"I DON'T UNDERSTAND IT," he told her over supper. "Almost three years now, and still there are some of them alive. Food supplies are being used up. As far as I know, they still lie in a coma1 during the day." He shook his head. "But they're not dead. Three years and they're not dead. What keeps them going?"
She was wearing his bathrobe. About five she had relented, taken a bath, and changed. Her slender body was shapeless in the voluminous terry-cloth folds. She'd borrowed his comb and drawn2 her hair back into a pony3 tail fastened with a piece of twine4.
Ruth fingered her coffee cup.
"We used to see them sometimes," she said. "We were afraid to go near them, though. We didn't think we should touch them."
"Didn't you know they'd come back after they died?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Didn't you wonder about the people who attacked your house at night?"
"It never entered our minds that they were .. ." She shook her head slowly. "It's hard to believe something like that."
"I suppose," he said.
He glanced at her as they sat eating silently. It was hard too to believe that here was a normal woman. Hard to believe that, after all these years, a companion had come. It was more than just doubting her. It was doubting that anything so remarkable5 could happen in such a lost world.
"Tell me more about them," Ruth said.
He got up and took the coffeepot off the stove. He poured more into her cup, into his, then replaced the pot and sat down.
"How do you feel now?" he asked her.
"I feel better, thank you."
He nodded and spooned sugar into his coffee. He felt her eyes on him as he stirred. What's she thinking? he wondered. He took a deep breath, wondering why the tightness in him didn't break. For a while he'd thought that he trusted her. Now he wasn't sure.
"You still don't trust me," she said, seeming to read his mind.
He looked up quickly, then shrugged7.
"It's ... not that," he said.
"Of course it is," she said quietly. She sighed. "Oh, very well. If you have to check my blood, check it."
He looked at her suspiciously, his mind questioning: Is it a trick? He hid the movement of his throat in swallowing coffee. It was stupid, he thought, to be so suspicious.
He put down the cup.
"Good," he said. "Very good."
He looked at her as she stared into the coffee.
"If you are infected," he told her, "I'll do everything I can to cure you."
Her eyes met his. "And if you can't?" she said.
Silence a moment.
"Let's wait and see," he said then.
They both drank coffee. Then he asked, "Shall we do it now?"
"Please," she said, "in the morning. I ... still feel a little ill."
"All right," he said, nodding. "In the morning."
They finished their meal in silence. Neville felt only a small satisfaction that she was going to let him check her blood. He was afraid he might discover that she was infected. In the meantime he had to pass an evening and a night with her, perhaps get to know her and be attracted to her. When in the morning he might have to...
Later, in the living room, they sat looking at the mural, sipping9 port, and listening to Schubert's Fourth Symphony.
"I wouldn't have believed it," she said, seeming to cheer up. "I never thought I'd be listening to music again. Drinking wine."
She looked around the room.
"You've certainly done a wonderful job," she said.
"What about your house?" he asked.
"It was nothing like this," she said. "We didn't have a-"
"How did you protect your house?" he interrupted.
"Oh.—" She thought a moment. "We had it boarded up, of course. And we used crosses."
"They don't always work," he said quietly, after a moment of looking at her.
She looked blank. "They don't?"
"Why should a Jew fear the cross?" he said. "Why should a vampire10 who had been a Jew fear it? Most people were afraid of becoming vampires11. Most of them suffer from hysterical12 blindness before mirrors. But as far as the cross goes—well, neither a Jew nor a Hindu nor a Mohammedan nor an atheist13, for that matter, would fear the cross."
She sat holding her wineglass and looking at him with expressionless eyes.
"That's why the cross doesn't always work," he said.
"You didn't let me finish," she said. "We used garlic too."
"I thought it made you sick."
"I was already sick. I used to weigh a hundred and twenty. I weigh ninety-eight pounds now."
He nodded. But as he went into the kitchen to get another bottle of wine, he thought, She would have adjusted to it by now. After three years.
Then again, she might not have. What was the point in doubting her now? She was going to let him check her blood. What else could she do? It's me, he thought. I've been by myself too long. I won't believe anything unless I see it in a microscope. Heredity triumphs again. I'm my father's son, damn his moldering bones.
Standing14 in the dark kitchen, digging his blunt nail under the wrapping around the neck of the bottle, Robert Neville looked into the living room at Ruth.
His eyes ran over the robe, resting a moment on the slight prominence15 of her breasts, dropping then to the bronzed calves16 and ankles, up to the smooth kneecaps. She had a body like a young girl's. She certainly didn't look like the mother of two.
The most unusual feature of the entire affair, he thought, was that he felt no physical desire for her.
