan14 light of dawn. I walked softly here and there, still puzzling over that odd sound of infinite pattering, and of that pressure upon the tent that had wakened me. It must have been the wind, I reflected—the wind beating upon the loose, hot sand, driving the dry particles smartly against the taut canvas—the wind dropping heavily upon our fragile roof.
Yet all the time my nervousness and malaise increased appreciably213.
I crossed over to the farther shore and noted how the coast line had altered in the night, and what masses of sand the river had torn away. I dipped my hands and feet into the cool current, and bathed my forehead. Already there was a glow of sunrise in the sky and the exquisite214 freshness of coming day. On my way back I passed purposely beneath the very bushes where I had seen the column of figures rising into the air, and midway among the clumps I suddenly found myself overtaken by a sense of vast terror. From the shadows a large figure went swiftly by. Some one passed me, as sure as ever man did....
It was a great staggering blow from the wind that helped me forward again, and once out in the more open space, the sense of terror diminished strangely. The winds were about and walking, I remember saying to myself; for the winds often move like great presences under the trees. And altogether the fear that hovered215 about me was such an unknown and immense kind of fear, so unlike anything I had ever felt before, that it woke a sense of awe and wonder in me that did much to counteract216 its worst effects; and when I reached a high point in the middle of the island from which I could see the wide stretch of river, crimson in the sunrise, the whole magical beauty of it all was so overpowering that a sort of wild yearning217 woke in me and almost brought a cry up into the throat.
But this cry found no expression, for as my eyes wandered from the plain beyond to the island round me and noted our little tent half hidden among the willows, a dreadful discovery leaped out at me, compared to which my terror of the walking winds seemed as nothing at all.
For a change, I thought, had somehow come about in the arrangement of the landscape. It was not that my point of vantage gave me a different view, but that an alteration218 had apparently been effected in the relation of the tent to the willows, and of the willows to the tent. Surely the bushes now crowded much closer—unnecessarily, unpleasantly close. They had moved nearer.
Creeping with silent feet over the shifting sands, drawing imperceptibly nearer by soft, unhurried movements, the willows had come closer during the night. But had the wind moved them, or had they moved of themselves? I recalled the sound of infinite small patterings and the pressure upon the tent and upon my own heart that caused me to wake in terror. I swayed for a moment in the wind like a tree, finding it hard to keep my upright position on the sandy hillock. There was a suggestion here of personal agency, of deliberate intention, of aggressive hostility219, and it terrified me into a sort of rigidity220.
Then the reaction followed quickly. The idea was so bizarre, so absurd, that I felt inclined to laugh. But the laughter came no more readily than the cry, for the knowledge that my mind was so receptive to such dangerous imaginings brought the additional terror that it was through our minds and not through our physical bodies that the attack would come, and was coming.
The wind buffeted221 me about, and, very quickly it seemed, the sun came up over the horizon, for it was after four o'clock, and I must have stood on that little pinnacle222 of sand longer than I knew, afraid to come down at close quarters with the willows. I returned quietly, creepily, to the tent, first taking another exhaustive look round and—yes, I confess it—making a few measurements. I paced out on the warm sand the distances between the willows and the tent, making a note of the shortest distance particularly.
I crawled stealthily into my blankets. My companion, to all appearances, still slept soundly, and I was glad that this was so. Provided my experiences were not corroborated224, I could find strength somehow to deny them, perhaps. With the daylight I could persuade myself that it was all a subjective hallucination, a fantasy of the night, a projection225 of the excited imagination.
Nothing further came to disturb me, and I fell asleep almost at once, utterly exhausted226, yet still in dread of hearing again that weird227 sound of multitudinous pattering, or of feeling the pressure upon my heart that had made it difficult to breathe.
IV
The sun was high in the heavens when my companion woke me from a heavy sleep and announced that the porridge was cooked and there was just time to bathe. The grateful smell of frizzling bacon entered the tent door.
"River still rising," he said, "and several islands out in midstream have disappeared altogether. Our own island's much smaller."
"Any wood left?" I asked sleepily.
"The wood and the island will finish to-morrow in a dead heat," he laughed, "but there's enough to last us till then."
I plunged in from the point of the island, which had indeed altered a lot in size and shape during the night, and was swept down in a moment to the landing place opposite the tent. The water was icy, and the banks flew by like the country from an express train. Bathing under such conditions was an exhilarating operation, and the terror of the night seemed cleansed228 out of me by a process of evaporation229 in the brain. The sun was blazing hot; not a cloud showed itself anywhere; the wind, however, had not abated230 one little jot231.
Quite suddenly then the implied meaning of the Swede's words flashed across me, showing that he no longer wished to leave posthaste, and had changed his mind. "Enough to last till to-morrow"—he assumed we should stay on the island another night. It struck me as odd. The night before he was so positive the other way. How had the change come about?
Great crumblings of the banks occurred at breakfast, with heavy splashings and clouds of spray which the wind brought into our frying-pan, and my fellow-traveler talked incessantly233 about the difficulty the Vienna-Pesth steamers must have to find the channel in flood. But the state of his mind interested and impressed me far more than the state of the river or the difficulties of the steamers. He had changed somehow since the evening before. His manner was different—a trifle excited, a trifle shy, with a sort of suspicion about his voice and gestures. I hardly know how to describe it now in cold blood, but at the time I remember being quite certain of one thing, viz., that he had become frightened!
He ate very little breakfast, and for once omitted to smoke his pipe. He had the map spread open beside him, and kept studying its markings.
"We'd better get off sharp in an hour," I said presently, feeling for an opening that must bring him indirectly234 to a partial confession235 at any rate. And his answer puzzled me uncomfortably: "Rather! If they'll let us."
"Who'll let us? The elements?" I asked quickly, with affected indifference236.
"The powers of this awful place, whoever they are," he replied, keeping his eyes on the map. "The gods are here, if they are anywhere at all in the world."
"The elements are always the true immortals," I replied, laughing as naturally as I could manage, yet knowing quite well that my face reflected my true feelings when he looked up gravely at me and spoke across the smoke:
"We shall be fortunate if we get away without further disaster."
This was exactly what I had dreaded237, and I screwed myself up to the point of the direct question. It was like agreeing to allow the dentist to extract the tooth; it had to come anyhow in the long run, and the rest was all pretense238.
"Further disaster! Why, what's happened?"
"For one thing—the steering paddle's gone," he said quietly.
"The steering paddle gone!" I repeated, greatly excited, for this was our rudder, and the Danube in flood without a rudder was suicide. "But what——"
"And there's a tear in the bottom of the canoe," he added, with a genuine little tremor239 in his voice.
I continued staring at him, able only to repeat the words in his face somewhat foolishly. There, in the heat of the sun, and on this burning sand, I was aware of a freezing atmosphere descending round us. I got up to follow him, for he merely nodded his head gravely and led the way towards the tent a few yards on the other side of the fireplace. The canoe still lay there as I had last seen her in the night, ribs240 uppermost, the paddles, or rather, the paddle, on the sand beside her.
"There's only one," he said, stooping to pick it up. "And here's the rent in the base-board."
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I had clearly noticed two paddles a few hours before, but a second impulse made me think better of it, and I said nothing. I approached to see.
There was a long, finely made tear in the bottom of the canoe where a little slither of wood had been neatly242 taken clean out; it looked as if the tooth of a sharp rock or snag had eaten down her length, and investigation243 showed that the hole went through. Had we launched out in her without observing it we must inevitably have foundered244. At first the water would have made the wood swell13 so as to close the hole, but once out in midstream the water must have poured in, and the canoe, never more than two inches above the surface, would have filled and sunk very rapidly.
"There, you see, an attempt to prepare a victim for the sacrifice," I heard him saying, more to himself than to me, "two victims rather," he added as he bent over and ran his fingers along the slit241.
I began to whistle—a thing I always do unconsciously when utterly nonplused—and purposely paid no attention to his words. I was determined245 to consider them foolish.
"It wasn't there last night," he said presently, straightening up from his examination and looking anywhere but at me.
"We must have scratched her in landing, of course," I stopped whistling to say, "The stones are very sharp——"
I stopped abruptly247, for at that moment he turned round and met my eye squarely. I knew just as well as he did how impossible my explanation was. There were no stones, to begin with.
