I passed so many sleepless1 nights wondering how I could ever escape him. And yet I
found the true fetters2 were ones of my own creation. Those nights I kept circling the same
ancient questions: Why had the Fairy King chosen me? What had I done to deserve this?
Those questions were powerful magic indeed, for they kept me trapped there, motionless,
my husband slumbering3 beside me. Until I broke the spell my mind had cast, I could not
ever be free.
From Angharad by Emrys Myrddin, 191 AD
Effy woke in darkness, her heart clanging like a bell. Thunder rolled against the stone walls of the
guesthouse, and rainwater made the windows ripple4. All the candles had burned down to puddles5
of wax. When she sat up and spoke6, her breath clouded out in front of her face.
“Preston,” she said. “The storm—we have to go.”
He sat up with a start, as if he’d been prodded7. She watched him blink into the filmy darkness,
searching for his glasses on the bedside table, as lightning turned the windows a pure, stark8 white.
He grasped them at last and put them on.
She could feel the pulse of fear that radiated from him, a skin-prickling heat.
They both dressed in silence. Nothing could be heard over the sounds of the wind and rain, but
Effy was afraid to speak anyway, afraid to voice how dire9 everything felt. When she couldn’t stand
it anymore, and when she had tied back her hair with shaking fingers, she said, “What if it’s too
late? What if we can’t make it down?”
“We can,” Preston said, his voice fierce. “We are not getting trapped here.”
“I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay. We shouldn’t have slept—”
“Effy, stop it.” He reached her, took her hand. “What’s done is done, and I don’t regret—I
would never regret . . . it doesn’t matter. We’re taking this box and we’re driving down to Saltney.
We’ll get some locksmith to break into it, and . . .”
He trailed off as another peal10 of thunder reverberated11 through the little house. Effy glanced
over at the box, chin quivering. It looked so huge and heavy, and the padlock gleamed faintly
under layers of algae12 and rust13.
Something occurred to her then, with a terrible start. “The letters. The photographs and letters.
They’re still up at the house.”
Preston’s face paled. His chest swelled14 and then deflated15 again as he drew one heavy, steeling
breath. “Damn it. All right. That’s fine; I’ll go up and get them. You just wait in my car.”
“Now you’re being stupid.” Lightning flashed. “I’m coming with you.”
At least Preston had learned not to argue with her. They put on their coats and went to the
door.
For some reason, Effy felt a pull of grief as she considered leaving the guesthouse behind. It
had served her well, in her time at Hiraeth. The iron on the door had held; the four walls had not
come down, even as the water trickled16 in. Whether he was real or not, it had kept the Fairy King at
bay.
A last-minute thrill of fear compelled Effy to grab the rest of the hag stones off the desk and
shove them into the pocket of her trousers.
Preston did not even appear to notice. His teeth were clenched17, a muscle feathering in his jaw18.
When she joined him at the door again, he slid his hand into hers.
“I meant what I told you, before,” he said softly. “I want to take care of you. When we get
back to Caer-Isel, the horrible professors and the horrible students . . . I never want you to have to
weather it all alone again.”
Effy’s throat tightened19. “They’re cruel. They’ll be cruel to you, too.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid to care about you, Effy.”
If there had been more time, she would have folded into his arms and let him hold her there
until the storm passed. Instead she only squeezed his hand. Together, they pushed open the door.
At first it seemed impossible to take a single step forward. The wind blew past them with such
fury that Effy had to close her eyes and put up her hand in front of her face, and even then it felt so
brutal20 and sharp that she thought it might chafe21 her skin. The rainwater drenched22 her an instant,
soaking through her coat. Leaves and branches were flying through the air at dizzying speeds.
Preston put his hand up, too, and he had to yell to be heard over the wind. “We have to hurry! I
won’t be able to drive down if it gets any worse.”
Effy wondered how he would be able to drive down now, but it seemed too defeatist a thought
to be worth speaking aloud. Fingers still locked, they charged through the storm, up the path,
which was now covered over with fallen trees and which had turned, mostly, to mud.