If she had come two years before, maybe even later, he might have violated her. There had been some terrible moments in those days, moments when the most terrible of solutions to his need were considered, were often dwelt upon until they drove him half mad.
But then the experiments had begun. Smoking had tapered17 off, drinking lost its compulsive nature. Deliberately18 and with surprising success, he had submerged himself in investigation19.
His sex drive had diminished, had virtually disappeared. Salvation20 of the monk21, he thought. The drive had to go sooner or later, or no normal man could dedicate himself to any life that excluded sex.
Now, happily, he felt almost nothing; perhaps a hardly discernible stirring far beneath the rocky strata22 of abstinence. He was content to leave it at that. Especially since there was no certainty that Ruth was the companion he had waited for. Or even the certainty that he could allow her to live beyond tomorrow. Cure her?
Curing was unlikely.
He went back into the living room with the opened bottle. She smiled at him briefly23 as he poured more wine for her.
"I've been admiring your mural," she said. "It almost makes you believe you're in the woods."
"It must have taken a lot of work to get your house like this," she said.
"You should know," he said. "You went through the same thing."
"We had nothing like this," she said. "Our house was small. Our food locker25 was half the size of yours."
"You must have run out of food," he said, looking at her carefully.
"Frozen food," she said. "We were living out of cans." He nodded. Logical, his mind had to admit. But he still didn't like it. It was all intuition, he knew, but he didn't like it.
"What about water?" he asked then.
She looked at him silently for a moment.
"You don't believe a word I've said, do you?" she said.
"It's not that," he said. "I'm just curious how you lived."
"You can't hide it from your voice," she said. "You've been alone too long. You've lost the talent for deceit."
He grunted, getting the uncomfortable feeling that she was playing with him. That's ridiculous, he argued. She's just a woman. She was probably right. He probably was a gruff and graceless hermit26. What did it matter?
"Tell me about your husband," he said abruptly27.
Something flitted over her face, a shade of memory. She lifted the glass of dark wine to her lips.
"Not now," she said. "Please."
He slumped28 back on the couch, unable to analyze29 the formless dissatisfaction he felt. Everything she said and did could be a result of what she'd been through. It could also be a lie.
Why should she lie? he asked himself. In the morning he would check her blood. What could lying tonight profit her when, in a matter of hours, he'd know the truth?
"You know," he said, trying to ease the moment, "I've been thinking. If three people could survive the plague, why not more?"
"Do you think that's possible?" she asked.
"Why not? There must have been others who were immune for one reason or another."
"Tell me more about the germ," she said.
He hesitated a moment, then put down his wineglass. What if he told her everything? What if she escaped and came back after death with all the knowledge that he had?
"There's an awful lot of detail," he said.
"You were saying something about the cross before," she said. "How do you know it's true?"
"You remember what I said about Ben Cortman?" he said, glad to restate something she already knew rather than go into fresh material.
"You mean that man you—"
He nodded. "Yes. Come here," he said, standing. "I'll show him to you."
As he stood behind her looking out the peephole, he smelled the odor of her hair and skin. It made him draw back a little. Isn't that remarkable? he thought. I don't like the smell. Like Gulliver returning from the logical horses, I find the human smell offensive.
"He's the one by the lamppost," he said.
She made a slight sound of acknowledgment. Then she said, "There are so few. Where are they?"
"I've killed off most of them," he said, "but they manage to keep a few ahead of me."
"How come the lamp is on out there?" she said. "I thought they destroyed the electrical system."
"I connected it with my generator," he said, "so I could watch them."
"Don't they break the bulb?"
"I have a very strong globe over the bulb."
"Don't they climb up and try to break it?"
"I have garlic all over the post."
She shook her head. "You've thought of everything."
Stepping back, he looked at her a moment. How can she look at them so calmly, he wondered, ask me questions, make comments, when only a week ago she saw their kind tear her husband to pieces? Doubts again, he thought. Won't they ever stop?
He knew they wouldn't until he knew about her for sure.
She turned away from the window then.
"Will you excuse me a moment?" she said.
He watched her walk into the bathroom and heard her lock the door behind her. Then he went back to the couch after closing the peephole door. A wry30 smile played on his lips. He looked down into the tawny31 wine depths and tugged32 abstractedly at his beard.
"Will you excuse me a moment?"
For some reason the words seemed grotesquely33 amusing, the carry-over from a lost age. Emily Post mincing34 through the graveyard35. Etiquette36 for Young Vampires.
The smile was gone.
And what now? What did the future hold for him? In a week would she still be here with him, or crumpled37 in the never cooling fire?
