The Fairy King had many forms, and some looked, on the surface, identical. Some
days I could not tell if the husband who came to me was the one who would kiss my eyes
closed with infinite tenderness, or if he would press me down into our bed and not care that
I whimpered. Those were the most difficult days. When I could not tell the kind version of
him from the cruel. I wished he would be a serpent, a cloven-footed creature, a winged
beast—anything but a man.
From Angharad by Emrys Myrddin, 191 AD
It took Effy an hour to reach Hiraeth, her legs numb1 beneath her, vision blurring3 and then
sharpening in dizzying turns. Her hair was damp and plastered to her face, her stockings ripped to
ruins. Also, she was bleeding.
Preston was standing4 at the top of the stairs, and when he saw her, he lurched down, taking the
steps two at a time.
“Effy,” he said, breathless, when he arrived. “Where did you go?”
“Where’s Ianto?”
“He came back half an hour ago, alone.” Preston gestured toward the black car in the
driveway. “I tried to ask him where you were, but he just brushed past me and locked himself in
his bedroom—what happened?”
Effy coughed, trying to find her voice. Her lip was split and felt puffy, painful.
“I got them,” she said at last. “The blueprints6.”
Preston looked at her as if she’d grown scales and fins7. “No, I mean what happened to you?
You’re covered in blood and—well, dirt.”
“The road is dirty,” Effy said. She wasn’t quite lucid8 enough to feel embarrassed.
Preston led her up the stairs and into the house. Ianto was still nowhere to be seen—a small
miracle—but Wetherell glowered9 at them from the threshold to the kitchen. He looked as dour10 as
ever, skin washed gray in the watery11 light.
The stairs to the second floor were more difficult. Effy leaned heavily on the railing as Preston
watched her with a tight mouth, shoulders tensed as if he expected her to topple over at any
moment.
The portrait of the Fairy King looked fuzzy and kaleidoscopic13, the paint colors swirling14 into an
unreadable blur2. His face was a pale smudge, featureless.
Maybe this was her punishment for betraying Myrddin, for planning to trample16 all over his
legacy17. She choked out something that was almost a sob18, too low for Preston to hear.
The Fairy King had never appeared to her in the daylight before.
When they reached the study, it took all of Effy’s strength not to collapse19. There was a bright,
staccato beat of pain behind her temples. She looked around at all the papers scattered20 on the desk,
the splayed-open books, and the battered21 chaise longue and felt, for some reason, a quiet thrum of
relief.
“Effy,” Preston said again, his voice grave. “What did you do?”
“I jumped out of Ianto’s car,” she replied.
Hearing herself say it out loud made the fog dissipate. She was suddenly aware of how mad
she sounded. How mad she had been. She raised a hand to her mouth and felt her swollen22 lip,
wincing23.
Preston looked despairing. “How did the blueprints factor into that? I didn’t think your mission
would require such daring heroics.”
“There was nothing heroic about it,” Effy said. She was flushing profusely24. “I wish there had
been. Ianto had already given me the blueprints. I just—I couldn’t stand to be in the car with him
any longer.”
That was all she could bear to tell him. What would Preston say if she confessed what she had
seen—if she had really even seen it at all? It would be no different than it had ever been, with her
mother and her grandparents, with the doctor, with the teachers and priests.
At best Preston would blink at her bemusedly, certain she was making some sort of joke. More
likely he would scoff25 and secretly regret that he had tethered his academic future to some mad girl
who needed pills to tell what was real and what wasn’t.
Surely there was no worse ally than Effy in a quest to uncover objective truth.
But all Preston did was shake his head. “And he just left you there? Looking like—like this?”
As Effy had watched Ianto’s taillights vanish in the distance, all she’d felt was relief. She’d
been afraid he would pull over and drag her back inside. The vision of the Fairy King, his wet
black hair and his horrible, reaching hand, was still playing on the inside of her eyelids26.
“I don’t blame him,” she said, voice hollow. “It was a stupid thing to do.”