"And then there's this to explain too," he added quietly, handing me the paddle and pointing to the blade.
A new and curious emotion spread freezingly over me as I took and examined it. The blade was scraped down all over, beautifully scraped, as though someone had sand-papered it with care, making it so thin that the first vigorous stroke must have snapped it off at the elbow.
"One of us walked in his sleep and did this thing," I said feebly, "or—or it has been filed by the constant stream of sand particles blown against it by the wind, perhaps."
"Ah," said the Swede, turning away, laughing a little, "you can explain everything!"
"The same wind that caught the steering paddle and flung it so near the bank that it fell in with the next lump that crumbled," I called out after him, absolutely determined to find an explanation for everything he showed me.
"I see," he shouted back, turning his head to look at me before disappearing among the willow bushes.
Once alone with these perplexing evidences of personal agency, I think my first thought took the form of "One of us must have done this thing, and it certainly was not I." But my second thought decided248 how impossible it was to suppose, under all the circumstances, that either of us had done it. That my companion, the trusted friend of a dozen similar expeditions, could have knowingly had a hand in it, was a suggestion not to be entertained for a moment. Equally absurd seemed the explanation that this imperturbable and densely249 practical nature had suddenly become insane and was busied with insane purposes.
Yet the fact remained that what disturbed me most, and kept my fear actively251 alive even in this blaze of sunshine and wild beauty, was the clear certainty that some curious alteration had come about in his mind—that he was nervous, timid, suspicious, aware of goings on he did not speak about, watching a series of secret and hitherto unmentionable events—waiting, in a word, for a climax252 that he expected, and, I thought, expected very soon. This grew up in my mind intuitively—I hardly knew how.
I made a hurried examination of the tent and its surroundings, but the measurements of the night remained the same. There were deep hollows formed in the sand, I now noticed for the first time, basin-shaped and of various depths and sizes, varying from that of a teacup to a large bowl. The wind, no doubt, was responsible for these miniature craters253, just as it was for lifting the paddle and tossing it towards the water. The rent in the canoe was the only thing that seemed quite inexplicable254; and, after all, it was conceivable that a sharp point had caught it when we landed. The examination I made of the shore did not assist this theory, but all the same I clung to it with that diminishing portion of my intelligence which I called my "reason." An explanation of some kind was an absolute necessity, just as some working explanation of the universe is necessary—however absurd—to the happiness of every individual who seeks to do his duty in the world and face the problems of life. The simile255 seemed to me at the time an exact parallel.
I at once set the pitch melting, and presently the Swede joined me at the work, though under the best conditions in the world the canoe could not be safe for traveling till the following day. I drew his attention casually256 to the hollows in the sand.
"Yes," he said, "I know. They're all over the island. But you can explain them, no doubt!"
"Wind, of course," I answered without hesitation257. "Have you never watched those little whirlwinds in the street that twist and twirl everything into a circle? This sand's loose enough to yield, that's all."
He made no reply, and we worked on in silence for a bit. I watched him surreptitiously all the time, and I had an idea he was watching me. He seemed, too, to be always listening attentively258 to something I could not hear, or perhaps for something that he expected to hear, for he kept turning about and staring into the bushes, and up into the sky, and out across the water where it was visible through the openings among the willows. Sometimes he even put his hand to his ear and held it there for several minutes. He said nothing to me, however, about it, and I asked no questions. And meanwhile, as he mended that torn canoe with the skill and address of a red Indian, I was glad to notice his absorption in the work, for there was a vague dread in my heart that he would speak of the changed aspect of the willows. And, if he had noticed that, my imagination could no longer be held a sufficient explanation of it.
At length, after a long pause, he began to talk.
"Queer thing," he added in a hurried sort of voice, as though he wanted to say something and get it over. "Queer thing, I mean, about that otter last night."
I had expected something so totally different that he caught me with surprise, and I looked up sharply.
"I don't mean that, of course," he interrupted. "I mean—do you think—did you think it really was an otter?"
"What else, in the name of Heaven, what else?"
"You know, I saw it before you did, and at first it seemed—so much bigger than an otter."
"The sunset as you looked upstream magnified it, or something," I replied.
He looked at me absently a moment, as though his mind were busy with other thoughts.
"It had such extraordinary yellow eyes," he went on half to himself.
"That was the sun too," I laughed, a trifle boisterously261. "I suppose you'll wonder next if that fellow in the boat——"
I suddenly decided not to finish the sentence. He was in the act again of listening, turning his head to the wind, and something in the expression of his face made me halt. The subject dropped, and we went on with our caulking262. Apparently he had not noticed my unfinished sentence. Five minutes later, however, he looked at me across the canoe, the smoking pitch in his hand, his face exceedingly grave.
"I did rather wonder, if you want to know," he said slowly, "what that thing in the boat was. I remember thinking at the time it was not a man. The whole business seemed to rise quite suddenly out of the water."
I laughed again boisterously in his face, but this time there was impatience263 and a strain of anger too, in my feeling.
"Look here now," I cried, "this place is quite queer enough without going out of our way to imagine things! That boat was an ordinary boat, and the man in it was an ordinary man, and they were both going downstream as fast as they could lick. And that otter was an otter, so don't let's play the fool about it!"
He looked steadily at me with the same grave expression. He was not in the least annoyed. I took courage from his silence.
"And for heaven's sake," I went on, "don't keep pretending you hear things, because it only gives me the jumps, and there's nothing to hear but the river and this cursed old thundering wind."
"You fool!" he answered in a low, shocked voice, "you utter fool. That's just the way all victims talk. As if you didn't understand just as well as I do!" he sneered264 with scorn in his voice, and a sort of resignation. "The best thing you can do is to keep quiet and try to hold your mind as firm as possible. This feeble attempt at self-deception only makes the truth harder when you're forced to meet it."
My little effort was over, and I found nothing more to say, for I knew quite well his words were true, and that I was the fool, not he. Up to a certain stage in the adventure he kept ahead of me easily, and I think I felt annoyed to be out of it, to be thus proved less psychic265, less sensitive than himself to these extraordinary happenings, and half ignorant all the time of what was going on under my very nose. He knew from the very beginning, apparently. But at the moment I wholly missed the point of his words about the necessity of there being a victim, and that we ourselves were destined266 to satisfy the want. I dropped all pretense thenceforward, but thenceforward likewise my fear increased steadily to the climax.
"But you're quite right about one thing," he added, before the subject passed, "and that is that we're wiser not to talk about it, or even to think about it, because what one thinks finds expression in words, and what one says, happens."
That afternoon, while the canoe dried and hardened, we spent trying to fish, testing the leak, collecting wood, and watching the enormous flood of rising water. Masses of driftwood swept near our shores sometimes, and we fished for them with long willow branches. The island grew perceptibly smaller as the banks were torn away with great gulps267 and splashes. The weather kept brilliantly fine till about four o'clock, and then for the first time for three days the wind showed signs of abating268. Clouds began to gather in the southwest, spreading thence slowly over the sky.
This lessening269 of the wind came as a great relief, for the incessant232 roaring, banging, and thundering had irritated our nerves. Yet the silence that came about five o'clock with its sudden cessation was in a manner quite as oppressive. The booming of the river had everything its own way then: it filled the air with deep murmurs270, more musical than the wind noises, but infinitely271 more monotonous272. The wind held many notes, rising, falling, always beating out some sort of great elemental tune273; whereas the river's song lay between three notes at most—dull pedal notes, that held a lugubrious274 quality foreign to the wind, and somehow seemed to me, in my then nervous state, to sound wonderfully well the music of doom275.
It was extraordinary, too, how the withdrawal276 suddenly of bright sunlight took everything out of the landscape that made for cheerfulness; and since this particular landscape had already managed to convey the suggestion of something sinister277, the change of course was all the more unwelcome and noticeable. For me, I know, the darkening outlook became distinctly more alarming, and I found myself more than once calculating how soon after sunset the full moon would get up in the east, and whether the gathering clouds would greatly interfere278 with her lighting279 of the little island.