It was only Preston’s tight grip on her that kept Effy from falling down. When she had to stop
because the mud was sucking desperately23 at her boots, he hauled her forward again and up the
small incline.
But reaching the edge of the cliff was worse. From there Effy could see the sea, and the sky,
almost indistinguishable in gray-white rage. Together they rose up, and then bore down on the
rock, and at last Effy understood why the Southerners, in the very ancient days before the
Drowning, believed that there were only two gods: the Sky and the Ocean. The land itself was just
something caught and pressed between their warring furies.
She remembered, suddenly, what Rhia had told her: that the Southerners believed the Sleepers24
were the only thing stopping the second Drowning. That Myrddin’s consecration25 was keeping
them safe. Had she and Preston done this, somehow? Had uncovering Myrddin’s lies whittled26
away at the magic of the Sleepers, just as Effy had initially27 feared it would?
Preston yanked her back as a bit of the cliff crumbled29 beneath her, swallowed up in an instant
by the foaming30 mouth of the sea. Effy couldn’t help but stop and watching while something else—
even if it was just nameless, weatherworn stone—was lost to the ages.
Yet in the midst of the chaos31, no dark figure stood in the house’s shadow. Of all times, Effy
thought it was now that he might come, with the seal between reality and something else broken.
As they stumbled up the path, Hiraeth appeared in the distance, a black bulwark32 against the
gray sky. Maybe Ianto was right; maybe her task had not been insurmountable after all. Maybe
there was some old, silent magic protecting it, something not even their discoveries could shatter.
The trees, the mountain ash—despite Ianto’s best efforts—were being torn from their roots.
The rowan berries were stripped off their branches and smashed into pulp33. All the wards34
obliterated35. Yet still the Fairy King did not appear.
Effy was too bewildered to know whether she should feel relief. Shingles36 blew off the gabled
roof like birds taking flight.
Just as they reached the steps, an enormous tree went flying past them, trailing its chains. Effy
staggered back, gasping37, and Preston stammered38 out a curse.
“Saints,” he said over the wind. “I’m starting to think the naturalists39 were right about the
second Drowning.”
Effy didn’t mention the Southern superstitions40, or the Sleepers. Her mouth had gone dry and
her stomach was roiling41 with the same ferocity as the sea.
They clambered up the steps and through the door. Preston heaved it shut behind them, while
Effy leaned back against the wall, trying to catch her breath.
“If this is a second Drowning,” she said, each syllable42 carefully and painfully rendered, “what
are we meant to do?”
Preston wiped the rainwater from his glasses. “Get out of here as quickly as we can.”
There was nothing else to say. They charged upstairs as around them, the house groaned43
deafeningly, water bleeding through every crack in the walls and ceiling.
Some of the paintings along the stairwell had been shaken down; the glass holding the Fairy
King had shattered, and he stared up at her with his colorless eyes from among the broken shards45.
The frame no longer bound him. Effy felt a jolt47 of fear before Preston hurried her along again,
beneath the archway carved with the faces of Saint Eupheme and Saint Marinell. The archway was
crumbling48, their wooden faces rotted. No saints to protect her now.
Your prayers are no use, the shepherd had said. They won’t protect you against him.
The second floor was worse. The walls were drenched with water, wallpaper peeling away in
long tongues of faded green. All the naked glass bulbs had broken, and the floorboards creaked
beneath them with every step.
Perilously49, they made their way toward the study, while half the ground behind them fell
away, ancient wood finally crumpling50 under the weight of so much water.
“It’s all right,” Preston was mumbling51, more to himself, Effy thought, than to her. “It’s all
right, it’s all right . . .” He flung open the door to the study.
Ianto stood in front of Myrddin’s desk. He had a length of chain thrown over his shoulder, and
his musket52 was lying on the desk behind him. He was drenched, shirt sticking to his body, black
hair dripping puddles onto the floor.
