What is a mermaid1 but a woman half-drowned,
What a selkie but an unwilling2 wife,
What a tale but a sea-net, snatching up both
From the gentle tumult3 of dark waves?
From “Elegy for a Siren,” collected in The Poetical4 Works of Emrys Myrddin, 196–
208 AD
Effy tucked her copy of Angharad into her purse. Her trunk was packed full of trousers and her
new turtleneck sweaters and warm woolen5 socks. Rhia went with her to the train station.
“Are you sure I can’t convince you not to do this?” Rhia asked.
Effy shook her head. Passengers milled past them in blurs6 of gray and tawny8. Rhia was
generous and open-minded and clever, and kind enough to never mention the rumors9 about Effy
and Master Corbenic.
But she didn’t know about the pink pills, the ones Effy kept at her side always, in case the
edges of things started to blur7. She didn’t know about the Fairy King and had never read a single
page of Angharad. She didn’t understand what Myrddin meant to Effy, and she didn’t understand
what Effy was escaping from. Rhia was a Southerner—but she didn’t know what it was like to
drown.
A woman in a blue cloche shoved by and stepped on Effy’s foot. “I’ll miss you. Tell Maisie
she can have my room.”
“I will.” Rhia chewed her lip, then managed one of her incandescently10 bright smiles as the
train sang like a teakettle behind them. “Be safe. Be smart. Be sweet.”
“All three? That’s a lot to ask.”
“I’ll settle for just two, then. Your pick,” Rhia said. She reached around Effy to embrace her,
and for a moment, with her eyes shut and her face pressed into Rhia’s fluffy12 brown hair, Effy felt
calmer than the windless sea.
“That’s far more reasonable,” Effy mumbled13. They broke apart as a mother trailing two
ornery-looking children shouldered past them. “Thank you.”
Rhia frowned. “What for?”
Effy didn’t reply. She didn’t really know. She was just grateful not to be standing14 on the
platform alone.
The other passengers were breathing in clouds of white, belts and wallet chains jangling, high
heels striking the tiled floor with a tinny sound. Effy dragged her trunk on board and watched from
the window as the train pulled out of the station. She didn’t look away until Rhia, waving,
vanished into the crowd.
She’d meant to work on the train; she’d even brought her sketchpad and pen in her purse. But as
soon as the train started down the bridge that led south over Lake Bala, her mind filled with a
vague yet obliterating15 dread16. The blank white page of her sketchpad and the bright midmorning
light glancing off the lake made her eyes water. The woman sitting next to her crossed and
recrossed her legs over and over again, and the sound of silk hissing17 against leather was so
distracting, Effy couldn’t think of anything else.
Northern Llyr spooled18 past her, emerald green in the winter. When she had to switch trains in
Laleston, she shuffled19 off and crossed the platform in a haze20, dragging her trunk behind her.
Though she couldn’t see outside, the air felt humid and thick, and there was rainwater trickling21
down the windows.
They arrived in Saltney just as the clock ticked past five. In Caer-Isel, even in winter, the sun
would have still been holding stubbornly to the line of the horizon. In Saltney, the sky was a dense22
and dusky black, storm clouds roiling23 like steam in a pot.
As the last few passengers disembarked, Effy stood in a rheumy puddle24 of lamplight, staring
down the dark and empty road. She didn’t know where to go.
Her mind felt cloudy. Even though she’d read Ianto’s letter so many times, now she couldn’t
remember the name of his barrister, who was supposed to pick her up at the station—Wheathall?
Weathergill? No one had given her a number to call. And as she peered down the dimly lit street,
there were no cars in sight.
There was only a row of small, dingy25 buildings, their doors and windows as black as mounds26
of dirt. Farther down, she could see a cluster of thatched-roof houses, rising out of the stubbly
grass like broken teeth. There was the faint, distant sound of water breaking on rocks.
