It took me a moment or two to realize that we were attacked. Every man has one special funk in the back of his head, and mine was to be the quarry5 of an angry crowd. I hated the thought of it—the mess, the blind struggle, the sense of unleashed6 passions different from those of any single blackguard. It was a dark world to me, and I don’t like darkness. But in my nightmares I had never imagined anything just like this. The narrow, fetid street, with the icy winds fanning the filth7, the unknown tongue, the hoarse8 savage9 murmur10, and my utter ignorance as to what it might all be about, made me cold in the pit of my stomach.
“We’ve got it in the neck this time, old man,” I said to Peter, who had out the pistol the commandant at Rustchuk had given him. These pistols were our only weapons. The crowd saw them and hung back, but if they chose to rush us it wasn’t much of a barrier two pistols would make.
Rasta’s voice had stopped. He had done his work, and had retired11 to the background. There were shouts from the crowd—“Alleman” and a word “Khafiyeh” constantly repeated. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but now I know that they were after us because we were Boches and spies. There was no love lost between the Constantinople scum and their new masters. It seemed an ironical12 end for Peter and me to be done in because we were Boches. And done in we should be. I had heard of the East as a good place for people to disappear in; there were no inquisitive13 newspapers or incorruptible police.
I wished to Heaven I had a word of Turkish. But I made my voice heard for a second in a pause of the din2, and shouted that we were German sailors who had brought down big guns for Turkey, and were going home next day. I asked them what the devil they thought we had done? I don’t know if any fellow there understood German; anyhow, it only brought a pandemonium14 of cries in which that ominous15 word Khafiyeh was predominant.
Then Peter fired over their heads. He had to, for a chap was pawing at his throat. The answer was a clatter16 of bullets on the wall above us. It looked as if they meant to take us alive, and that I was very clear should not happen. Better a bloody17 end in a street scrap18 than the tender mercies of that bandbox bravo.
I don’t quite know what happened next. A press drove down at me and I fired. Someone squealed19, and I looked the next moment to be strangled. And then, suddenly, the scrimmage ceased, and there was a wavering splash of light in that pit of darkness.
I never went through many worse minutes than these. When I had been hunted in the past weeks there had been mystery enough, but no immediate21 peril22 to face. When I had been up against a real, urgent, physical risk, like Loos, the danger at any rate had been clear. One knew what one was in for. But here was a threat I couldn’t put a name to, and it wasn’t in the future, but pressing hard at our throats.
And yet I couldn’t feel it was quite real. The patter of the pistol bullets against the wall, like so many crackers23, the faces felt rather than seen in the dark, the clamour which to me was pure gibberish, had all the madness of a nightmare. Only Peter, cursing steadily24 in Dutch by my side, was real. And then the light came, and made the scene more eerie25!
It came from one or two torches carried by wild fellows with long staves who drove their way into the heart of the mob. The flickering26 glare ran up the steep walls and made monstrous28 shadows. The wind swung the flame into long streamers, dying away in a fan of sparks.
And now a new word was heard in the crowd. It was Chinganeh, shouted not in anger but in fear.
At first I could not see the newcomers. They were hidden in the deep darkness under their canopy29 of light, for they were holding their torches high at the full stretch of their arms. They were shouting, too, wild shrill30 cries ending sometimes in a gush31 of rapid speech. Their words did not seem to be directed against us, but against the crowd. A sudden hope came to me that for some unknown reason they were on our side.
The press was no longer heavy against us. It was thinning rapidly and I could hear the scuffle as men made off down the side streets. My first notion was that these were the Turkish police. But I changed my mind when the leader came out into a patch of light. He carried no torch, but a long stave with which he belaboured the heads of those who were too tightly packed to flee.
It was the most eldritch apparition32 you can conceive. A tall man dressed in skins, with bare legs and sandal-shod feet. A wisp of scarlet33 cloth clung to his shoulders, and, drawn34 over his head down close to his eyes, was a skull-cap of some kind of pelt35 with the tail waving behind it. He capered36 like a wild animal, keeping up a strange high monotone that fairly gave me the creeps.
I was suddenly aware that the crowd had gone. Before us was only this figure and his half-dozen companions, some carrying torches and all wearing clothes of skin. But only the one who seemed to be their leader wore the skull-cap; the rest had bare heads and long tangled37 hair.