Effy froze, stomach lurching with dread53.
Ianto said, very calmly, “Welcome back.”
“Wh—what are you doing here?” Preston stammered out.
“Well,” said Ianto slowly, “just last night, as I was about to crawl peaceably into bed, I got the
most unexpected phone call from an old friend. Blackmar is ancient and half-demented, and at first
I thought I was going to have to silently nod along to the ramblings of a toothless lunatic. But he
actually began to tell me that recently he had hosted some unexpected guests, two students from
the university in Caer-Isel. He said they told him that they had been working on a project centered
around Emrys Myrddin, and had asked him quite a lot of suspicious questions. Specifically about
the publication of Angharad.”
Effy’s legs began to go numb54. Then her arms, then her whole body. She could scarcely feel
Preston’s fingers gripping hers.
“How curious,” Ianto went on, putting one hand under his chin in an exaggerated gesture of
perplexity. “Curious, curious, curious—that’s what I said to Blackmar, when I told him that I was
also playing host to two students from the university in Caer-Isel, one of whom professed55 an
interest in my father’s life and his works. I was utterly56 taken aback by Blackmar’s insistence57 that
these wholesome58 students, whom I had graciously allowed into my home, could have any
nefarious59 intentions. I don’t like to assume the worst of people, you know. But I also don’t like
being taken for a fool. So I decided60 to come over to the study myself and ask—and oddly enough,
I found it empty.”
His eyes. They were crisp and translucent61, no more murk. They were sharp enough to cut and
clear enough to see her reflection.
“I warned you away from him, Effy,” he said.
“Ianto . . . ,” she started, but her voice was trembling too much to go on. At its edges, her
vision was rippling62, fear thickening her belly63.
He shifted, rattling64 the chains that he’d thrown over his shoulder. “Saint Acrasia is your
patroness indeed. I see the mark of his mouth on your throat. Defiling65 yourself, and for an
Argantian, of all people—I expected better from a good Northern girl like you.”
This was the Ianto from the pub, the one who had grasped her hand and held on to it until it
hurt. If there was any trace of the genial66, lighthearted, hopeful Ianto, she could find none of it in
his gaze.
“Please,” she said. Bile was rising in her throat. “Please stop.”
It was as if Ianto didn’t hear her, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “And you, Preston Héloury—
well. I don’t know how you managed to seduce67 Effy into your little scheme, but now I know why
you’re really here. You claimed you had nothing but respect for my father, for the legacy68 of Emrys
Myrddin.” Ianto reached onto the table behind him, and Effy let out a small, strangled noise of
terror, thinking he was reaching for his musket. But instead he picked up a scrap69 of paper.
“‘Execution of the Author: An Inquiry70 into the Authorship of the Major Works of Emrys
Myrddin.’ This is an assault on my father’s legacy.”
“It’s not like that,” Preston tried hoarsely71. But Ianto only shook his head and held up his hand,
rattling the chains again.
“I might have believed your wheedling72 lies, had I not found these.” With a flourish, he
gathered up the photographs of the girl and then dropped them, letting them flutter to the ground.
Effy saw a flash of the girl’s naked calf73, her pale hair. “You’re no better than a sleazy tabloid74
journalist, looking for evidence my father was leading some lascivious75 double life. I don’t know
where you got these, or where you managed to find his diary, but it ends here. This is my father’s
house. This is my house. And you’ve come here to wreck76 it, to ruin it—”
His words were cut off by an enormous crash of thunder, so loud that Effy winced77, and a
fantastic bolt of lightning that cast the entire room in a clear white light.
The house groaned miserably78 around them, and from somewhere far below, there was a further
crashing sound: more rocks crumbling into the sea.
“Ianto,” Effy said, once the thunder ceased and there was only the howling of the wind. She
tried to make her voice low, pliant79. What else was left but to try to reason with him? She had
really thought the truth might save him, but perhaps it had not come soon enough. “Please—this
house isn’t going to survive the storm. We all need to leave, now.”