With this general hush280 of the wind—though it still indulged in occasional brief gusts—the river seemed to me to grow blacker, the willows to stand more densely together. The latter, too, kept up a sort of independent movement of their own, rustling281 among themselves when no wind stirred, and shaking oddly from the roots upwards. When common objects in this way become charged with the suggestion of horror, they stimulate282 the imagination far more than things of unusual appearance; and these bushes, crowding huddled about us, assumed for me in the darkness a bizarre grotesquerie of appearance that lent to them somehow the aspect of purposeful and living creatures. Their very ordinariness, I felt, masked what was malignant283 and hostile to us. The forces of the region drew nearer with the coming of night. They were focusing upon our island, and more particularly upon ourselves. For thus, somehow, in the terms of the imagination, did my really indescribable sensations in this extraordinary place present themselves.
I had slept a good deal in the early afternoon, and had thus recovered somewhat from the exhaustion284 of a disturbed night, but this only served apparently to render me more susceptible285 than before to the obsessing286 spell of the haunting. I fought against it, laughing at my feelings as absurd and childish, with very obvious physiological287 explanations, yet, in spite of every effort, they gained in strength upon me so that I dreaded the night as a child lost in a forest must dread the approach of darkness.
The canoe we had carefully covered with a waterproof288 sheet during the day, and the one remaining paddle had been securely tied by the Swede to the base of a tree, lest the wind should rob us of that too. From five o'clock onwards I busied myself with the stew-pot and preparations for dinner, it being my turn to cook that night. We had potatoes, onions, bits of bacon fat to add flavour, and a general thick residue289 from former stews290 at the bottom of the pot; with black bread broken up into it the result was most excellent, and it was followed by a stew of plums with sugar and a brew291 of strong tea with dried milk. A good pile of wood lay close at hand, and the absence of wind made my duties easy. My companion sat lazily watching me, dividing his attentions between cleaning his pipe and giving useless advice—an admitted privilege of the off-duty man. He had been very quiet all the afternoon, engaged in re-caulking the canoe, strengthening the tent ropes, and fishing for driftwood while I slept. No more talk about undesirable292 things had passed between us, and I think his only remarks had to do with the gradual destruction of the island, which he declared was now fully a third smaller than when we first landed.
The pot had just begun to bubble when I heard his voice calling to me from the bank, where he had wandered away without my noticing. I ran up.
"Come and listen," he said, "and see what you make of it." He held his hand cupwise to his ear, as so often before.
"Now do you hear anything?" he asked, watching me curiously.
We stood there, listening attentively together. At first I heard only the deep note of the water and the hissings rising from its turbulent surface. The willows, for once, were motionless and silent. Then a sound began to reach my ears faintly, a peculiar sound—something like the humming of a distant gong. It seemed to come across to us in the darkness from the waste of swamps and willows opposite. It was repeated at regular intervals293, but it was certainly neither the sound of a bell nor the hooting294 of a distant steamer. I can liken it to nothing so much as to the sound of an immense gong, suspended far up in the sky, repeating incessantly its muffled295 metallic296 note, soft and musical, as it was repeatedly struck. My heart quickened as I listened.
"I've heard it all day," said my companion. "While you slept this afternoon it came all round the island. I hunted it down, but could never get near enough to see—to localize it correctly. Sometimes it was overhead, and sometimes it seemed under the water. Once or twice, too, I could have sworn it was not outside at all, but within myself—you know—the way a sound in the fourth dimension is supposed to come."
I was too much puzzled to pay much attention to his words. I listened carefully, striving to associate it with any known familiar sound I could think of, but without success. It changed in direction, too, coming nearer, and then sinking utterly away into remote distance. I cannot say that it was ominous in quality, because to me it seemed distinctly musical, yet I must admit it set going a distressing297 feeling that made me wish I had never heard it.
"The wind blowing in those sand-funnels," I said, determined to find an explanation, "or the bushes rubbing together after the storm perhaps."
"It comes off the whole swamp," my friend answered. "It comes from everywhere at once." He ignored my explanations. "It comes from the willow bushes somehow——"
"But now the wind has dropped," I objected "The willows can hardly make a noise by themselves, can they?"
His answer frightened me, first because I had dreaded it, and secondly298, because I knew intuitively it was true.
"It is because the wind has dropped we now hear it. It was drowned before. It is the cry, I believe of the——"
I dashed back to my fire, warned by a sound of bubbling that the stew was in danger, but determined at the same time to escape from further conversation. I was resolute299, if possible, to avoid the exchanging of views. I dreaded, too, that he would begin again about the gods, or the elemental forces, or something else disquieting300, and I wanted to keep myself well in hand for what might happen later. There was another night to be faced before we escaped from this distressing place, and there was no knowing yet what it might bring forth301.
"Come and cut up bread for the pot," I called to him, vigorously stirring the appetizing mixture. That stew-pot held sanity302 for us both, and the thought made me laugh.
He came over slowly and took the provision sack from the tree, fumbling303 in its mysterious depths, and then emptying the entire contents upon the ground-sheet at his feet.
"Hurry up!" I cried; "it's boiling."
The Swede burst out into a roar of laughter that startled me. It was forced laughter, not artificial exactly, but mirthless.
"There's nothing here!" he shouted, holding his sides.
"Bread, I mean."
"It's gone. There is no bread. They've taken it!"
I dropped the long spoon and ran up. Everything the sack had contained lay upon the ground-sheet, but there was no loaf.
The whole dead weight of my growing fear fell upon me and shook me. Then I burst out laughing too. It was the only thing to do: and the sound of my own laughter also made me understand his. The strain of psychical304 pressure caused it—this explosion of unnatural305 laughter in both of us; it was an effort of repressed forces to seek relief; it was a temporary safety valve. And with both of us it ceased quite suddenly.
"How criminally stupid of me!" I cried, still determined to be consistent and find an explanation. "I clean forgot to buy a loaf at Pressburg. That chattering woman put everything out of my head, and I must have left it lying on the counter or——"
"The oatmeal, too, is much less than it was this morning," the Swede interrupted.
Why in the world need he draw attention to it? I thought angrily.
"There's enough for to-morrow," I said, stirring vigorously, "and we can get lots more at Komorn or Gran. In twenty-four hours we shall be miles from here."
"I hope so—to God," he muttered, putting the things back into the sack, "unless we're claimed first as victims for the sacrifice," he added with a foolish laugh. He dragged the sack into the tent, for safety's sake, I suppose, and I heard him mumbling306 on to himself, but so indistinctly that it seemed quite natural for me to ignore his words.
Our meal was beyond question a gloomy one, and we ate it almost in silence, avoiding one another's eyes, and keeping the fire bright. Then we washed up and prepared for the night, and, once smoking, our minds unoccupied with any definite duties, the apprehension I had felt all day long became more and more acute. It was not then active fear, I think, but the very vagueness of its origin distressed307 me far more than if I had been able to ticket and face it squarely. The curious sound I have likened to the note of a gong became now almost incessant, and filled the stillness of the night with a faint, continuous ringing rather than a series of distinct notes. At one time it was behind and at another time in front of us. Sometimes I fancied it came from the bushes on our left, and then again from the clumps on our right. More often it hovered directly overhead like the whirring of wings. It was really everywhere at once, behind, in front, at our sides and over our heads, completely surrounding us. The sound really defies description. But nothing within my knowledge is like that ceaseless muffled humming rising off the deserted world of swamps and willows.
We sat smoking in comparative silence, the strain growing every minute greater. The worst feature of the situation seemed to me that we did not know what to expect, and could therefore make no sort of preparation by way of defense308. We could anticipate nothing. My explanations made in the sunshine, moreover, now came to haunt me with their foolish and wholly unsatisfactory nature, and it was more and more clear to me that some kind of plain talk with my companion was inevitable309, whether I liked it or not. After all, we had to spend the night together, and to sleep in the same tent side by side. I saw that I could not get along much longer without the support of his mind, and for that, of course, plain talk was imperative310. As long as possible, however, I postponed311 this little climax, and tried to ignore or laugh at the occasional sentences he flung into the emptiness.
Some of these sentences, moreover, were confoundedly disquieting to me, coming as they did to corroborate223 much that I felt myself: corroboration, too—which made it so much more convincing—from a totally different point of view. He composed such curious sentences, and hurled312 them at me in such an inconsequential sort of way, as though his main line of thought was secret to himself, and these fragments were the bits he found it impossible to digest. He got rid of them by uttering them. Speech relieved him. It was like being sick.