Preston let out a long breath. “I really didn’t think he’d try to take you out of the house. I’m
sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
He blinked, glasses slipping down his nose. “I’m not sure.”
If she’d been in a more coherent state of mind, hearing Preston admit to uncertainty27 would
have pleased her. At last there was something, however trivial, that he didn’t know.
Effy finally had the courage to look down at herself. Her white sweater was damp and smeared28
with mud. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel her elbow throbbing30 under her sleeve, blood
sticking to the woolen31 fibers32. And though her skirt had emerged relatively33 unscathed, her hip34
ached.
Her stockings had suffered the worst: torn beyond repair, both of her knees scraped bloody35 and
stinging enough to make her gasp36. Flecks37 of dirt and tiny pebbles38 were caught in the mangle39 of her
skin like flies trapped on flypaper. Her nose hurt and she was glad she couldn’t see her face.
There had been no mirrors in Ianto’s car. She was sure of that. In fact, ever since she had
arrived in Hiraeth, she had not seen her own reflection once. She could not even see herself in the
mirror of Ianto’s cloudy, roiling40 gaze.
“Here,” Effy said weakly, thrusting her purse at Preston. “I have the blueprints.”
Preston took her purse and set it down on his desk. He didn’t open it or even peer inside. “Effy,
why don’t you sit?”
“Why?” A bolt of panic shot up her spine41. “I don’t want to.”
“Well,” Preston said, “that’s going to make this a lot more difficult.”
And then he knelt in front of her, and Effy was so shocked that she nearly did topple over. She
had to put her hand on the desk to steady herself.
“What are you doing?” she choked out.
“If you don’t wipe away the dirt, your cuts will get infected. Infections can lead to blood
poisoning, which, if it remains42 untreated, will eventually necessitate43 amputation44. And in a way, it
would be all my fault if you had to have your legs amputated at the knee, because I was the one
who asked you to get the blueprints in the first place.”
He said all this with complete sincerity45.
Effy took a breath—partly to steel herself, and partly so she wouldn’t laugh at him. True to his
word, Preston began delicately picking the pebbles from her wounded knees. His touch was so
gentle, she felt only the faintest nips of pain. His eyes were narrowed behind his glasses, as
focused as he’d looked when poring over one of Myrddin’s books.
After a while he seemed satisfied that he had gotten out all the pebbles, and he reached up for
the glass of water on his desk. Effy was still so baffled that she hardly reacted when he wet his
shirtsleeve and began to dab15 at her gouged46 skin. That, finally, elicited47 a gasp from her.
“Ouch,” she whined48. “That really stings.”
“Sorry,” he said. “Almost done.”
The pain was making her woozy again. Gingerly, she let her other hand rest on Preston’s
shoulder for balance.
He paused in his ministrations, muscles tensing, and looked up at her. They locked eyes for
several moments, but neither of them said a word. After another beat, Preston looked down again,
returning to his work.
Effy curled her fingers into the fabric49 of his shirt. His skin, underneath50, was warm, and she
could feel his muscles flexing51. “How many skinned knees have you treated in your career as an
academic?”
“I have to say you’re my first.”
She laughed, almost in spite of herself. “You’re very strange, Preston Héloury.”
“You’re the one who jumped out of a moving car, Effy Sayre.”
“It’s only because I wasn’t wearing my seat belt,” she replied.
It was the second time she’d heard him laugh, and Effy remembered how much she liked the
sound of it: low and breathy, his shoulder shaking just slightly under her grip.
In another moment, Preston got to his feet and said, “Let me see your hands.”
Effy held them out. Her palms were scratched but not badly. It looked like she’d tussled with a
rosebush. With her fingers splayed like that, the absence of her ring finger seemed glaringly
obvious.
She hoped Preston wouldn’t ask about it. That was another question she didn’t want to answer.
“They look all right,” Preston conceded. “I’m confident this will not be what does you in.”