“Shut up,” Ianto said savagely80. His pale eyes were darting81 back and forth82 between them, manic
and wild. “I called the university in Caer-Isel. It took a bit of convincing, but eventually the dean’s
office pulled their files on both Preston Héloury and Effy—excuse me, Euphemia—Sayre.”
It was the first time she’d heard her full name, her true name, in Ianto’s mouth. There was
another clap of thunder, and something large and black slammed against the window, hard enough
to form an enormous fissure83 in the glass. A tree branch. Rainwater trickled in.
“It appears you were a bit of a problem for the architecture college, Euphemia,” Ianto went on.
“Some funny business with your adviser84—you start to think that’s why the university used to bar
women from attending at all. They’re all temptresses or blushing maidens85, unfit for higher
thinking.”
Effy squeezed her eyes shut. “Stop it.”
“Perhaps I didn’t peg86 you right. Perhaps you’re Amoret, not Acrasia. Perhaps you lay there
limp as your adviser had his way—”
It was Preston who shouted then, over the sound of the wind and the thunder. “Stop it! You
don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, you—”
“They pulled your file, too,” Ianto cut in. “Preston Héloury. What an odd, in-between name.
Your mother is a blue-blooded Llyrian, but your father is some Argantian mountain peasant. Was.
It took a while, searching through all those newspaper records in Argantian, but I found the
obituary87. So unpleasant. I can’t think of a much worse way to go, a mind decaying, bleeding
water.”
Preston’s grip on her hand tightened. Behind his glasses, his gaze grew hard.
At last the window at Ianto’s back shattered entirely88, letting in the rain and wind. The shards
of glass were swept up and Effy’s hair blew around her face, tears stinging her eyes.
“Please,” she said. If the truth could not save Ianto, perhaps burying it would at least save her
and Preston. “You can keep the diary, the photographs, everything. We’ll never write a single
word about your father. Just please—we all have to go or we’ll die here.”
“Oh no,” Ianto said. “This isn’t a place for leaving. Things live and die here, but they don’t
leave.”
Another deafening44 howl of wind, lightning crackling across the sky. “You’re mad,” Preston
said.
And Ianto did look mad, in a way—his eyes glassy and overbright, his wet hair sticking to his
scalp and shoulders, the enormous chain rattling with every movement. But in another way, Effy
could tell that what he said made sense in his own mind. There was a logic89 to it—a sick logic,
perhaps—that someone like Preston would never understand. That only people who believed in
fairy tales and magic and ghosts could see.
People like her and Ianto.
Effy remembered a ghost story her grandfather had told her once, about a prisoner who had
been forgotten about and left to starve in a dungeon90 cell. For all the rest of the lord’s life, he heard
the rattling of chains at night, moving down the halls of his castle. With each passing night, the
sound grew closer, until at last, one morning, the lord was found dead in his sheets, the bloody91
marks of strangulation around his throat like a garish92 ruby93 necklace.
If he stayed here, Ianto would become a ghost, too. Only there would be no house left to haunt.
She had to leave him here, in his madness, or she would be dragged down with him.
“Preston,” Effy said urgently. “Let’s go.”
Hands still joined, they took a cautious step backward. But before they could flee toward the
door, quick as a flash Ianto had his musket in his hands, the black mouth of the barrel staring down
at them. Effy’s throat went dry. She froze in place.
And then, most unexpectedly, Ianto asked, “Do you know the tale of Llyr’s very first king?”
Neither of them managed to speak, but that did not deter94 Ianto. He took another pace toward
them, musket still aimed high. His chains shook like lots being cast.
“Llyr’s very first king was just a tribal95 chieftain who won all his wars,” he said. “He had the
beards of all his enemies to prove it, and he wove them together into a great cloak of hair. He had
tents and huts and even houses, but when his kingdom was at last united, he wanted to build a
castle. He found the best builders among his new subjects, and they began to dig a foundation. But
every night when they went to sleep, they would find that the foundation was flooded with water,
even though they could not remember hearing any rain.