"There are things about us, I'm sure, that make for disorder313, disintegration314, destruction, our destruction," he said once, while the fire blazed between us. "We've strayed out of a safe line somewhere."
And another time, when the gong sounds had come nearer, ringing much louder than before, and directly over our heads, he said, as though talking to himself:
"I don't think a phonograph would show any record of that. The sound doesn't come to me by the ears at all. The vibrations315 reach me in another manner altogether, and seem to be within me, which is precisely how a fourth dimension sound might be supposed to make itself heard."
I purposely made no reply to this, but I sat up a little closer to the fire and peered about me into the darkness. The clouds were massed all over the sky and no trace of moonlight came through. Very still, too, everything was, so that the river and the frogs had things all their own way.
"It has that about it," he went on, "which is utterly out of common experience. It is unknown. Only one thing describes it really: it is a non-human sound; I mean a sound outside humanity."
Having rid himself of this indigestible morsel316, he lay quiet for a time; but he had so admirably expressed my own feeling that it was a relief to have the thought out, and to have confined it by the limitation of words from dangerous wandering to and fro in the mind.
The solitude317 of that Danube camping-place, can I ever forget it? The feeling of being utterly alone on an empty planet! My thoughts ran incessantly upon cities and the haunts of men. I would have given my soul, as the saying is, for the "feel" of those Bavarian villages we had passed through by the score; for the normal, human commonplaces, peasants drinking beer, tables beneath the trees, hot sunshine, and a ruined castle on the rocks behind the red-roofed church. Even the tourists would have been welcome.
Yet what I felt of dread was no ordinary ghostly fear. It was infinitely greater, stranger, and seemed to arise from some dim ancestral sense of terror more profoundly disturbing than anything I had known or dreamed of. We had "strayed," as the Swede put it, into some region or some set of conditions where the risks were great, yet unintelligible318 to us; where the frontiers of some unknown world lay close about us. It was a spot held by the dwellers319 in some outer space, a sort of peephole whence they could spy upon the earth, themselves unseen, a point where the veil between had worn a little thin. As the final result of too long a sojourn320 here, we should be carried over the border and deprived of what we called "our lives," yet by mental, not physical, processes. In that sense, as he said, we should be the victims of our adventure—a sacrifice.
It took us in different fashion, each according to the measure of his sensitiveness and powers of resistance. I translated it vaguely321 into a personification of the mightily322 disturbed elements, investing them with the horror of a deliberate and malefic purpose, resentful of our audacious intrusion into their breeding-place; whereas my friend threw it into the unoriginal form at first of a trespass33 on some ancient shrine132, some place where the old gods still held sway, where the emotional forces of former worshipers still clung, and the ancestral portion of him yielded to the old pagan spell.
At any rate, here was a place unpolluted by men, kept clean by the winds from coarsening human influences, a place where spiritual agencies were within reach and aggressive. Never, before or since, have I been so attacked by indescribable suggestions of a "beyond region," of another scheme of life, another evolution not parallel to the human. And in the end our minds would succumb323 under the weight of the awful spell, and we should be drawn324 across the frontier into their world.
Small things testified to this amazing influence of the place, and now in the silence round the fire they allowed themselves to be noted by the mind. The very atmosphere had proved itself a magnifying medium to distort every indication: the otter rolling in the current, the hurrying boatman making signs, the shifting willows, one and all had been robbed of its natural character, and revealed in something of its other aspect—as it existed across the border in that other region. And this changed aspect I felt was new not merely to me, but to the race. The whole experience whose verge325 we touched was unknown to humanity at all. It was a new order of experience, and in the true sense of the word unearthly.
"It's the deliberate, calculating purpose that reduces one's courage to zero," the Swede said suddenly, as if he had been actually following my thoughts. "Otherwise imagination might count for much. But the paddle, the canoe, the lessening food——"
"Haven't I explained all that once?" I interrupted viciously.
"You have," he answered dryly; "you have indeed."
He made other remarks too, as usual, about what he called the "plain determination to provide a victim"; but, having now arranged my thoughts better, I recognized that this was simply the cry of his frightened soul against the knowledge that he was being attacked in a vital part, and that he would be somehow taken or destroyed. The situation called for a courage and calmness of reasoning that neither of us could compass, and I have never before been so clearly conscious of two persons in me—the one that explained everything, and the other that laughed at such foolish explanations, yet was horribly afraid.
Meanwhile, in the pitchy night the fire died down and the woodpile grew small. Neither of us moved to replenish326 the stock, and the darkness consequently came up very close to our faces. A few feet beyond the circle of firelight it was inky black. Occasionally a stray puff82 of wind set the billows shivering about us, but apart from this not very welcome sound a deep and depressing silence reigned327, broken only by the gurgling of the river and the humming in the air overhead.
We both missed, I think, the shouting company of the winds.
At length, at a moment when a stray puff prolonged itself as though the wind were about to rise again, I reached the point for me of saturation328, the point where it was absolutely necessary to find relief in plain speech, or else to betray myself by some hysterical329 extravagance that must have been far worse in its effect upon both of us. I kicked the fire into a blaze, and turned to my companion abruptly. He looked up with a start.
"I can't disguise it any longer," I said; "I don't like this place, and the darkness, and the noises, and the awful feelings I get. There's something here that beats me utterly. I'm in a blue funk, and that's the plain truth. If the other shore was—different, I swear I'd be inclined to swim for it!"
The Swede's face turned very white beneath the deep tan of sun and wind. He stared straight at me and answered quietly, but his voice betrayed his huge excitement by its unnatural calmness. For the moment, at any rate, he was the strong man of the two. He was more phlegmatic330, for one thing.
"It's not a physical condition we can escape from by running away," he replied, in the tone of a doctor diagnosing some grave disease; "we must sit tight and wait. There are forces close here that could kill a herd of elephants in a second as easily as you or I could squash a fly. Our only chance is to keep perfectly still. Our insignificance perhaps may save us."
I put a dozen questions into my expression of face, but found no words. It was precisely like listening to an accurate description of a disease whose symptoms had puzzled me.
"I mean that so far, although aware of our disturbing presence, they have not found us—not 'located' us, as the Americans say," he went on. "They're blundering about like men hunting for a leak of gas. The paddle and canoe and provisions prove that. I think they feel us, but cannot actually see us. We must keep our minds quiet—it's our minds they feel. We must control our thoughts, or it's all up with us."
"Worse—by far," he said. "Death, according to one's belief, means either annihilation or release from the limitations of the senses, but it involves no change of character. You don't suddenly alter just because the body's gone. But this means a radical332 alteration, a complete change, a horrible loss of oneself by substitution—far worse than death, and not even annihilation. We happen to have camped in a spot where their region touches ours where the veil between has worn thin"—horrors! he was using my very own phrase, my actual words—"so that they are aware of our being in their neighborhood."
"But who are aware?" I asked.
I forgot the shaking of the willows in the windless calm, the humming overhead, everything except that I was waiting for an answer that I dreaded more than I can possibly explain.
He lowered his voice at once to reply, leaning forward a little over the fire, an indefinable change in his face that made me avoid his eyes and look down upon the ground.
"All my life," he said, "I have been strangely, vividly333 conscious of another region—not far removed from our own world in one sense, yet wholly different in kind—where great things go on unceasingly, where immense and terrible personalities334 hurry by, intent on vast purposes compared to which earthly affairs, the rise and fall of nations, the destinies of empires, the fate of armies and continents, are all as dust in the balance; vast purposes, I mean, that deal directly with the soul, and not indirectly with mere expressions of the soul—"
"I suggest just now—" I began, seeking to stop him, feeling as though I was face to face with a madman. But he instantly overbore me with his torrent335 that had to come.
"You think," he said, "it is the spirits of the elements, and I thought perhaps it was the old gods. But I tell you now it is—neither. These would be comprehensible entities336, for they have relations with men, depending upon them for worship or sacrifice, whereas these beings who are now about us have absolutely nothing to do with mankind, and it is mere chance that their space happens just at this spot to touch our own."
The mere conception, which his words somehow made so convincing, as I listened to them there in the dark stillness of that lonely island, set me shaking a little all over. I found it impossible to control my movements.