He had a little smear29 of her blood on his cheek where he’d raised his red-stained hand to adjust
his glasses. Effy decided52 not to tell him.
“That’s a relief,” she said. “I would hate for you to be responsible for my untimely demise53.”
Preston laughed again. “I’d never overcome the guilt54.”
Effy smiled, but she could not stop thinking of the look in Ianto’s eyes, the change in the tenor55
of his voice. Could she have imagined it all? Why had he hurried her out of the house, only to
hurry her back again? He had driven so fast, with such determination, his words all snarled56 and
low. Her brain had pulsed like a lighthouse beacon57, every beat of her heart screaming, Danger.
Danger. Danger.
She remembered how Ianto had told the story of the Drowning: how the inhabitants of the
Bottom Hundred hadn’t realized they were going to die until they were neck-deep in the water. If
she hadn’t flung herself out of the car, would she have drowned there?
Sometimes Effy had nightmares where she was sitting in Master Corbenic’s green office chair,
her wrists strapped58 to the armrests, black, murky59 water rising around her. She couldn’t escape, and
the water kept coming in—and worst of all, in those dreams, she didn’t even struggle. She just
gulped60 down the water as if it were air.
“Do you think he’ll be angry at me?” Effy blurted61 out. “Ianto, I mean.”
The amusement in Preston’s eyes vanished. “Well . . . it’s not the most tactful way to escape
an awkward conversation, I’ll give him that. What did he say to you?”
She drew in a breath. Where would she even begin with explaining it all? She certainly could
not tell him about the Fairy King. Preston had been clear enough on how he felt about Southern
superstition62. Confessing to any of it would reveal her as precisely63 the sort of unstable64,
untrustworthy girl Effy was so desperate not to be.
“It was just an awkward conversation, like you said,” she replied at last. “I overreacted.”
“I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Preston said. But his expression was uneasy.
Now that Preston was satisfied that Effy would not perish of her injuries, and now that Effy’s
headache had begun to recede65 and her eyes had cleared, they unfurled the blueprints on the desk.
By then it had grown dark, and only a pale trickle66 of starlight bled through the window. The moon
was pearl white and not quite full, cobwebbed with lacy clouds.
Preston lit two kerosene67 lamps and brought them over so they could read by their orange glow.
The blueprints were very old. Effy could tell because they were actually blue. A decade or so
ago, traditional blueprints had become obsolete68, replaced by less expensive printing methods that
rendered blue ink on a white background. The blueprints for Hiraeth Manor69 were the bright
sapphire70 color of her mother’s favorite brand of gin. The edges were ragged71 and much of the ink
was smudged and faded.
The first page showed a cross section of the house—far, far better than anything Effy could
have dreamed of drawing—and the second showed a floor plan.
Preston squinted72. “I can’t make sense of any of this.”
“I can.” Effy was pleased that for once she knew something he didn’t.
She drew her thumb down the page, tracing the outline of the first floor. There was the dining
room, the kitchen, the foyer, and the horrifying73 bathroom she had not even been permitted to lay
eyes on. Nothing out of the ordinary there. But when she looked for the door to the basement, she
found nothing.
“Interesting,” she murmured.
“What?”
“It doesn’t look like the basement is in the blueprints at all,” she said. “But, well, a basement
isn’t exactly something you can tack74 on at the last minute. It has to be part of the architectural
plans from the very start. The only thing I can think is maybe this house was built on a previously75
existing foundation, one that already had a basement.”
Preston’s jaw76 twitched77. “You mean there used to be another structure here, before Hiraeth? It’s
hard to imagine how that’s possible. Even this house seems to defy the laws of nature.”
“It wouldn’t be so strange. The Bay of Nine Bells was ravaged78 by the Drowning, but that
doesn’t mean nothing survived.” Effy looked down at the blueprints again, feeling certain of her
theory. “It’s easier to repair an existing foundation than to build something entirely79 new.”
“You’re the expert, I suppose,” Preston said, though he sounded unconvinced.