The wind picked up, and it seemed to blow right through Effy’s coat and thick woolen sweater,
lashing27 her hair around her face. She could taste the sea salt in it, grit28 gathering29 on her bottom lip.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but a tremendous pain was sharpening in the center of her forehead,
right between her brows.
There was only the wind and the cold and the dark, stretching out all around her, solid and
endless. There would be no other trains before morning, and what would she do until then? Maybe
no one was coming at all. Perhaps the whole project had been a farce30, a joke played at a naive31
first-year’s expense.
Or, worse: a ruse32 to lure33 a young girl to a faraway and dangerous place she’d never come back
from.
Everyone had said there was something off about the whole affair. Something strange. Rhia
had warned her; even Master Corbenic had warned her. And yet she had flung herself toward it
like a sparrow against a windowpane, oblivious34 to the sheen of glass.
A panicked sob35 rose in her throat. Through the glaze36 of unshed tears, she could see a
rectangular blur in the distance. She shuffled closer and it took shape: a telephone booth.
Effy picked her trunk back up and dragged it with her into the booth. With shaking fingers, she
reached into her pocket and pulled out a few coins, cramming37 them into the slot.
She hesitated before dialing. One part of her wanted to slam the phone down; the other was
desperate just to hear a familiar voice. So she dialed the only number that she knew by heart.
“Hello?”
That familiar voice split through the silence. “Mother?”
“Effy? Is that you? Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Saltney,” she managed thickly. “In the Bottom Hundred.”
She could almost see the little pinch of her mother’s brow. “Well, what in the name of all
Saints are you doing there?”
At that, a strange hollow opened up in Effy’s chest. She shouldn’t have called.
“There’s this project I’m doing,” she said. “For the estate of Emrys Myrddin. A bunch of
architecture students sent in designs, and they picked mine.”
There was a stretch of silence. Effy could almost see her mother curled up in her armchair, one
sip38 of gin still left in her glass. “Well, then why are you crying?”
Effy’s throat felt very tight. “I’m at the train station. I don’t know if anyone is going to pick
me up, and I don’t have a number to call . . .”
Her mother drew a quick, sharp breath. And then: the sound of ice clinking as she poured
herself a new glass. “You didn’t think to get a phone number before you went to some no-name
town—what, six hours south of Draefen? I can’t listen to this right now, Effy. It’s just bad decision
after bad decision with you.”
“I know.” Effy’s hand tensed around the receiver. “I’m sorry. Can you ask Grandfather if he
can—”
“You can’t always expect someone to bail39 you out,” her mother cut in. “I’m not going to ask
Grandfather to drive six hours into the Bottom Hundred in the dark. Listen to yourself.”
But Effy could only hear the muffled40 sound of the sea.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job as your mother,” she went on. “At a certain point I have to let you
sink or swim.”
Effy’s cheeks were slippery with tears. The phone kept almost sliding out of her grip. “I’m
sorry. You don’t have to wake Grandfather. I just don’t know what to do.”
“First you have to calm down,” her mother said briskly. “I can’t talk to you when you’re
behaving like this. When you’re having one of your episodes. Are you seeing things?”
“No,” Effy said. Outside, the darkness pulsed and seethed41.
“Do you have your medication?”
“Yes.”
“Then take it. All right? Call me when you’ve calmed down.”
Effy nodded, even though she knew her mother couldn’t see. But she held on to the phone until
there was a soft click on the other end and her mother’s breathing was gone.
She let the phone slide out of her grasp, dangling42 on its cord. She pried43 open her purse and dug
for the small glass bottle, uncapped it and poured out a single pill. It was the rosy44 color of an
unopened flower bud, dead before it would ever bloom.
Effy clapped a hand over her lips and swallowed it, dry-mouthed.
It took several minutes for the furious drag of her pulse to slow. She’d gone through bottle
after bottle of these pills since she was ten years old. It was inside the doctor’s office that she’d
first learned to call these moments of panic, these slippings, episodes.