He knew that, if she were infected, he'd have to try to cure her whether it worked or not. But what if she were free of the bacillus? In a way, that was a more nerve-racking possibility. The other way he would merely go on as before, breaking neither schedule nor standards. But if she stayed, if they had to establish a relationship, perhaps become husband and wife, have children...
Yes, that was more terrifying.
He suddenly realized that he had become an ill-tempered and inveterate38 bachelor again. He no longer thought about his wife, his child, his past life. The present was enough. And he was afraid of the possible demand that he make sacrifices and accept responsibility again. He was afraid of giving out his heart, of removing the chains he had forged around it to keep emotion prisoner. He was afraid of loving again.
When she came out of the bathroom he was still sitting there, thinking. The record player, unnoticed by him, let out only a thin scratching sound.
Ruth lifted the record from the turntable and turned it. The third movement of the symphony began.
"Well, what about Cortman?" she asked, sitting down.
He looked at her blankly. "Cortman?"
"You were going to tell me something about him and the cross."
"Oh. Well, one night I got him in here and showed him the cross."
"What happened?"
Shall I kill her now? Shall I not even investigate, but kill her and burn her?
His throat moved. Such thoughts were a hideous39 testimony40 to the world he had accepted; a world in which murder was easier than hope.
Well, he wasn't. that far gone yet, he thought. I'm a man, not a destroyer.
"What's wrong?" she said nervously41.
"What?"
"You're staring at me."
"I'm sorry," he said coldly. "I ... I'm just thinking."
She didn't say any more. She drank her wine and he saw her hand shake as she held the glass. He forced down all introspection. He didn't want her to know what he felt.
"When I showed him the cross," he said, "he laughed in my face."
She nodded once.
"But when I held a torah before his eyes, I got the reaction I wanted."
"A what?"
"A torah. Tablet of law, I believe it is."
"And that... got a reaction?"
"Yes. I had him tied up, but when he saw the torah he broke loose and attacked me."
"What happened?" She seemed to have lost her fright again.
"He struck me on the head with something. I don't remember what. I was almost knocked out. But, using the torah, I backed him to the door and got rid of him."
"So you see, the cross hasn't the power the legend says it has. My theory is that, since the legend came into its own in Europe, a continent predominantly Catholic, the cross would naturally become the symbol of defense42 against powers of darkness."
"Couldn't you use your gun on Cortman?" she asked.
"How do you know I had a gun?"
"I ... assumed as much," she said. "We had guns."
"Then you must know bullets have no effect on vampires.
"We were . . . never sure," she said, then went on quickly: "Do you know why that's so? Why don't bullets affect them?"
He shook his head. "I don't know," he said.
They sat in silence listening to the music.
He did know, but, doubting again, he didn't want to tell her.
Through experiments on the dead vampires he had discovered that the bacilli effected the creation of a powerful body glue that sealed bullet openings as soon as they were made. Bullets were enclosed almost immediately, and since the system was activated43 by germs, a bullet couldn't hurt it. The system could, in fact, contain almost an indefinite amount of bullets, since the body glue prevented a penetration44 of more than a few fractions of an inch. Shooting vampires was like throwing pebbles45 into tar8.
As he sat looking at her, she arranged the folds of the robe around her legs and he got a momentary46 glimpse of brown thigh47. Far from being attracted, he felt irritated. It was a typical feminine gesture, he thought, an artificial movement.
As the moments passed he could almost sense himself drifting farther and farther from her. In a way he almost regretted having found her at all. Through the years he had achieved a certain degree of peace. He had accepted solitude48, found it not half bad. Now this ... ending it all.
In order to fill the emptiness of the moment, he reached for his pipe and pouch49. He stuffed tobacco into the bowl and lit it. For a second he wondered if he should ask if she minded. He didn't ask.
The music ended. She got up and he watched her while she looked through his records. She seemed like a young girl, she was so slender. Who is she? he thought. Who is she really?
"May I play this?" she asked, holding up an album.
He didn't even look at it. "If you like," he said.
She sat down as Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto50 began. Her taste isn't remarkably51 advanced, he thought, looking at her without expression.
"Tell me about yourself," she said.
Another typical feminine question, he thought. Then he berated52 himself for being so critical. What was the point in irritating himself by doubting her?
"Nothing to tell," he said.
She was smiling again. Was she laughing at him?
"You scared the life out of me this afternoon," she said. "You and your bristly beard. And those wild eyes."
He blew out smoke. Wild eyes? That was ridiculous. What was she trying to do? Break down his reserve with cuteness?
"What do you look like under all those whiskers?" she asked.
He tried to smile at her but he couldn't.