It was curious, but it didn’t solve any of their problems, since Preston had point-blank refused
to go anywhere near the basement, and his face had turned pale at even the mention of it. Effy
scanned the drawing of the second floor. There was the study, and the door out to the crumbling80
balcony, and then the series of rooms Ianto had forbidden her from seeing: his and his mother’s
bedchambers. The larger one had to be the master, and then on the left, Ianto’s.
As was always the case when she came up, Myrddin’s widow caught in Effy’s mind like the
prick83 of a needle.
“You’ve never met the mistress of the house, right?” she asked.
“No,” Preston said. “I’ve never even spoken to her on the phone. She’s old, and I imagine she
values her privacy.”
But a chill prickled the back of her neck. “If she values her privacy so much, she wouldn’t
have invited the university to poke84 around here.”
He folded his arms across his chest and replied defensively, “I’m only looking through her
husband’s things, not hers. Whoever Mrs. Myrddin is, she’s not relevant to my scholarly
inquiries85.”
“But haven’t you wondered—outside of your scholarly inquiries—why she’s so reclusive?”
All of it felt wrong, had felt wrong ever since she came to Hiraeth, and certainly ever since she
saw the Fairy King. “When I’ve asked Ianto about her, he hasn’t said much.”
“We’re not writing a thesis on Myrddin’s widow, Effy. We should just be relieved she’s
staying out of our way.”
Effy could think of at least five rebuttals, but in the end she just pressed her lips shut.
She looked back down at the blueprints. The private chambers82, which Ianto had barred them
from, consisted of two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Perfectly86 typical. All of it was perfectly
typical.
Slightly demoralized but unwilling87 to admit defeat, she flipped88 over to the cross sections again.
There was the gabled roof with a very slight pitch, not large enough for an attic89, or even a
crawl space, as Preston had previously suggested. But along the eastern-facing wall of the house,
just near Ianto’s bedroom, there was a narrow strip of white space, something the architect had
forgotten to fill in.
Only no architect worth their salt forgot to finish their cross sections (just Effy, and that was
mostly apathy90, not incompetence), so she leaned over the desk and squinted, trying to measure the
size of the empty space against her thumb.
“What is it?” Preston urged. “Do you see something?”
“Yes.” Effy pointed91. “It’s not in the floor plan, which is odd, but if you look closely at the
cross section, you can see this little bit of white space. Judging by the relative scale of the
drawing, it’s just the size of a narrow closet and it’s off Ianto’s bedroom. I’d say it was a mistake
on the architect’s part, but I already know you don’t believe in coincidences.”
Though Preston looked affronted92, he didn’t argue. “Well, I can believe Ianto is hiding
something of his father’s in there. He’s certainly cagey enough.”
“But we can’t go there now.” It was already late; Ianto had retreated to his chambers, and the
thought of confronting him again made Effy feel queasy93. Whenever her mind was not otherwise
occupied, it was immediately filled with the image of the Fairy King, one hand on the steering94
wheel and the other reaching toward her. She shook her head, trying to dispel95 the memory.
“No, of course not,” said Preston. “But tomorrow morning Ianto will go out—he always goes
down to church on Sundays; it takes about an hour. We can seize the opportunity while he’s
gone.”
An hour. That was roughly as long as they had spent in the pub, and Ianto had been in such a
vicious hurry to get back. Effy considered bringing it up, but what did it suggest, really? Nothing
useful. Just her brain trying to make meaning out of the baseless terror that haunted her like a
ghost.
Instead she said, “What about the irrelevant96 Mrs. Myrddin? You said she never leaves her
chamber81. She’ll be there, even if Ianto won’t.”
Preston glanced askance at the door, as though he expected someone to come bursting through.
“We’ll just have to be quiet so that we don’t disturb her.”
“But what if we do disturb her?” Effy ventured.
“Then I suppose we’ll have to lie,” said Preston. He shifted a little as he said it, shoulders
rising. “Just tell her Ianto sent us.”
“That’s not a very good lie.”