The doctor had held the bottle of pink pills in one hand and wagged a finger at her with the
other, as if he were admonishing45 her for something she hadn’t even done yet.
“You have to be careful with these,” he said. “Only take them when you really need them.
When you start seeing things that aren’t real. Do you understand, missy?”
She was ten, and already she’d given up trying to explain that what she saw was real, even if
no one believed her.
Effy had looked instead at the tuft of silver hair curling out of the doctor’s left ear. “I
understand.”
“Good,” he said, and gave her a stiff, clinical pat on the head. Her mother had bundled the pills
into her purse. They had left his office, walking into a damp spring morning, and under a flowering
pear tree, her mother had stopped to blow her nose into a handkerchief. Allergies46, she’d said. But
her mother’s eyes had been rimmed47 with red and when they got home, she had shut herself in her
room for hours. She didn’t want to have a crazy daughter any more than Effy wanted to be one.
Now her surroundings returned to her in pieces: the dark road, the puddle of lamplight, the
houses with their shut windows and locked doors. Effy stepped out of the booth, dragging her
trunk behind her, and inhaled48 the salt smell. The rush of waves bathing the rocky shoreline was
loud again, oppressive.
She hadn’t been outside for more than a minute before a swath of light beamed down the
gravel49 lane. As it grew closer, the single beam of light cleaved51 in two, and a black car crunched52 to
a halt in front of her.
The driver’s-side window rolled down. “Effy Sayre?”
At once she was flooded with a staggering, breathless relief. “Yes?”
“I’m Thomas Wetherell, barrister for the Myrddin estate. I was instructed to pick you up at the
station.”
“Yes,” she said again, the word pluming53 white in the cold air. “Yes. Thank you.”
Wetherell frowned at her. He had slicked-back gray hair and an extremely clean-shaven face.
“Let me help you with your trunk.”
Once she was inside the car, Effy felt her body go stiff again, her short-lived relief curdling54 into
fear. There were, suddenly, a hundred new worries in her mind. Mainly that she’d made an
abysmal55 first impression.
In the bleary, rain-spattered window, Effy saw a muddled56 version of herself: nose pink, eyes
puffy, cheeks still damp and shiny. She scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweater but
only succeeded in reddening her face further. The car clattered57 down the dark road, and a
particularly nasty lurch58 sent her jolting59 forward, knees jamming up against the glove box.
Effy bit her lip on a curse. She didn’t want Wetherell to think her a squeamish city girl, even
though that was exactly what she was.
“How far to Hiraeth?” Effy asked, as they passed Saltney’s handful of buildings. A pub, a
small church, a fish-and-chip shop—in the Bottom Hundred, that was enough to constitute a town.
Wetherell frowned again. Effy had the sense that she would be seeing that frown quite a lot.
“Half an hour, maybe more. Depends on the state of the road.”
Effy’s stomach churned. And then the car began to slant60 sharply upward.
Instinctively61 she grabbed the handle on the door. “Is that normal?”
“Yes,” Wetherell said, looking at her with sympathetic disdain62, something almost approaching
pity. “We’re going up the cliffs.”
It was only then that she realized Hiraeth Manor63 would not be in Saltney at all. Even that
flyspeck64 of civilization was nothing she could count on. Effy’s heart sank further as the car jostled
up the cliffside.
She was almost too afraid to look out the window. The moon seemed to keep pace with the
car, painting the road and the moldering cliffs in a pallid65 light. They were white, ribboned with
bands of erosion, grown over with moss66 and lichen67 and speckled with salt. They looked beautiful
against the black enormity of the sea, its titanic68 waves striking the pale rock over and over again.
Effy was halfway69 to admiring them when the car jerked to a halt. In front of it, where the road
curled up the cliffside, the road was suddenly awash with foam70 and dark water. She looked to
Wetherell in horror, but he scarcely reacted at all. When the tide receded71 again, he drove on, tires
sloshing through the newly wet dirt.
It was another long moment before Effy found her voice. “Is that normal?”