"And what do you propose?" I began again.
"A sacrifice, a victim, might save us by distracting them until we could get away," he went on, "just as the wolves stop to devour337 the dogs and give the sleigh another start. But—I see no chance of any other victim now."
I stared blankly at him. The gleam in his eyes was dreadful. Presently he continued.
"It's the willows, of course. The willows mask the others, but the others are feeling about for us. If we let our minds betray our fear, we're lost, lost utterly." He looked at me with an expression so calm, so determined, so sincere, that I no longer had any doubts as to his sanity. He was as sane250 as any man ever was. "If we can hold out through the night," he added, "we may get off in the daylight unnoticed, or rather, undiscovered."
"But you really think a sacrifice would——"
That gong-like humming came down very close over our heads as I spoke, but it was my friend's scared face that really stopped my mouth.
"Hush!" he whispered, holding up his hand. "Do not mention them more than you can help. Do not refer to them by name. To name is to reveal: it is the inevitable clue, and our only hope lies in ignoring them, in order that they may ignore us."
"Especially in thought. Our thoughts make spirals in their world. We must keep them out of our minds at all costs if possible."
I raked the fire together to prevent the darkness having everything its own way. I never longed for the sun as I longed for it then in the awful blackness of that summer night.
"Were you awake all last night?" he went on suddenly.
"I slept badly a little after dawn," I replied evasively, trying to follow his instructions, which I knew instinctively340 were true, "but the wind, of course—"
"I know. But the wind won't account for all the noises."
"Then you heard it too?"
"The multiplying countless341 little footsteps I heard," he said, adding, after a moment's hesitation, "and that other sound—"
"You mean above the tent, and the pressing down upon us of something tremendous, gigantic?"
He nodded significantly.
"It was like the beginning of a sort of inner suffocation342?" I said.
"Partly, yes. It seemed to me that the weight of the atmosphere had been altered—had increased enormously, so that we should be crushed."
"And that," I went on, determined to have it all out, pointing upwards where the gong-like note hummed ceaselessly, rising and falling like wind. "What do you make of that?"
"It's their sound," he whispered gravely. "It's the sound of their world, the humming in their region. The division here is so thin that it leaks through somehow. But, if you listen carefully, you'll find it's not above so much as around us. It's in the willows. It's the willows themselves humming, because here the willows have been made symbols of the forces that are against us."
I could not follow exactly what he meant by this, yet the thought and idea in my mind were beyond question the thought and idea in his. I realized what he realized, only with less power of analysis than his. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him at last about my hallucination of the ascending figures and the moving bushes, when he suddenly thrust his face again close into mine across the firelight and began to speak in a very earnest whisper. He amazed me by his calmness and pluck, his apparent control of the situation. This man I had for years deemed unimaginative, stolid!
"Now listen," he said. "The only thing for us to do is to go on as though nothing had happened, follow our usual habits, go to bed, and so forth; pretend we feel nothing and notice nothing. It is a question wholly of the mind, and the less we think about them the better our chance of escape. Above all, don't think, for what you think happens!"
"All right," I managed to reply, simply breathless with his words and the strangeness of it all; "all right, I'll try, but tell me one thing more first. Tell me what you make of those hollows in the ground all about us, those sand-funnels?"
"No!" he cried, forgetting to whisper in his excitement. "I dare not, simply dare not, put the thought into words. If you have not guessed I am glad. Don't try to. They have put it into my mind; try your hardest to prevent their putting it into yours."
He sank his voice again to a whisper before he finished, and I did not press him to explain. There was already just about as much horror in me as I could hold. The conversation came to an end, and we smoked our pipes busily in silence.
Then something happened, something unimportant apparently, as the way is when the nerves are in a very great state of tension, and this small thing for a brief space gave me an entirely different point of view. I chanced to look down at my sand-shoe—the sort we used for the canoe—and something to do with the hole at the toe suddenly recalled to me the London shop where I had bought them, the difficulty the man had in fitting me, and other details of the uninteresting but practical operation. At once, in its train, followed a wholesome343 view of the modern skeptical344 world I was accustomed to move in at home. I thought of roast beef and ale, motor-cars, policemen, brass345 bands, and a dozen other things that proclaimed the soul of ordinariness or utility. The effect was immediate and astonishing even to myself. Psychologically, I suppose, it was simply a sudden and violent reaction after the strain of living in an atmosphere of things that to the normal consciousness must seem impossible and incredible. But, whatever the cause, it momentarily lifted the spell from my heart, and left me for the short space of a minute feeling free and utterly unafraid. I looked up at my friend opposite.
"You damned old pagan!" I cried, laughing aloud in his face. "You imaginative idiot! You superstitious346 idolator! You——"
I stopped in the middle, seized anew by the old horror. I tried to smother174 the sound of my voice as something sacrilegious. The Swede, of course, heard it too—that strange cry overhead in the darkness—and that sudden drop in the air as though something had come nearer.
He had turned ashen347 white under the tan. He stood bolt upright in front of the fire, stiff as a rod, staring at me.
"After that," he said in a sort of helpless, frantic348 way, "we must go! We can't stay now; we must strike camp this very instant and go on—down the river."
He was talking, I saw, quite wildly, his words dictated349 by abject350 terror—the terror he had resisted so long, but which had caught him at last.
"In the dark?" I exclaimed, shaking with fear after my hysterical outburst, but still realizing our position better than he did. "Sheer madness! The river's in flood, and we've only got a single paddle. Besides, we only go deeper into their country! There's nothing ahead for fifty miles but willows, willows, willows!"
He sat down again in a state of semi-collapse. The positions, by one of those kaleidoscopic351 changes nature loves, were suddenly reversed, and the control of our forces passed over into my hands. His mind at last had reached the point where it was beginning to weaken.
"What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?" he whispered, with the awe of genuine terror in his voice and face.
I crossed round to his side of the fire. I took both his hands in mine, kneeling down beside him and looking straight into his frightened eyes.
"We'll make one more blaze," I said firmly, "and then turn in for the night. At sunrise we'll be off full speed for Komorn. Now, pull yourself together a bit, and remember your own advice about not thinking fear!"
He said no more, and I saw that he would agree and obey. In some measure, too, it was a sort of relief to get up and make an excursion into the darkness for more wood. We kept close together, almost touching352, groping among the bushes and along the bank. The humming overhead never ceased, but seemed to me to grow louder as we increased our distance from the fire. It was shivery work!
We were grubbing away in the middle of a thickish clump18 of willows where some driftwood from a former flood had caught high among the branches, when my body was seized in a grip that made me half drop upon the sand. It was the Swede. He had fallen against me, and was clutching me for support. I heard his breath coming and going in short gasps353.
"Look! By my soul!" he whispered, and for the first time in my experience I knew what it was to hear tears of terror in a human voice. He was pointing to the fire, some fifty feet away. I followed the direction of his finger, and I swear my heart missed a beat.
There, in front of the dim glow, something was moving.
I saw it through a veil that hung before my eyes like the gauze drop-curtain used at the back of a theater—hazily a little. It was neither a human figure nor an animal. To me it gave the strange impression of being as large as several animals grouped together, like horses, two or three, moving slowly. The Swede, too, got a similar result, though expressing it differently, for he thought it was shaped and sized like a clump of willow bushes, rounded at the top, and moving all over upon its surface—"coiling upon itself like smoke," he said afterwards.
"I watched it settle downwards354 through the bushes," he sobbed355 at me. "Look, by God! It's coming this way! Oh, oh!"—he gave a kind of whistling cry. "They've found us."
I gave one terrified glance, which just enabled me to see that the shadowy form was swinging towards us through the bushes, and then I collapsed356 backwards357 with a crash into the branches. These failed, of course, to support my weight, so that with the Swede on the top of me we fell in a struggling heap upon the sand. I really hardly knew what was happening. I was conscious only of a sort of enveloping sensation of icy fear that plucked the nerves out of their fleshly covering, twisted them this way and that, and replaced them quivering. My eyes were tightly shut; something in my throat choked me; a feeling that my consciousness was expanding, extending out into space, swiftly gave way to another feeling that I was losing it altogether, and about to die.