"Nothing," he said. "Just an ordinary face."
"How old are you, Robert?"
His throat moved. It was the first time she'd spoken his name. It gave him a strange, restless feeling to hear a woman speak his name after so long. Don't call me that, he almost said to her. He didn't want to lose the distance between them. If she were infected and he couldn't cure her, he wanted it to be a stranger that he put away.
She turned her head away.
"You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to," she said quietly. "I won't bother you. I'll go tomorrow."
His chest muscles tightened54.
"But . . ." he said.
"I don't want to spoil your life," she said. "You don't have to feel any obligation to me just because ... we're the only ones left."
His eyes were bleak55 as he looked at her, and he felt a brief stirring of guilt56 at her words. Why should I doubt her? he told himself. If she's infected, she'll never get away alive. What's there to. fear?
"I'm sorry," he said. "I ... I have been alone a long time."
She didn't look up.
"If you'd like to talk," he said, "I'll be glad to ... tell you anything I can."
She hesitated a moment. Then she looked at him, her eyes not committing themselves at all.
"I would like to know about the disease," she said. "I lost my two girls because of it. And it caused my husband's death."
He looked at her and then spoke53.
"It's a bacillus," he said, "a cylindrical57 bacterium58. It creates an isotonic solution in the blood, circulates the blood slower than normal, activates59 all bodily functions, lives on fresh blood, and provides energy. Deprived of blood, it makes self-killing bacteriophages or else sporulates."
She looked blank. He realized then that she couldn't have understood. Terms so common to him now were completely foreign to her.
"Well," he said, "most of those things aren't so important. To sporulate is to create an oval body that has all the basic ingredients of the vegetative bacterium. The germ does that when it gets no fresh blood. Then, when the vampire host decomposes60, these spores61 go flying out and seek new hosts. They find one, germinate—and one more system is infected."
She shook her head incredulously.
"Bacteriophages are inanimate proteins that are also created when the system gets no blood. Unlike the spores, though, in this case abnormal metabolism62 destroys the cells."
Quickly he told her about the imperfect waste disposal of the lymphatic system, the garlic as allergen causing anaphylaxis, the various vectors of the disease.
"Then why are we immune?" she asked.
For a long moment he looked at her, withholding63 any answer. Then, with a shrug6, he said, "I don't know about you. As for me, while I was stationed in Panama during the war I was bitten by a vampire bat. And, though I can't prove it, my theory is that the bat had previously64 encountered a true vampire and acquired the vampiris germ. The germ caused the bat to seek human rather than animal blood. But, by the time the germ had passed into my systern, it had been weakened in some way by the bat's system. It made me terribly ill, of course, but it didn't kill me, and as a result, my body built up an immunity65 to it. That's my theory, anyway. I can't find any better reason."
"But ... didn't the same thing happen to others down there?"
"I don't know," he said quietly. "I killed the bat." He shrugged. "Maybe I was the first human it had attacked."
She looked at him without a word, her surveillance making Neville feel restive66. He went on talking even though he didn't really want to.
Briefly he told her about the major obstacle in his study of the vampires.
"At first I thought the stake had to hit their hearts," he said. "I believed the legend. I found out that wasn't so. I put stakes in all parts of their bodies and they died. That made me think it was hemorrhage. But then one day ..
And he told her about the woman who had decomposed67 before his eyes.
"I knew then it couldn't be hemorrhage," he went on, feeling a sort of pleasure in reciting his discoveries. "I didn't know what to do. Then one day it came to me."
"What?" she asked.
"I took a dead vampire. I put his arm into an artificial vacuum. I punctured68 his arm inside that vacuum. Blood spurted69 out." He paused. "But that's all."
She stared at him.
"You don't see," he said.
"I .... No," she admitted.
"When I let air back into the tank, the arm decomposed," he said.
She still stared.
"You see," he said, "the bacillus is a facultative saprophyte. It lives with or without oxygen; but with a difference. Inside the system, it is anaerobic70 and sets up a symbiosis72 with the system. The vampire feeds it fresh blood, the bacteria provides the energy so the vampire can get more fresh blood. The germ also causes, I might add, the growth of the canine73 teeth."
"Yes?" she said.
"When air enters," he said, "the situation changes instantaneously. The germ becomes aerobic71 and, instead of being symbiotic74, it becomes virulently75 parasitic76." He paused. "It eats the host," he said.
"Then the stake . . ." she started.
"Lets air in. Of course. Lets it in and keeps the flesh open so that the body glue can't function. So the heart has nothing to do with it. What I do now is cut the wrists deep enough so that the body glue can't work." He smiled a little. "When I think of all the time I used to spend making stakes!"