“Yes,” Wetherell said. “We usually wait until low tide to drive into town, but the timing72 of
your arrival was . . . unfortunate.”
That was putting it mildly. As the car climbed farther up the hill, the roar of the waves grew
dimmer, but a thick mist descended73, shrouding74 the trees in white cloaks. The road narrowed, fog
closing in on all sides. Effy’s throat tightened75.
“How much further?” she asked.
“Not very far now.”
And then something burst from the tree line and the mist and out in front of the car. Effy saw
only a flash of it. There was dark hair, tangled76 and wet, moving as fluidly as water. Where the
headlights caught it, she also saw a pale yellow curve of bone.
“Mr. Wetherell.” She gasped77 as it disappeared into the mist again. He hadn’t even let up on the
gas. “What was that?”
If she hadn’t just swallowed one of her pills, she wouldn’t have asked at all. But Wetherell
must have seen it, too. She couldn’t have imagined it: the pink pills were for obliterating her
imagination.
“Most certainly a deer,” Wetherell said, in an offhanded78 way that seemed almost too
offhanded. “The deer in the South have developed some peculiar79 adaptations. Webbed feet and
scaled bellies80. Biologists have speculated that it’s evolutionary81 preparation for the second
Drowning.”
But Effy had seen no scales. She had seen a wild knot of hair, a crown of bone. She scrubbed
at her face again. What would the doctor have said? Was it possible for two people to have the
same hallucination?
The car made a strenuous82, halting turn, and the mist seemed to cleave50 apart in front of it.
Wetherell stopped right beside an enormous oak tree. Its branches heaved and bowed with the
weight of dangling moss. He reached over and opened the glove box, removing a small flashlight.
Wordlessly he clicked it on and stepped out of the car, even though Effy could not see a house
rising out of the mist.
She heard him begin to drag out her trunk. Effy opened the door and followed him around to
the back of the car. “Are we here?”
“Yes,” Wetherell said. He dropped her trunk into the grass, which was so thick that it seemed
to swallow the sound. “Just up this hill.”
The mist made it difficult to see more than a few steps ahead, but Effy felt the incline in the
soles of her feet. She trudged83 after Wetherell, his flashlight parting the mist. After a few moments
of walking in silence, following only the faint outline of Wetherell’s back, the fog thinned again.
She could see that they were in a small, close circle of trees, the branches overhead knit together
so thickly that no sky showed through.
A stout, clumsy shape emerged: a stone cottage with a thatched roof. It was so old that the
earth had begun trying to reclaim84 it—grass was growing over the south-facing side, giving it the
appearance of a large head with green hair, and vines were threaded through every crevice85 in the
walls.
Wetherell stamped right up to the door and opened it with a blunt and businesslike shove.
There was the rasp of metal against stone, like a knife being sharpened.
Effy couldn’t help the choked sound that came out of her. “This isn’t—this can’t be Hiraeth?”
Halfway through the door, Wetherell turned and gave her that now familiar pitying look. “No,”
he said. “But the mistress has requested that you stay in the guest cottage. You can view the house
tomorrow, when it’s light.”
The mistress. Myrddin’s obituary86 had mentioned that he was survived by a wife and a son, but
neither had been named in the article. She only knew Ianto from his letter, which hadn’t spoken of
his mother at all. Her skin prickling, Effy followed Wetherell inside.
He set down her trunk and began to fiddle87 with an oil lamp on the wall, which, after a moment,
flared88 to life. Effy looked around. There was a small wooden desk in the corner, and a tub for
washing, but the cottage was dominated by an enormous four-poster bed, which looked absurd
against the crumbling89, lichen-covered stone of the walls. It had a delicate, filmy canopy90 that
reminded Effy of cobwebs. Its green velvet91 duvet was tucked under at least a dozen pillows, their
gold tassels92 wilting93 like cut stalks of wheat.
Everything seemed worn out, somehow, weather-blanched and faded as an old photograph. It
felt colder inside the cottage than out.