“The king, understandably, was bewildered and vexed96. Angry. But his court wizard, a very old
man who had seen many tribal chieftains live and die, told the king that the land was angry with
him in return. All the trees he had cut down in his quest, all the grass he had burned—why should
the land allow him to build anything, when he had treated it so cruelly? The court wizard told the
king that if he wanted his castle to grow tall and strong, he would have to give something back to
the land. A sacrifice.
“And so the king ordered his men to go find him a child, a fatherless child. He tied the orphan97
boy to a stake within the foundation of his castle, and then went to sleep. When he returned in the
morning, he found that indeed the water had come, and the boy had drowned, but when his
builders went to repair the foundation, the next night it stood strong and dry. The castle was thus
built, and to this day no storm or conqueror98 has been able to tear it down.”
All through Ianto’s speech, the wind had not ceased its wailing99, and rainwater pelted100 his back.
From somewhere down below, Effy had begun to hear creaking, crashing sounds: floorboards
crumbling inexorably against the cliffside and into the sea.
“That’s a myth, a legend,” Preston said, voice edged with desperation. “It isn’t true; it isn’t
real. But death is real, and we’re going to die if we stay.”
Ianto gave a low and bitter laugh. “All this time spent in the Bottom Hundred and you still
don’t understand. What your scientists and academics call myths are as real as anything else. How
else could a land and a people survive Drowning?”
Effy shut her eyes against the stinging wind. When she first came to Hiraeth, she had believed
that, too. Believed in Angharad and rowan berries and mountain ash and girdles of iron. But
stories were devious101 things, things with agendas. They could cheat and steal and lie to your face.
They could crumble28 away under your feet.
“You are mad,” she said, opening her eyes to the barrel of the musket hovering102 ever closer.
“Call me mad if you like,” Ianto said, and as he stepped forward, the chains rattled103, “but all I
see before me are a drowning foundation and two fatherless children.”
The gun was jammed against her back before Effy had even made sense of his words. Preston
was stammering105 out protests as Ianto herded106 them back out into the hallway, around the holes
where the floorboards had at last given way, and down the stairs. Water was dripping down the
ruined faces of Saint Eupheme and Saint Marinell, making it look as though they were weeping.
A torrent107 of water slid down the steps beside them, carrying the shattered painting of the Fairy
King with it. The glass had cracked, but the painting was untarnished behind it, the features of his
face still sharp and clear. It was as if the water couldn’t touch him at all.
Ianto stopped them in front of the door to the basement. He shook the end of the musket as if
he were giving a reproachful wag of his finger. “I noticed that my key was missing, Euphemia,” he
said. “You hardly needed to be so deceitful about it, you know. I would have given it up to you,
for a price.”
His hand grasped at her face then, cupping her chin and turning it up toward him. His eyes
were cloudless, crystal clear. He held her face so tightly that it hurt, and Effy gave a quiet
whimper.
“Don’t touch her,” Preston snarled108.
Ianto let go of her roughly, fingernail scraping down her cheek and drawing blood. “I’ve heard
quite enough from you. Smug and smarmy109 since the first day I let you into my home. I think this
will be a fitting way to go—just like your father. A death by water.”
“No!” Effy cried as Ianto swung the door open. Black water was pouring in from all the cracks
in the wall, inching farther up the steps.
Without letting go of his musket, Ianto shifted the chains from his shoulder. Effy saw now that
there was a stake tied to the end of them. He seized Preston by the arm, swinging him forward
toward the dark water. Preston’s boots scrabbled against the slick stone, hands flying out to catch
himself on the threshold, but Ianto grabbed the front of his shirt and held him so he didn’t fall.
Effy realized only then that he wasn’t going to hurl110 Preston down. Instead, he began wrapping
the chains around Preston’s wrists.
“Stop!” Effy threw herself against Ianto’s back, but she was like a small wave lapping at solid
stone. He shrugged111 her off with a mindless twitch113.