The fellow was shouting gibberish at me. His eyes were glassy, like a man who smokes hemp38, and his legs were never still for a second. You would think such a figure no better than a mountebank39, and yet there was nothing comic in it. Fearful and sinister40 and uncanny it was; and I wanted to do anything but laugh.
As he shouted he kept pointing with his stave up the street which climbed the hillside.
“He means us to move,” said Peter. “For God’s sake let us get away from this witch-doctor.”
I couldn’t make sense of it, but one thing was clear. These maniacs41 had delivered us for the moment from Rasta and his friends.
Then I did a dashed silly thing. I pulled out a sovereign and offered it to the leader. I had some kind of notion of showing gratitude43, and as I had no words I had to show it by deed.
He brought his stick down on my wrist and sent the coin spinning in the gutter44. His eyes blazed, and he made his weapon sing round my head. He cursed me—oh, I could tell cursing well enough, though I didn’t follow a word; and he cried to his followers45 and they cursed me too. I had offered him a mortal insult and stirred up a worse hornet’s nest than Rasta’s push.
Peter and I, with a common impulse, took to our heels. We were not looking for any trouble with demoniacs. Up the steep, narrow lane we ran with that bedlamite crowd at our heels. The torches seemed to have gone out, for the place was black as pitch, and we tumbled over heaps of offal and splashed through running drains. The men were close behind us, and more than once I felt a stick on my shoulder. But fear lent us wings, and suddenly before us was a blaze of light and we saw the debouchment46 of our street in a main thoroughfare. The others saw it, too, for they slackened off. Just before we reached the light we stopped and looked round. There was no sound or sight behind us in the dark lane which dipped to the harbour.
“This is a queer country, Cornelis,” said Peter, feeling his limbs for bruises47. “Too many things happen in too short a time. I am breathless.”
The big street we had struck seemed to run along the crest48 of the hill. There were lamps in it, and crawling cabs, and quite civilized-looking shops. We soon found the hotel to which Kuprasso had directed us, a big place in a courtyard with a very tumble-down-looking portico49, and green sun-shutters50 which rattled51 drearily52 in the winter’s wind. It proved, as I had feared, to be packed to the door, mostly with German officers. With some trouble I got an interview with the proprietor53, the usual Greek, and told him that we had been sent there by Mr Kuprasso. That didn’t affect him in the least, and we would have been shot into the street if I hadn’t remembered about Stumm’s pass.
So I explained that we had come from Germany with munitions54 and only wanted rooms for one night. I showed him the pass and blustered55 a good deal, till he became civil and said he would do the best he could for us.
That best was pretty poor. Peter and I were doubled up in a small room which contained two camp-beds and little else, and had broken windows through which the wind whistled. We had a wretched dinner of stringy mutton, boiled with vegetables, and a white cheese strong enough to raise the dead. But I got a bottle of whisky, for which I paid a sovereign, and we managed to light the stove in our room, fasten the shutters, and warm our hearts with a brew57 of toddy. After that we went to bed and slept like logs for twelve hours. On the road from Rustchuk we had had uneasy slumbers58.
I woke next morning and, looking out from the broken window, saw that it was snowing. With a lot of trouble I got hold of a servant and made him bring us some of the treacly Turkish coffee. We were both in pretty low spirits. “Europe is a poor cold place,” said Peter, “not worth fighting for. There is only one white man’s land, and that is South Africa.” At the time I heartily59 agreed with him.
I remember that, sitting on the edge of my bed, I took stock of our position. It was not very cheering. We seemed to have been amassing60 enemies at a furious pace. First of all, there was Rasta, whom I had insulted and who wouldn’t forget it in a hurry. He had his crowd of Turkish riff-raff and was bound to get us sooner or later. Then there was the maniac42 in the skin hat. He didn’t like Rasta, and I made a guess that he and his weird61 friends were of some party hostile to the Young Turks. But, on the other hand, he didn’t like us, and there would be bad trouble the next time we met him. Finally, there was Stumm and the German Government. It could only be a matter of hours at the best before he got the Rustchuk authorities on our trail. It would be easy to trace us from Chataldja, and once they had us we were absolutely done. There was a big black dossier against us, which by no conceivable piece of luck could be upset.
It was very clear to me that, unless we could find sanctuary62 and shed all our various pursuers during this day, we should be done in for good and all. But where on earth were we to find sanctuary? We had neither of us a word of the language, and there was no way I could see of taking on new characters. For that we wanted friends and help, and I could think of none anywhere. Somewhere, to be sure, there was Blenkiron, but how could we get in touch with him? As for Sandy, I had pretty well given him up. I always thought his enterprise the craziest of the lot and bound to fail. He was probably somewhere in Asia Minor63, and a month or two later would get to Constantinople and hear in some pot-house the yarn64 of the two wretched Dutchmen who had disappeared so soon from men’s sight.