“Well, you come up with something, then.” He was very faintly flushed. “We’ll meet back
here tomorrow morning. Ianto will be gone by sunrise.”
It still seemed like an extraordinarily97 bad idea. But Effy couldn’t think of any alternatives. “All
right,” she agreed. “Meet here at dawn.”
Preston nodded. As Effy turned toward the door—slowly, so as not to aggravate98 her gouged
knees any further—she felt his gaze on her still. She looked back over her shoulder and saw
Preston look down hurriedly, shuffling99 through some papers on the desk, embarrassed to have
been caught watching her.
His flush had deepened. Effy found herself thinking about how lightly he had touched her, and
how the pads of his fingers were still stained with her blood.
“Preston?” she said. Her voice sounded strange: small, wondering. Almost hopeful.
He glanced up. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For caring whether or not I die of sepsis,” she said.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, you can never be too cautious. People have died in much more banal100
ways.”
“Thank you for giving me the chance to die of something interesting, then.”
“As long as you don’t throw yourself out of any more moving cars.” There was a slight quiver
on the left side of his mouth, as if he were trying not to smile. Behind his glasses, his eyes were
solemn. “There are far more interesting deaths out there.”
Effy stepped out of the study and stood in the flickering101 glow of the naked bulbs that lined the
hallway. The moment the door shut behind her, she felt suddenly cold and rooted to the ground, as
if something invisible were holding her there. Her breath misted out from her mouth in pale wisps.
Yet it was not panic, the same way it had been when she’d seen the Fairy King. This was the
opposite, in fact—an eerie102 and unnatural103 calm.
All around her there was a stunning104, seething105 silence. The floorboards had stopped their
groaning106, and Effy could no longer hear the distant sound of the ocean rolling against the rocks,
slowly dragging Hiraeth down toward the sea.
Preston was only on the other side of the door, but Effy felt so terribly alone, the house
spreading out on all sides like reaching vines.
And then she saw it: a white glimmer107 at the end of the hall, as if someone had left a window
open and the curtain was blowing. But there was no window, no curtain. There was the ragged
hem5 of a dress and a flash of long silver hair. She caught just the end of each, and the heel of a
bare foot, pressing up from beneath the surface of her phantom108 skin like a fisherman’s tangled109 net
and the fleshy sea-thing caught in it.
Effy’s pulse juddered in her throat. The air had turned sharp and fragile and cold, as cold as the
heart of winter. This frigid110 terror caught her by surprise—it was not the fear she’d known all her
life, the fear of the Fairy King and his reaching hand. That was a danger she recognized.
This was nothing she knew. It was a novel horror, one that she could only parse111 once the ghost
had vanished. At least—it had to be a ghost. Effy even took one cautious step toward the end of
the hall, where the figure had disappeared. The door to the bedchambers was shut, and she had not
heard it open. Whatever it had been had passed right through the wood.
It was fleeing something. The thought occurred to Effy as she retreated again, heart pounding
crookedly112. Watching a dress disappear around the corner and—impossibly—through the shut door
was like staring at a dead crow in your path. Everyone, even the most skeptical113 Northerners, knew
it was a death omen12.
You didn’t fear the bird itself. You feared whatever terrible, unknowable thing its death
portended114.
After Ianto’s car had sped away and Effy had picked herself up off the road, she had
swallowed one of her pink pills. The pills were meant to be a seawall against her visions, against
the unreal world that always seemed to be blooming underneath the real one, like the beat of blood
behind a bruise115, waiting for its moment to break through.
Yet still, she had seen the ghost. And the Fairy King had appeared to her in the daylight, as he
never had before. In the dark corner of her bedroom, his clawed hand curling around her closet
door—but Effy had always believed the sunlight made her safe from him. In Angharad, the Fairy
King had come for her at night, when her father and brothers were sleeping too soundly to notice.
There was something wrong here, in Hiraeth, in perhaps all of the Bottom Hundred. Old magic
and wicked—or worse, ambivalent—gods. The Fairy King had more power here. The unreal
world was close to breaking its fetters116.