Though Preston struggled against his bindings, Ianto’s grip was tight, and the musket was still
aimed at his chest, barrel gleaming in the half-light.
Ianto jerked Preston by his chains down the steps, where he took the stake and drove it into the
wall, then began hammering it into place with the blunt end of the musket. Time seemed to bend
and slow around Effy, like river water around a rock, and there were no thoughts in her mind,
nothing but the pure and brilliant surge of adrenaline in her veins115.
She splashed down the stairs after them and took hold of Ianto’s wrist, making him fumble116
with the musket and stumble backward, nearly plunging117 into the dark water.
“You stupid girl,” Ianto growled118 as he righted himself. Water was pouring through the walls,
between the cracks in the brickwork, like hundreds of weeping eyes. “You have no idea what
you’re playing at.”
And then, with one huge, sweeping119 arm, he hurled120 her against the wall, so hard that her head
hit the stone with a terrible crack. Effy felt the pain in her teeth and jaw, and then a hot, blooming
agony seeped121 throughout her skull122 and down to her throat.
She managed to reach up with one numb hand and feel the back of her head. Her fingers came
away smeared123 with blood.
Ianto was a large man, but not that large. Not large enough that two people couldn’t wrest124 the
gun from his hands. The strength he had was impossible. Inhuman125.
Preston was shouting, but she couldn’t hear him. She was deaf to everything but the roar of
blood in her ears. Legs trembling beneath her, Effy slumped126 down onto the steps, submerging her
lower body in the sleek127, dark water.
“Please,” she heard Preston say, when her hearing briefly128 returned to her. “I’ll do anything—
just let her live.” His voice was shaking, syllables129 dropped between his sobs130.
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Ianto said. “The foundation only needs one fatherless child. I
have no intention of letting her die.”
Effy tried to pull herself back up, but the pain was obliterating131. Her vision was starry132 and
fading. She heard the sounds of the musket beating against the stake again, grim metallic133 clangs,
and the brief rattle104 of chains.
And then everything but the water was silent.
He took Effy by the arm and dragged her up the steps, as if she were as light as a doll, some
child’s plaything. The water sloshed around them, and upstairs the house was groaning134 and
groaning.
Effy’s last glimpse of Preston was through half-shut eyes. She saw only the rusted135 chains
around his wrists, binding114 him to the wall, and his gaze flashing fearfully behind his glasses.
She tried to cry out his name but couldn’t, and then Ianto slammed the door shut after them.
Ianto dragged her into the dining room. Effy’s vision returned in increments136, enough to see that the
doorway137 had half collapsed138 on their way through, splintered wood sticking out at strange angles
like the branches of a stripped pine tree.
It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t just the blow to her head: the entire room was slanted139,
tipping down toward the sea. The dining table had slid against the far wall, the chairs crammed140 up
alongside it, and against all odds141 the glass chandelier still swung perilously overhead, like the
heavy pendulum142 of a grandfather clock.
She was propped143 up in one of the moldering chairs, gaze still fuzzy. Ianto moved with
graceless determination around the room, hurling144 furniture, flinging open cabinet doors viciously.
As if he were looking for something. The musket still gleamed at his side.
“Please,” Effy managed, around a mouthful of blood. “I’ll do whatever—whatever you want
from me. Just don’t let him die, please don’t let him die . . .”
She couldn’t tell if Ianto heard her at all. He didn’t turn around again for several moments, and
when he did, there was something clutched in his fist. A crumpled145 piece of paper and a pencil. He
thrust them at her, and in her bewilderment, Effy took them.
“Here,” he snarled. “Finish the damn blueprints146.”
Effy just stared at him, mouth hanging open. “This house is going to fall into the sea.”
Ianto laughed, and it was a terrible, rasping sound, like stone scraping against stone. “When
the water fills your lover’s lungs, when he turns pale and swollen147 with it, when his body floats like
the carcass of a dead fish—this house will stand. It must.”