An acute spasm358 of pain passed through me, and I was aware that the Swede had hold of me in such a way that he hurt me abominably359. It was the way he caught at me in falling.
But it was this pain, he declared afterwards, that saved me: it caused me to forget them and think of something else at the very instant when they were about to find me. It concealed my mind from them at the moment of discovery, yet just in time to evade360 their terrible seizing of me. He himself, he says, actually swooned at the same moment, and that was what saved him.
I only know that at a later time, how long or short is impossible to say, I found myself scrambling361 up out of the slippery network of willow branches, and saw my companion standing in front of me holding out a hand to assist me. I stared at him in a dazed way, rubbing the arm he had twisted for me. Nothing came to me to say, somehow.
"I lost consciousness for a moment or two," I heard him say. "That's what saved me. It made me stop thinking about them."
"You nearly broke my arm in two," I said, uttering my only connected thought at the moment. A numbness362 came over me.
"That's what saved you!" he replied. "Between us, we've managed to set them off on a false tack98 somewhere. The humming has ceased. It's gone—for the moment at any rate!"
A wave of hysterical laughter seized me again, and this time spread to my friend too—great healing gusts of shaking laughter that brought a tremendous sense of relief in their train. We made our way back to the fire and put the wood on so that it blazed at once. Then we saw that the tent had fallen over and lay in a tangled363 heap upon the ground.
We picked it up, and during the process tripped more than once and caught our feet in sand.
"It's those sand-funnels," exclaimed the Swede, when the tent was up again and the firelight lit up the ground for several yards about us. "And look at the size of them!"
All round the tent and about the fireplace where we had seen the moving shadows there were deep funnel-shaped hollows in the sand, exactly similar to the ones we had already found over the island, only far bigger and deeper, beautifully formed, and wide enough in some instances to admit the whole of my foot and leg.
Neither of us said a word. We both knew that sleep was the safest thing we could do, and to bed we went accordingly without further delay, having first thrown sand on the fire and taken the provision sack and the paddle inside the tent with us. The canoe, too, we propped364 in such a way at the end of the tent that our feet touched it, and the least motion would disturb and wake us.
In case of emergency, too, we again went to bed in our clothes, ready for a sudden start.
V
It was my firm intention to lie awake all night and watch, but the exhaustion of nerves and body decreed otherwise, and sleep after a while came over me with a welcome blanket of oblivion. The fact that my companion also slept quickened its approach. At first he fidgeted and constantly sat up, asking me if I "heard this" or "heard that." He tossed about on his cork mattress, and said the tent was moving and the river had risen over the point of the island; but each time I went out to look I returned with the report that all was well, and finally he grew calmer and lay still. Then at length his breathing became regular and I heard unmistakable sounds of snoring—the first and only time in my life when snoring has been a welcome and calming influence.
A difficulty in breathing woke me, and I found the blanket over my face. But something else besides the blanket was pressing upon me, and my first thought was that my companion had rolled off his mattress on to my own in his sleep. I called to him and sat up, and at the same moment it came to me that the tent was surrounded. That sound of multitudinous soft pattering was again audible outside, filling the night with horror.
I called again to him, louder than before. He did not answer, but I missed the sound of his snoring, and also noticed that the flap of the tent door was down. This was the unpardonable sin. I crawled out in the darkness to hook it back securely, and it was then for the first time I realized positively366 that the Swede was not there. He had gone.
I dashed out in a mad run, seized by a dreadful agitation367, and the moment I was out I plunged into a sort of torrent of humming that surrounded me completely and came out of every quarter of the heavens at once. It was that same familiar humming—gone mad! A swarm of great invisible bees might have been about me in the air. The sound seemed to thicken the very atmosphere, and I felt that my lungs worked with difficulty.
But my friend was in danger, and I could not hesitate.
The dawn was just about to break, and a faint whitish light spread upwards over the clouds from a thin strip of clear horizon. No wind stirred. I could just make out the bushes and river beyond, and the pale sandy patches. In my excitement I ran frantically368 to and fro about the island, calling him by name, shouting at the top of my voice the first words that came into my head. But the willows smothered my voice, and the humming muffled it, so that the sound only traveled a few feet round me. I plunged among the bushes, tripping headlong, tumbling over roots, and scraping my face as I tore this way and that among the preventing branches.
Then, quite unexpectedly, I came out upon the island's point and saw a dark figure outlined between the water and the sky. It was the Swede. And already he had one foot in the river! A moment more and he would have taken the plunge.
I threw myself upon him, flinging my arms about his waist and dragging him shorewards with all my strength. Of course he struggled furiously, making a noise all the time just like that cursed humming, and using the most outlandish phrases in his anger about "going inside to Them," and "taking the way of the water and the wind," and God only knows what more besides, that I tried in vain to recall afterwards, but which turned me sick with horror and amazement as I listened. But in the end I managed to get him into the comparative safety of the tent, and flung him breathless and cursing upon the mattress, where I held him until the fit had passed.
I think the suddenness with which it all went and he grew calm, coinciding as it did with the equally abrupt246 cessation of the humming and pattering outside—I think this was almost the strangest part of the whole business perhaps. For he just opened his eyes and turned his tired face up to me so that the dawn threw a pale light upon it through the doorway369, and said, for all the world just like a frightened child:
"My life, old man—it's my life I owe you. But it's all over now anyhow. They've found a victim in our place!"
Then he dropped back upon his blankets and went to sleep literally370 under my eyes. He simply collapsed, and began to snore again as healthily as though nothing had happened and he had never tried to offer his own life as a sacrifice by drowning. And when the sunlight woke him three hours later—hours of ceaseless vigil for me—it became so clear to me that he remembered absolutely nothing of what he had attempted to do, that I deemed it wise to hold my peace and ask no dangerous questions.
He woke naturally and easily, as I have said, when the sun was already high in a windless hot sky, and he at once got up and set about the preparation of the fire for breakfast. I followed him anxiously at bathing, but he did not attempt to plunge in, merely dipping his head and making some remark about the extra coldness of the water.
"River's falling at last," he said, "and I'm glad of it."
"The humming has stopped too," I said.
He looked up at me quietly with his normal expression. Evidently he remembered everything except his own attempt at suicide.
"Everything has stopped," he said, "because——"
He hesitated. But I knew some reference to that remark he had made just before he fainted was in his mind, and I was determined to know it.
"Because 'They've found another victim'?" I said, forcing a little laugh.
"Exactly," he answered, "exactly! I feel as positive of it as though—as though—I feel quite safe again, I mean," he finished.
He began to look curiously about him. The sunlight lay in hot patches on the sand. There was no wind. The willows were motionless. He slowly rose to feet.
"Come," he said; "I think if we look, we shall find it."
He started off on a run, and I followed him. He kept to the banks, poking with a stick among the sandy bays and caves and little back-waters, myself always close on his heels.
"Ah!" he exclaimed presently, "ah!"
The tone of his voice somehow brought back to me a vivid sense of the horror of the last twenty-four hours, and I hurried up to join him. He was pointing with his stick at a large black object that lay half in the water and half on the sand. It appeared to be caught by some twisted willow roots so that the river could not sweep it away. A few hours before the spot must have been under water.
"See," he said quietly, "the victim that made our escape possible!"
And when I peered across his shoulder I saw that his stick rested on the body of a man. He turned it over. It was the corpse371 of a peasant, and the face was hidden in the sand. Clearly the man had been drowned but a few hours before, and his body must have been swept down upon our island somewhere about the hour of the dawn—at the very time the fit had passed.
"We must give it a decent burial, you know."
"I suppose so," I replied. I shuddered372 a little in spite of myself, for there was something about the appearance of that poor drowned man that turned me cold.
The Swede glanced up sharply at me, and began clambering down the bank. I followed him more leisurely. The current, I noticed, had torn away much of the clothing from the body, so that the neck and part of the chest lay bare.
Halfway down the bank my companion suddenly stopped and held up his hand in warning; but either my foot slipped, or I had gained too much momentum373 to bring myself quickly to a halt, for I bumped into him and sent him forward with a sort of leap to save himself. We tumbled together on to the hard sand so that our feet splashed into the water. And, before anything could be done, we had collided a little heavily against the corpse.