That rendezvous65 at Kuprasso’s was no good. It would have been all right if we had got here unsuspected, and could have gone on quietly frequenting the place till Blenkiron picked us up. But to do that we wanted leisure and secrecy66, and here we were with a pack of hounds at our heels. The place was horribly dangerous already. If we showed ourselves there we should be gathered in by Rasta, or by the German military police, or by the madman in the skin cap. It was a stark67 impossibility to hang about on the off-chance of meeting Blenkiron.
I reflected with some bitterness that this was the 17th day of January, the day of our assignation. I had had high hopes all the way down the Danube of meeting with Blenkiron—for I knew he would be in time—of giving him the information I had had the good fortune to collect, of piecing it together with what he had found out, and of getting the whole story which Sir Walter hungered for. After that, I thought it wouldn’t be hard to get away by Rumania, and to get home through Russia. I had hoped to be back with my battalion68 in February, having done as good a bit of work as anybody in the war. As it was, it looked as if my information would die with me, unless I could find Blenkiron before the evening.
I talked the thing over with Peter, and he agreed that we were fairly up against it. We decided69 to go to Kuprasso’s that afternoon, and to trust to luck for the rest. It wouldn’t do to wander about the streets, so we sat tight in our room all morning, and swopped old hunting yarns70 to keep our minds from the beastly present. We got some food at midday—cold mutton and the same cheese, and finished our whisky. Then I paid the bill, for I didn’t dare to stay there another night. About half-past three we went into the street, without the foggiest notion where we would find our next quarters.
It was snowing heavily, which was a piece of luck for us. Poor old Peter had no greatcoat, so we went into a Jew’s shop and bought a ready-made abomination, which looked as if it might have been meant for a dissenting71 parson. It was no good saving my money when the future was so black. The snow made the streets deserted72, and we turned down the long lane which led to Ratchik ferry, and found it perfectly73 quiet. I do not think we met a soul till we got to Kuprasso’s shop.
We walked straight through the cafe, which was empty, and down the dark passage, till we were stopped by the garden door. I knocked and it swung open. There was the bleak74 yard, now puddled with snow, and a blaze of light from the pavilion at the other end. There was a scraping of fiddles75, too, and the sound of human talk. We paid the negro at the door, and passed from the bitter afternoon into a garish76 saloon.
There were forty or fifty people there, drinking coffee and sirops and filling the air with the fumes77 of latakia. Most of them were Turks in European clothes and the fez, but there were some German officers and what looked like German civilians—Army Service Corps78 clerks, probably, and mechanics from the Arsenal79. A woman in cheap finery was tinkling80 at the piano, and there were several shrill females with the officers. Peter and I sat down modestly in the nearest corner, where old Kuprasso saw us and sent us coffee. A girl who looked like a Jewess came over to us and talked French, but I shook my head and she went off again.
Presently a girl came on the stage and danced, a silly affair, all a clashing of tambourines81 and wriggling82. I have seen native women do the same thing better in a Mozambique kraal. Another sang a German song, a simple, sentimental83 thing about golden hair and rainbows, and the Germans present applauded. The place was so tinselly and common that, coming to it from weeks of rough travelling, it made me impatient. I forgot that, while for the others it might be a vulgar little dancing-hall, for us it was as perilous84 as a brigands’ den20.
Peter did not share my mood. He was quite interested in it, as he was interested in everything new. He had a genius for living in the moment.
I remember there was a drop-scene on which was daubed a blue lake with very green hills in the distance. As the tobacco smoke grew thicker and the fiddles went on squealing85, this tawdry picture began to mesmerize86 me. I seemed to be looking out of a window at a lovely summer landscape where there were no wars or danger. I seemed to feel the warm sun and to smell the fragrance87 of blossom from the islands. And then I became aware that a queer scent88 had stolen into the atmosphere.
There were braziers burning at both ends to warm the room, and the thin smoke from these smelt89 like incense90. Somebody had been putting a powder in the flames, for suddenly the place became very quiet. The fiddles still sounded, but far away like an echo. The lights went down, all but a circle on the stage, and into that circle stepped my enemy of the skin cap.