She nodded and, noticing the wineglass in her hand, put it down.
"That's why the woman I told you about broke down so rapidly," he said. "She'd been dead so long that as soon as air struck her system the germs caused spontaneous dissolution."
Her throat moved and a shudder77 ran down through her.
"It's horrible," she said.
He looked at her in surprise. Horrible? Wasn't that odd? He hadn't thought that for years. For him the word "horror" had become obsolete78. A surfeiting79 of terror soon made terror a cliché. To Robert Neville the situation merely existed as natural fact. It had no adjectives.
"And what about the ... the ones who are still alive?" she asked.
"Well," he said, "when you cut their wrists the germ naturally becomes parasitic. But mostly they die from simple hemorrhage."
"Simple—"
She turned away quickly and her lips were pressed into a tight, thin line.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"N-nothing. Nothing," she said.
He smiled. "One gets used to these things," he said. "One has to."
Again she shuddered80, the smooth column of her throat contracting.
"You can't abide81 by Robert's Rules of Order in the jungle," he said. "Believe me, it's the only thing I can do. Is it better to let them die of the disease and return—in a far more terrible way?"
She pressed her hands together.
"But you said a lot of them are—are still living," she said nervously. "How do you know they're not going to stay alive?"
"I know," he said. "I know the germ, know how it multiplies. No matter how long their systems fight it, in the end the germ will win. I've made antibiotics82, injected dozens of them. But it doesn't work, it can't work. You can't make vaccines83 work when they're already deep in the disease. Their bodies can't fight germs and make antibodies at the same time. It can't be done, believe me. It's a trap. If I didn't kill them, sooner or later they'd die and come after me. I have no choice; no choice at all."
They were silent then and the only sound in the room was the rasping of the needle on the inner grooves84 of the record. She wouldn't look at him, but kept staring at the floor with bleak eyes. It was strange, he thought, to find himself vaguely85 on the defensive86 for what yesterday was accepted necessity. In the years that had passed he had never once considered the possibility that he was wrong. It took her presence to bring about such thoughts: And they were strange, alien thoughts.
"Do you actually think I'm wrong?" he asked in an incredulous voice.
She bit into her lower lip.
"Ruth," he said.
"It's not for me to say," she answered.
收听单词发音 |
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coma
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| n.昏迷，昏迷状态 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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atheist
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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prominence
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| n.突出；显著；杰出；重要 | |
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calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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tapered
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| adj. 锥形的，尖削的，楔形的，渐缩的，斜的 动词taper的过去式和过去分词 | |
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deliberately
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investigation
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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strata
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briefly
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grunted
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locker
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hermit
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abruptly
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slumped
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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tawny
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| adj.茶色的，黄褐色的；n.黄褐色 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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activated
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| adj. 激活的 动词activate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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concerto
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| n.协奏曲 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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berated
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| v.严厉责备，痛斥( berate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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cylindrical
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| adj.圆筒形的 | |
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bacterium
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| n.(pl.)bacteria 细菌 | |
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activates
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| 使活动，起动，触发( activate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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decomposes
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| 腐烂( decompose的第三人称单数 )； （使）分解； 分解（某物质、光线等） | |
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spores
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| n.（细菌、苔藓、蕨类植物）孢子( spore的名词复数 )v.（细菌、苔藓、蕨类植物）孢子( spore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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metabolism
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| n.新陈代谢 | |
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withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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immunity
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| n.优惠；免除；豁免，豁免权 | |
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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decomposed
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| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
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punctured
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| v.在（某物）上穿孔( puncture的过去式和过去分词 )；刺穿（某物）；削弱（某人的傲气、信心等）；泄某人的气 | |
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spurted
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的过去式和过去分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺 | |
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anaerobic
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| adj.厌氧的 | |
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aerobic
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| adj.需氧的，增氧健身法的，有氧的 | |
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symbiosis
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| n.共生（关系），共栖 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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symbiotic
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| adj.共栖的，共生的 | |
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virulently
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| 恶毒地，狠毒地 | |
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parasitic
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| adj.寄生的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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surfeiting
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| v.吃得过多( surfeit的现在分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
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shuddered
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| 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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81
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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82
antibiotics
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| n.（用作复数）抗生素；（用作单数）抗生物质的研究；抗生素，抗菌素( antibiotic的名词复数 ) | |
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vaccines
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| 疫苗，痘苗( vaccine的名词复数 ) | |
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84
grooves
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| n.沟( groove的名词复数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏v.沟( groove的第三人称单数 )；槽；老一套；（某种）音乐节奏 | |
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85
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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