The Swede uttered a sharp cry. And I sprang back as if I had been shot.
At the moment we touched the body there arose from its surface the loud sound of humming—the sound of several hummings—which passed with a vast commotion374 as of winged things in the air about us and disappeared upwards into the sky, growing fainter and fainter till they finally ceased in the distance. It was exactly as though we had disturbed some living yet invisible creatures at work.
My companion clutched me, and I think I clutched him, but before either of us had time properly to recover from the unexpected shock, we saw that a movement of the current was turning the corpse round so that it became released from the grip of the willow roots. A moment later it had turned completely over, the dead face uppermost, staring at the sky. It lay on the edge of the main stream. In another moment it would be swept away.
The Swede started to save it, shouting again something I did not catch about a "proper burial" and then abruptly dropped upon his knees on the sand and covered his eyes with his hands. I was beside him in an instant.
I saw what he had seen.
For just as the body swung round to the current the face and the exposed chest turned full towards us, and showed plainly how the skin and flesh were indented375 with small hollows, beautifully formed, and exactly similar in shape and kind to the sand-funnels that we had found all over the island.
"Their mark!" I heard my companion mutter under his breath. "Their awful mark!"
And when I turned my eyes again from his ghastly face to the river, the current had done its work, and the body had been swept away into midstream and was already beyond our reach and almost out of sight, turning over and over on the waves like an otter.
点击收听单词发音
1 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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2 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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3 fluffy | |
adj.有绒毛的,空洞的 | |
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4 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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5 marshes | |
n.沼泽,湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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6 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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7 willows | |
n.柳树( willow的名词复数 );柳木 | |
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8 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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9 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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10 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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11 supple | |
adj.柔软的,易弯的,逢迎的,顺从的,灵活的;vt.使柔软,使柔顺,使顺从;vi.变柔软,变柔顺 | |
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12 swells | |
增强( swell的第三人称单数 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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13 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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14 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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15 eddies | |
(水、烟等的)漩涡,涡流( eddy的名词复数 ) | |
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16 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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17 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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18 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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19 clumps | |
n.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的名词复数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声v.(树、灌木、植物等的)丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 );(土、泥等)团;块;笨重的脚步声 | |
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20 obliterates | |
v.除去( obliterate的第三人称单数 );涂去;擦掉;彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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21 oar | |
n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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22 crest | |
n.顶点;饰章;羽冠;vt.达到顶点;vi.形成浪尖 | |
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23 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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24 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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25 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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26 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
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27 belching | |
n. 喷出,打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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28 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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29 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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30 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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31 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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32 fascination | |
n.令人着迷的事物,魅力,迷恋 | |
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33 trespass | |
n./v.侵犯,闯入私人领地 | |
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34 tempestuous | |
adj.狂暴的 | |
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35 swirling | |
v.旋转,打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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36 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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37 scorching | |
adj. 灼热的 | |
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38 wade | |
v.跋涉,涉水;n.跋涉 | |
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39 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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40 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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41 inevitably | |
adv.不可避免地;必然发生地 | |
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42 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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43 pebbles | |
[复数]鹅卵石; 沙砾; 卵石,小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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44 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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45 chatter | |
vi./n.喋喋不休;短促尖叫;(牙齿)打战 | |
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46 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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47 porous | |
adj.可渗透的,多孔的 | |
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48 limestone | |
n.石灰石 | |
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49 tributaries | |
n. 支流 | |
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50 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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51 gorge | |
n.咽喉,胃,暴食,山峡;v.塞饱,狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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52 fig | |
n.无花果(树) | |
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53 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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54 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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55 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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56 friendliness | |
n.友谊,亲切,亲密 | |
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57 cormorants | |
鸬鹚,贪婪的人( cormorant的名词复数 ) | |
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58 storks | |
n.鹳( stork的名词复数 ) | |
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59 vistas | |
长条形景色( vista的名词复数 ); 回顾; 展望; (未来可能发生的)一系列情景 | |
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60 hawks | |
鹰( hawk的名词复数 ); 鹰派人物,主战派人物 | |
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61 petulant | |
adj.性急的,暴躁的 | |
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62 vagaries | |
n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 );异想天开;异常行为;难以预测的情况 | |
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63 fawns | |
n.(未满一岁的)幼鹿( fawn的名词复数 );浅黄褐色;乞怜者;奉承者v.(尤指狗等)跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的第三人称单数 );巴结;讨好 | |
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64 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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65 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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66 halfway | |
adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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67 scenting | |
vt.闻到(scent的现在分词形式) | |
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68 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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69 subsides | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的第三人称单数 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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70 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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71 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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72 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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73 desultory | |
adj.散漫的,无方法的 | |
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74 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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75 crests | |
v.到达山顶(或浪峰)( crest的第三人称单数 );到达洪峰,达到顶点 | |
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76 triangular | |
adj.三角(形)的,三者间的 | |
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77 apex | |
n.顶点,最高点 | |
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78 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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79 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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80 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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81 puffs | |
n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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82 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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83 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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84 monstrous | |
adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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85 antediluvian | |
adj.史前的,陈旧的 | |
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86 herded | |
群集,纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 ); 放牧; (使)向…移动 | |
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87 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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88 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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89 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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90 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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91 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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92 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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93 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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94 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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95 swarm | |
n.(昆虫)等一大群;vi.成群飞舞;蜂拥而入 | |
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96 suffocate | |
vt.使窒息,使缺氧,阻碍;vi.窒息,窒息而亡,阻碍发展 | |
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97 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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98 tack | |
n.大头钉;假缝,粗缝 | |
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99 insidiously | |
潜在地,隐伏地,阴险地 | |
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100 contriving | |
(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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101 exalt | |
v.赞扬,歌颂,晋升,提升 | |
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102 emanated | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的过去式和过去分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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103 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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105 serried | |
adj.拥挤的;密集的 | |
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106 trespassed | |
(trespass的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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107 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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108 stew | |
n.炖汤,焖,烦恼;v.炖汤,焖,忧虑 | |
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109 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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110 imperturbable | |
adj.镇静的 | |
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111 collapsing | |
压扁[平],毁坏,断裂 | |
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112 cosy | |
adj.温暖而舒适的,安逸的 | |
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113 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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114 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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115 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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116 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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117 gulping | |
v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的现在分词 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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118 otter | |
n.水獭 | |
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119 gad | |
n.闲逛;v.闲逛 | |
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120 slanting | |
倾斜的,歪斜的 | |
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121 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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122 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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123 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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124 steering | |
n.操舵装置 | |
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125 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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126 hazy | |
adj.有薄雾的,朦胧的;不肯定的,模糊的 | |
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127 demons | |
n.恶人( demon的名词复数 );恶魔;精力过人的人;邪念 | |
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128 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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129 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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130 antiquity | |
n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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131 shrines | |
圣地,圣坛,神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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132 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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133 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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134 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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135 stolid | |
adj.无动于衷的,感情麻木的 | |
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136 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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137 adventurous | |
adj.爱冒险的;惊心动魄的,惊险的,刺激的 | |
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138 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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139 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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140 obliteration | |
n.涂去,删除;管腔闭合 | |
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141 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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142 hissed | |
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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143 scarcity | |
n.缺乏,不足,萧条 | |
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144 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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145 foraging | |
v.搜寻(食物),尤指动物觅(食)( forage的现在分词 );(尤指用手)搜寻(东西) | |
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146 scramble | |
v.爬行,攀爬,杂乱蔓延,碎片,片段,废料 | |
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147 lawful | |
adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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148 eeriness | |
n.怪诞,胆怯,阴森 | |
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149 sensory | |
adj.知觉的,感觉的,知觉器官的 | |
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150 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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151 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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152 jutting | |
v.(使)突出( jut的现在分词 );伸出;(从…)突出;高出 | |
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153 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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154 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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155 shrilly | |
尖声的; 光亮的,耀眼的 | |
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156 shrill | |
adj.尖声的;刺耳的;v尖叫 | |
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157 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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158 myriad | |
adj.无数的;n.无数,极大数量 | |
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159 defiantly | |
adv.挑战地,大胆对抗地 | |
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160 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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161 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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162 unfamiliarity | |
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163 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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164 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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165 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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166 huddled | |
挤在一起(huddle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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167 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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168 impending | |
a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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169 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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170 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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171 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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172 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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173 smothered | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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174 smother | |
vt./vi.使窒息;抑制;闷死;n.浓烟;窒息 | |
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175 taut | |
adj.拉紧的,绷紧的,紧张的 | |
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176 mattress | |
n.床垫,床褥 | |
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177 disturbance | |
n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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178 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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179 gusts | |
一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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180 smote | |