He had three others with him. I heard a whisper behind me, and the words were those which Kuprasso had used the day before. These bedlamites were called the Companions of the Rosy91 Hours, and Kuprasso had promised great dancing.
I hoped to goodness they would not see us, for they had fairly given me the horrors. Peter felt the same, and we both made ourselves very small in that dark corner. But the newcomers had no eyes for us.
In a twinkling the pavilion changed from a common saloon, which might have been in Chicago or Paris, to a place of mystery—yes, and of beauty. It became the Garden-House of Suliman the Red, whoever that sportsman may have been. Sandy had said that the ends of the earth converged92 there, and he had been right. I lost all consciousness of my neighbours—stout German, frock-coated Turk, frowsy Jewess—and saw only strange figures leaping in a circle of light, figures that came out of the deepest darkness to make a big magic.
The leader flung some stuff into the brazier, and a great fan of blue light flared93 up. He was weaving circles, and he was singing something shrill and high, whilst his companions made a chorus with their deep monotone. I can’t tell you what the dance was. I had seen the Russian ballet just before the war, and one of the men in it reminded me of this man. But the dancing was the least part of it. It was neither sound nor movement nor scent that wrought95 the spell, but something far more potent96. In an instant I found myself reft away from the present with its dull dangers, and looking at a world all young and fresh and beautiful. The gaudy97 drop-scene had vanished. It was a window I was looking from, and I was gazing at the finest landscape on earth, lit by the pure clean light of morning.
It seemed to be part of the veld, but like no veld I had ever seen. It was wider and wilder and more gracious. Indeed, I was looking at my first youth. I was feeling the kind of immortal98 light-heartedness which only a boy knows in the dawning of his days. I had no longer any fear of these magic-makers. They were kindly99 wizards, who had brought me into fairyland.
Then slowly from the silence there distilled100 drops of music. They came like water falling a long way into a cup, each the essential quality of pure sound. We, with our elaborate harmonies, have forgotten the charm of single notes. The African natives know it, and I remember a learned man once telling me that the Greeks had the same art. Those silver bells broke out of infinite space, so exquisite101 and perfect that no mortal words could have been fitted to them. That was the music, I expect, that the morning stars made when they sang together.
Slowly, very slowly, it changed. The glow passed from blue to purple, and then to an angry red. Bit by bit the notes spun102 together till they had made a harmony—a fierce, restless harmony. And I was conscious again of the skin-clad dancers beckoning103 out of their circle.
There was no mistake about the meaning now. All the daintiness and youth had fled, and passion was beating the air—terrible, savage passion, which belonged neither to day nor night, life nor death, but to the half-world between them. I suddenly felt the dancers as monstrous, inhuman104, devilish. The thick scents105 that floated from the brazier seemed to have a tang of new-shed blood. Cries broke from the hearers—cries of anger and lust56 and terror. I heard a woman sob106, and Peter, who is as tough as any mortal, took tight hold of my arm.
I now realized that these Companions of the Rosy Hours were the only thing in the world to fear. Rasta and Stumm seemed feeble simpletons by contrast. The window I had been looking out of was changed to a prison wall—I could see the mortar107 between the massive blocks. In a second these devils would be smelling out their enemies like some foul108 witch-doctors. I felt the burning eyes of their leader looking for me in the gloom. Peter was praying audibly beside me, and I could have choked him. His infernal chatter109 would reveal us, for it seemed to me that there was no one in the place except us and the magic-workers.
Then suddenly the spell was broken. The door was flung open and a great gust110 of icy wind swirled111 through the hall, driving clouds of ashes from the braziers. I heard loud voices without, and a hubbub112 began inside. For a moment it was quite dark, and then someone lit one of the flare94 lamps by the stage. It revealed nothing but the common squalor of a low saloon—white faces, sleepy eyes, and frowsy heads. The drop-piece was there in all its tawdriness.
The Companions of the Rosy Hours had gone. But at the door stood men in uniform, I heard a German a long way off murmur, “Enver’s bodyguards,” and I heard him distinctly; for, though I could not see clearly, my hearing was desperately113 acute. That is often the way when you suddenly come out of a swoon.
The place emptied like magic. Turk and German tumbled over each other, while Kuprasso wailed114 and wept. No one seemed to stop them, and then I saw the reason. Those Guards had come for us. This must be Stumm at last. The authorities had tracked us down, and it was all up with Peter and me.