“No electricity,” Wetherell said frankly94. He lit a second oil lamp, hanging over the door. “But
the taps work, if you’re persevering95.”
Effy looked at the two rusted97 taps above the tub and said nothing. She thought of her mother’s
voice, crackling on the other end of the phone line. Bad decision after bad decision.
Wetherell finished with the lamp and handed her the box of matches. Effy took them
wordlessly. “Well, I’ll send someone to fetch you in the morning.”
“How far is it to the house?”
“A ten-minute walk, give or take.”
“Depending on the roads?” Effy tried a fragile smile.
Wetherell looked back at her without humor. “Depending on a great many things.”
Then he was gone, and Effy was alone. She had expected to hear him stomping98 through the
grass, but everything was unsettlingly silent. No crickets chirping99, owls100 hooting101, or predators102
shifting behind the tree line. Even the wind had gone quiet.
After growing up in Draefen, with the sounds of the city playing on a relentless103 loop, cars
always honking104 and people always shouting, Effy found the silence intolerable. It was like two
daggers105 driven into her ears. She drew in a deep breath and let it out again tremulously. She could
not allow herself to cry. Today’s pill had already been swallowed.
Standing there in the cold, damp cottage, Effy considered her options. There were very few,
and none of them good. She could try to stumble her way through the dark back to Saltney, but she
would be at the mercy of the cliffs and the sea and whatever waited out there in the mist. She
thought of the thing she’d seen dart106 across the road, and her stomach folded over on itself.
Even if she did make it down, there were no trains until morning. And then what? She would
ride back to Caer-Isel, back to her decrepit107 dorm room, back to the spiders and soap scum, back to
her terrible attempts at cross sections and boys who whispered about her in the halls. Back to
Master Corbenic. Back to staring across the snowy courtyard at the literature college, full of envy
and longing108. She would call her mother to tell her the news, and her mother would sigh with relief
and say, Thank you for being reasonable, Effy. You have enough problems to deal with as it is.
Just then, all of it seemed preferable to staying in Hiraeth. But she could do nothing about it
until the sun rose.
She opened her trunk and changed into her nightgown, cringing109 at the feel of the icy stone
floor against her bare feet. She opened up her other pill bottle and swallowed her sleeping pill
without water, feeling too demoralized to even try the taps. She lit the candle on the bedside table,
and extinguished the oil lamps.
Effy was about to crawl under the velvet duvet when a terrible fear plucked at her. She thought
again of the creature in the road. It had not been a deer, but it had been nothing human, either; she
knew that much. And it had not been imagined. She’d taken her pink pill. Wetherell had seen it,
too. Even the doctor, with his medical tomes and his glass bottles, could not have explained it.
Anything could come bursting in, anything. Effy snatched up the candle and walked toward the
door, her breath coming in short, cold spurts110.
There was no lock, but the door was extraordinarily111 heavy and bolstered112 with metal. Iron. Effy
ran her finger over the brace11, and no rust96 flaked113 away under her touch. Everything else in the
cottage was ancient, but the iron was new.
As Effy returned, haltingly, to the four-poster, a phrase floated up in her mind. I waited for the
Fairy King in our marriage bed, but he didn’t know I was wearing a girdle of iron. Angharad’s
words were so familiar, they were like the voice of an old friend. Few things could truly guard
against the Fair Folk, but iron was one of them.
Effy knelt over her trunk and took out her copy of Angharad, flipping114 to the page where she’d
underlined that passage in black pen. This was Myrddin protecting her, giving her a sign. Keeping
her safe.
She tucked the book under the pillows and pulled the duvet up to her chin. The dark was heavy
and still. It was utterly115 silent, save for the faint sound of water dripping. Wherever the water was,
it sounded close.