And Effy had walked right into the center of it, into this sinking house at the edge of the world.
Her cheeks and brow were soaked in a cold film of sweat. Whatever reassurances117 the doctor had
given her, they did not matter now. His pills were not enough to stop the waves from crashing
over her.
When Effy was able to move her numb legs again, she ran down the stairs and hurled118 herself
out the door, into the blackness of the night, heart pounding like church bells. She was not afraid
of the ghost. But she was horribly, wretchedly afraid of whatever had killed the woman it had once
been.
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收听单词发音
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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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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blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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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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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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blueprints
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| n.蓝图，设计图( blueprint的名词复数 ) | |
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fins
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| [医]散热片；鱼鳍；飞边；鸭掌 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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glowered
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| v.怒视( glower的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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kaleidoscopic
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| adj.千变万化的 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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profusely
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scoff
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| n.嘲笑，笑柄，愚弄；v.嘲笑，嘲弄，愚弄，狼吞虎咽 | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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smear
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| v.涂抹；诽谤，玷污；n.污点；诽谤，污蔑 | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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31
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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32
fibers
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| 光纤( fiber的名词复数 )； （织物的）质地； 纤维，纤维物质 | |
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33
relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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34
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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35
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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36
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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37
flecks
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| n.斑点，小点( fleck的名词复数 )；癍 | |
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38
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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39
mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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40
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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41
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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42
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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43
necessitate
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| v.使成为必要，需要 | |
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44
amputation
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| n.截肢 | |
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45
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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46
gouged
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| v.凿( gouge的过去式和过去分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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47
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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49
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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50
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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51
flexing
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| n.挠曲，可挠性v.屈曲( flex的现在分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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52
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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53
demise
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| n.死亡；v.让渡，遗赠，转让 | |
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54
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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55
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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56
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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57
beacon
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| n.烽火，（警告用的）闪火灯，灯塔 | |
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58
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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59
murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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60
gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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61
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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63
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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64
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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65
recede
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| vi.退(去)，渐渐远去；向后倾斜，缩进 | |
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66
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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67
kerosene
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| n.(kerosine)煤油，火油 | |
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68
obsolete
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| adj.已废弃的，过时的 | |
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69
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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70
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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71
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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72
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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73
horrifying
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| a.令人震惊的，使人毛骨悚然的 | |
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74
tack
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| n.大头钉；假缝，粗缝 | |
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75
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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76
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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77
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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78
ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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79
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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80
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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81
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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82
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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83
prick
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| v.刺伤，刺痛，刺孔；n.刺伤，刺痛 | |
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84
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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85
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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86
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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87
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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88
flipped
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| 轻弹( flip的过去式和过去分词 )； 按（开关）； 快速翻转； 急挥 | |
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89
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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90
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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91
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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92
affronted
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| adj.被侮辱的，被冒犯的v.勇敢地面对( affront的过去式和过去分词 )；相遇 | |
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93
queasy
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| adj.易呕的 | |
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94
steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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95
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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96
irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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97
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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98
aggravate
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| vt.加重(剧)，使恶化；激怒，使恼火 | |
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99
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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100
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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101
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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102
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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103
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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104
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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105
seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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106
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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107
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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108
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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109
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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110
frigid
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| adj.寒冷的，凛冽的；冷淡的；拘禁的 | |
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111
parse
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| v.从语法上分析；n.从语法上分析 | |
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112
crookedly
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| adv. 弯曲地，不诚实地 | |
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113
skeptical
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| adj.怀疑的，多疑的 | |
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114
portended
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| v.预示( portend的过去式和过去分词 )；预兆；给…以警告；预告 | |
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115
bruise
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| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
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116
fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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117
reassurances
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| n.消除恐惧或疑虑( reassurance的名词复数 )；恢复信心；使人消除恐惧或疑虑的事物；使人恢复信心的事物 | |
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118
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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