A sudden revulsion leaves a man with a low vitality115. I didn’t seem to care greatly. We were done, and there was an end of it. It was Kismet, the act of God, and there was nothing for it but to submit. I hadn’t a flicker27 of a thought of escape or resistance. The game was utterly116 and absolutely over.
A man who seemed to be a sergeant117 pointed118 to us and said something to Kuprasso, who nodded. We got heavily to our feet and stumbled towards them. With one on each side of us we crossed the yard, walked through the dark passage and the empty shop, and out into the snowy street. There was a closed carriage waiting which they motioned us to get into. It looked exactly like the Black Maria.
Both of us sat still, like truant119 schoolboys, with our hands on our knees. I didn’t know where I was going and I didn’t care. We seemed to be rumbling120 up the hill, and then I caught the glare of lighted streets.
“This is the end of it, Peter,” I said.
“Ja, Cornelis,” he replied, and that was all our talk.
By and by—hours later it seemed—we stopped. Someone opened the door and we got out, to find ourselves in a courtyard with a huge dark building around. The prison, I guessed, and I wondered if they would give us blankets, for it was perishing cold.
We entered a door, and found ourselves in a big stone hall. It was quite warm, which made me more hopeful about our cells. A man in some kind of uniform pointed to the staircase, up which we plodded121 wearily. My mind was too blank to take clear impressions, or in any way to forecast the future. Another warder met us and took us down a passage till we halted at a door. He stood aside and motioned us to enter.
I guessed that this was the governor’s room, and we should be put through our first examination. My head was too stupid to think, and I made up my mind to keep perfectly mum. Yes, even if they tried thumbscrews. I had no kind of story, but I resolved not to give anything away. As I turned the handle I wondered idly what kind of sallow Turk or bulging-necked German we should find inside.
It was a pleasant room, with a polished wood floor and a big fire burning on the hearth122. Beside the fire a man lay on a couch, with a little table drawn up beside him. On that table was a small glass of milk and a number of Patience cards spread in rows.
I stared blankly at the spectacle, till I saw a second figure. It was the man in the skin-cap, the leader of the dancing maniacs. Both Peter and I backed sharply at the sight and then stood stock still.
For the dancer crossed the room in two strides and gripped both of my hands.
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jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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pandemonium
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| n.喧嚣，大混乱 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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bloody
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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squealed
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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steadily
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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flickering
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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canopy
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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gush
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apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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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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pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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capered
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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38
hemp
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| n.大麻；纤维 | |
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39
mountebank
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| n.江湖郎中；骗子 | |
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40
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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41
maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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42
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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43
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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44
gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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45
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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46
debouchment
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| n.流出，走出，河口 | |
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47
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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48
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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49
portico
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| n.柱廊，门廊 | |
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50
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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51
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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52
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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53
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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54
munitions
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| n.军火，弹药；v.供应…军需品 | |
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55
blustered
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| v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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56
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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57
brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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58
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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59
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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60
amassing
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| v.积累，积聚( amass的现在分词 ) | |
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61
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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62
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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63
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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64
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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65
rendezvous
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| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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66
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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67
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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68
battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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69
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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70
yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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71
dissenting
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| adj.不同意的 | |
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72
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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74
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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75
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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76
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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77
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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78
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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79
arsenal
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| n.兵工厂，军械库 | |
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80
tinkling
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| n.丁当作响声 | |
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81
tambourines
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| n.铃鼓，手鼓( tambourine的名词复数 )；（鸣声似铃鼓的）白胸森鸠 | |
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82
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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83
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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84
perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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85
squealing
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| v.长声尖叫，用长而尖锐的声音说( squeal的现在分词 ) | |
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86
mesmerize
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| vt.施催眠术；使入迷，迷住 | |
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87
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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88
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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89
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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90
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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91
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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92
converged
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| v.（线条、运动的物体等）会于一点( converge的过去式 )；（趋于）相似或相同；人或车辆汇集；聚集 | |
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93
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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94
flare
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| v.闪耀，闪烁；n.潮红；突发 | |
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95
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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96
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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97
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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98
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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99
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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100
distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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101
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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102
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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103
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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104
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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105
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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106
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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107
mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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108
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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109
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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110
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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111
swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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113
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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114
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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115
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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116
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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117
sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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118
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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119
truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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120
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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121
plodded
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| v.沉重缓慢地走（路）( plod的过去式和过去分词 )；努力从事；沉闷地苦干；缓慢进行（尤指艰难枯燥的工作） | |
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122
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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123
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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