She was sure she would never be able to fall asleep in this clammy, dense silence, but the
sleeping pill did its work. Effy slipped quietly under, the memory of Angharad’s words something
close to a lullaby.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
mermaid
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| n.美人鱼 | |
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2
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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3
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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4
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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5
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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6
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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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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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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10
incandescently
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| adj.白热的；白炽的；十分明亮的；感情强烈的 | |
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11
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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12
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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13
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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15
obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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spooled
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| adj.假脱机的v.把…绕到线轴上（或从线轴上绕下来）( spool的过去式和过去分词 )；假脱机（输出或输入） | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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roiling
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| v.搅混（液体）( roil的现在分词 )；使烦恼；使不安；使生气 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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mounds
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| 土堆，土丘( mound的名词复数 )； 一大堆 | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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grit
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| n.沙粒，决心，勇气；v.下定决心，咬紧牙关 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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farce
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| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
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31
naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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32
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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33
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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34
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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35
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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36
glaze
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| v.因疲倦、疲劳等指眼睛变得呆滞，毫无表情 | |
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37
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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38
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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39
bail
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| v.舀（水），保释；n.保证金，保释，保释人 | |
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40
muffled
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| 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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41
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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42
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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43
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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44
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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45
admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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46
allergies
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| n.[医]过敏症；[口]厌恶，反感；（对食物、花粉、虫咬等的）过敏症( allergy的名词复数 )；变态反应，变应性 | |
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47
rimmed
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| adj.有边缘的，有框的v.沿…边缘滚动；给…镶边 | |
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48
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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50
cleave
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| v．(clave；cleaved)粘着，粘住；坚持；依恋 | |
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51
cleaved
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| v.劈开，剁开，割开( cleave的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
crunched
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| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的过去式和过去分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
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53
pluming
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| 用羽毛装饰（plume的现在分词形式） | |
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54
curdling
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| n.凝化v.（使）凝结( curdle的现在分词 ) | |
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55
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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57
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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58
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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59
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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60
slant
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| v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向 | |
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61
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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62
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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63
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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64
flyspeck
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| n.蝇粪留下的污点, 污点；v.弄脏 | |
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65
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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66
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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67
lichen
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| n.地衣, 青苔 | |
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68
titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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69
halfway
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| 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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70
foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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71
receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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72
timing
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| n.时间安排，时间选择 | |
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73
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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74
shrouding
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| n.覆盖v.隐瞒( shroud的现在分词 )；保密 | |
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75
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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76
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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77
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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78
offhanded
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| adj.立即的，即席的 | |
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79
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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80
bellies
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| n.肚子( belly的名词复数 )；腹部；（物体的）圆形或凸起部份；腹部…形的 | |
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81
evolutionary
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| adj.进化的；演化的，演变的；[生]进化论的 | |
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82
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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83
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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85
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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86
obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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87
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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88
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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89
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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90
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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91
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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92
tassels
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| n.穗( tassel的名词复数 )；流苏状物；（植物的）穗；玉蜀黍的穗状雄花v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的第三人称单数 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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93
wilting
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| 萎蔫 | |
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94
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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95
persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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96
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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97
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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98
stomping
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| v.跺脚，践踏，重踏( stomp的现在分词 ) | |
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99
chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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100
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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101
hooting
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| （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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102
predators
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| n.食肉动物( predator的名词复数 )；奴役他人者（尤指在财务或性关系方面） | |
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103
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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104
honking
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| v.（使）发出雁叫似的声音，鸣（喇叭），按（喇叭）( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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105
daggers
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| 匕首，短剑( dagger的名词复数 ) | |
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106
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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107
decrepit
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| adj.衰老的，破旧的 | |
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108
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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109
cringing
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| adj.谄媚，奉承 | |
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110
spurts
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| 短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 )； 突然奋起 | |
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111
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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112
bolstered
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| v.支持( bolster的过去式和过去分词 )；支撑；给予必要的支持；援助 | |
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113
flaked
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| 精疲力竭的，失去知觉的，睡去的 | |
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114
flipping
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| 讨厌之极的 | |
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115
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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