v.猛打,重击,打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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181 snugly | |
adv.紧贴地;贴身地;暖和舒适地;安适地 | |
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182 belongings | |
n.私人物品,私人财物 | |
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183 corroboration | |
n.进一步的证实,进一步的证据 | |
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184 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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186 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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187 serpentine | |
adj.蜿蜒的,弯曲的 | |
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188 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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189 contortions | |
n.扭歪,弯曲;扭曲,弄歪,歪曲( contortion的名词复数 ) | |
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190 nude | |
adj.裸体的;n.裸体者,裸体艺术品 | |
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191 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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192 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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193 impelled | |
v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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194 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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195 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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196 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197 subjective | |
a.主观(上)的,个人的 | |
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198 outwards | |
adj.外面的,公开的,向外的;adv.向外;n.外形 | |
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199 futile | |
adj.无效的,无用的,无希望的 | |
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200 gauge | |
v.精确计量;估计;n.标准度量;计量器 | |
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201 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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202 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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203 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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204 bough | |
n.大树枝,主枝 | |
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205 streaks | |
n.(与周围有所不同的)条纹( streak的名词复数 );(通常指不好的)特征(倾向);(不断经历成功或失败的)一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 );使布满条纹 | |
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206 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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207 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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208 tingling | |
v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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209 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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210 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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211 enveloping | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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212 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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213 appreciably | |
adv.相当大地 | |
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214 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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215 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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216 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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217 yearning | |
a.渴望的;向往的;怀念的 | |
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218 alteration | |
n.变更,改变;蚀变 | |
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219 hostility | |
n.敌对,敌意;抵制[pl.]交战,战争 | |
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220 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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221 buffeted | |
反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 ); 连续猛击; 打来打去; 推来搡去 | |
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222 pinnacle | |
n.尖塔,尖顶,山峰;(喻)顶峰 | |
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223 corroborate | |
v.支持,证实,确定 | |
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224 corroborated | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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225 projection | |
n.发射,计划,突出部分 | |
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226 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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227 weird | |
adj.古怪的,离奇的;怪诞的,神秘而可怕的 | |
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228 cleansed | |
弄干净,清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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229 evaporation | |
n.蒸发,消失 | |
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230 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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231 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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232 incessant | |
adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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233 incessantly | |
ad.不停地 | |
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234 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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235 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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236 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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237 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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238 pretense | |
n.矫饰,做作,借口 | |
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239 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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240 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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241 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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242 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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243 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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244 foundered | |
v.创始人( founder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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246 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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247 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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248 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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249 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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250 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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251 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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252 climax | |
n.顶点;高潮;v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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253 craters | |
n.火山口( crater的名词复数 );弹坑等 | |
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254 inexplicable | |
adj.无法解释的,难理解的 | |
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255 simile | |
n.直喻,明喻 | |
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256 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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257 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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258 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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259 otters | |
n.(水)獭( otter的名词复数 );獭皮 | |
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260 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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261 boisterously | |
adv.喧闹地,吵闹地 | |
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262 caulking | |
n.堵缝;敛缝;捻缝;压紧v.堵(船的)缝( caulk的现在分词 );泥…的缝;填塞;使不漏水 | |
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263 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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264 sneered | |
讥笑,冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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265 psychic | |
n.对超自然力敏感的人;adj.有超自然力的 | |
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266 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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267 gulps | |
n.一大口(尤指液体)( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃,吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 );大口地吸(气);哽住 | |
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268 abating | |
减少( abate的现在分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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269 lessening | |
减轻,减少,变小 | |
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270 murmurs | |
n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 );低语声;怨言;嘀咕 | |
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271 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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272 monotonous | |
adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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273 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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274 lugubrious | |
adj.悲哀的,忧郁的 | |
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275 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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276 withdrawal | |
n.取回,提款;撤退,撤军;收回,撤销 | |
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277 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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278 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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279 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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280 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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281 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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282 stimulate | |
vt.刺激,使兴奋;激励,使…振奋 | |
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283 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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284 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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285 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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286 obsessing | |
v.时刻困扰( obsess的现在分词 );缠住;使痴迷;使迷恋 | |
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287 physiological | |
adj.生理学的,生理学上的 | |
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288 waterproof | |
n.防水材料;adj.防水的;v.使...能防水 | |
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289 residue | |
n.残余,剩余,残渣 | |
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290 stews | |
n.炖煮的菜肴( stew的名词复数 );烦恼,焦虑v.炖( stew的第三人称单数 );煨;思考;担忧 | |
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291 brew | |
v.酿造,调制 | |
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292 undesirable | |
adj.不受欢迎的,不良的,不合意的,讨厌的;n.不受欢迎的人,不良分子 | |
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293 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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294 hooting | |
(使)作汽笛声响,作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 ); 倒好儿; 倒彩 | |
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295 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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296 metallic | |
adj.金属的;金属制的;含金属的;产金属的;像金属的 | |
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297 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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298 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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299 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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300 disquieting | |
adj.令人不安的,令人不平静的v.使不安,使忧虑,使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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301 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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302 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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303 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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304 psychical | |
adj.有关特异功能现象的;有关特异功能官能的;灵魂的;心灵的 | |
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305 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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306 mumbling | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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307 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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308 defense | |
n.防御,保卫;[pl.]防务工事;辩护,答辩 | |
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309 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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310 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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311 postponed | |
vt.& vi.延期,缓办,(使)延迟vt.把…放在次要地位;[语]把…放在后面(或句尾)vi.(疟疾等)延缓发作(或复发) | |
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312 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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313 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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314 disintegration | |
n.分散,解体 | |
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315 vibrations | |
n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 );震动;感受;(偏离平衡位置的)一次性往复振动 | |
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316 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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317 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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318 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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319 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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320 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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321 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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322 mightily | |
ad.强烈地;非常地 | |
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323 succumb | |
v.屈服,屈从;死 | |
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324 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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325 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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326 replenish | |
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满 | |
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327 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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328 saturation | |
n.饱和(状态);浸透 | |
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329 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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330 phlegmatic | |
adj.冷静的,冷淡的,冷漠的,无活力的 | |
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331 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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332 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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333 vividly | |
adv.清楚地,鲜明地,生动地 | |
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334 personalities | |
n. 诽谤,(对某人容貌、性格等所进行的)人身攻击; 人身攻击;人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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335 torrent | |
n.激流,洪流;爆发,(话语等的)连发 | |
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336 entities | |
实体对像; 实体,独立存在体,实际存在物( entity的名词复数 ) | |
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337 devour | |
v.吞没;贪婪地注视或谛听,贪读;使着迷 | |
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338 extraordinarily | |
adv.格外地;极端地 | |
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339 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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340 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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341 countless | |
adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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342 suffocation | |
n.窒息 | |
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343 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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344 skeptical | |
adj.怀疑的,多疑的 | |
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345 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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346 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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347 ashen | |
adj.灰的 | |
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348 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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349 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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350 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
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351 kaleidoscopic | |
adj.千变万化的 | |
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352 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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353 gasps | |
v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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354 downwards | |
adj./adv.向下的(地),下行的(地) | |
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355 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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356 collapsed | |
adj.倒塌的 | |
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357 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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358 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
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359 abominably | |
adv. 可恶地,可恨地,恶劣地 | |
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360 evade | |
vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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361 scrambling | |
v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 );攀登;争夺;(军事飞机)紧急起飞 | |
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362 numbness | |
n.无感觉,麻木,惊呆 | |
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363 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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364 propped | |
支撑,支持,维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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365 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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366 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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367 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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368 frantically | |
ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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369 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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370 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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371 corpse | |
n.尸体,死尸 | |
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372 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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373 momentum | |
n.动力,冲力,势头;动量 | |
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374 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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375 indented | |
adj.锯齿状的,高低不平的;缩进排版 | |
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