Her heart was throbbing149 in her throat, hatred150 burning a hole in her belly. “Then why should I
draw anything for you, if you’re just going to let him die? I won’t do it. I won’t.”
Fury rolled like dark clouds over Ianto’s face. He jammed the end of the musket under her
chin. “I don’t want to have to kill you, Effy. You do know that, don’t you? I have always wanted
to keep you here. Safe from the world.”
“I don’t know that,” Effy said. Her vision was still black at the corners. “I don’t know what
you mean.”
Ianto gave a laugh that, this time, was remarkably151 soft—almost tender. “You can’t really think
that the most qualified152 person for this project was a first-year architecture student failing half of
her classes. Didn’t you ever question it, why the estate of Emrys Myrddin would hire a mewling
little girl, with nothing to offer the world but a pretty face?”
Effy tried to reply, but her voice failed her. She managed only a small whimper.
“I didn’t need to read your file, Effy.” Ianto’s voice grew softer now, and he lowered the
musket, bringing up his hand to cup her chin instead. “I knew what sort of girl you are. I’ve
always known. A beautiful girl, but a weak one. One that no one would miss. Who would ask after
you, if you vanished from your classes, from your dorm room? You were the perfect choice for
this house. For me. A girl who could so easily slip away.”
Once upon a time, Effy had believed herself to be that girl. She had been terrified of anything
that might hold her where she was, that might chain her where she couldn’t flee. She had
fashioned herself into an escape artist, a magician whose only trick was vanishing. Permanence
was dangerous. It had always felt like a trap.
Only now things were different. Perhaps her classmates would not ask after her, nor her
professors. Perhaps even her mother would be glad to finally be done with her. But if she did slip
away, through one of those tricky153 little holes in the foundation of the world, Effy knew that
Preston would spend the rest of his life searching for her. She could not leave him alone. She
could not let him drown.
And yet—she didn’t know how she could stop it.
Slowly, Effy unfolded the paper in her hand. Her fingers shook as she put the pencil to the
page.
“There,” Ianto said, somehow even softer than before. “That’s a good girl. Build something
beautiful for both of us. I don’t want to wait much longer. I’ve spent twelve mortal years looking
for you, and now, finally, you’ve come home.”
Tears bloomed in the corners of her eyes. That old fear sensation was starting in the tips of her
fingers and toes, the somatic terror that gripped her at night, that had hunted her like a dog all her
life. It was the fear that her body felt before her mind could comprehend it.
“Ianto,” she tried, even as she moved the pencil tremulously against the paper, “please. I
don’t . . .”
“No whimpering now,” he said, clucking his tongue. “You’re a girl, not a child.”
And then there was a sudden, immense groaning sound. A wrenching154 rattle. Behind Ianto, the
chandelier at last loosed from the ceiling and fell to the floor. In one splendid, brilliant moment, it
shattered, bits of glass flying out in all directions. A shard46 of it cut her cheek; another lodged155 itself
in her calf, cutting right through the nylon of her stocking.
Effy gave a quiet utterance156 of pain, but Ianto scarcely seemed to notice at all. The whole floor
was a constellation157 of shattered glass, glittering like hoarfrost. Even as blood tracked down her
cheek, all she could think of was Preston, downstairs, drowning.
“I can’t do it,” she whispered. “Please, Ianto, please. Just let him go.”
“Love is terrible, isn’t it?” Ianto said, over the sound of the churning water below. “That’s why
the one line became so famous. ‘I will love you to ruination.’ I think we all understand what it’s
like to be wrecked158 by it. Even me.”
Ianto leaned close to her, so close that she could smell the salt and rot that wafted159 from him,
the damp-earth scent160 of something not quite human.
His fingers gripped the back of her neck, fisting handfuls of golden hair. He jerked Effy’s face
toward his and pressed their lips together with such violence that it was like seawater striking
stone.
Time slowed around her again. Effy sat silent and still, green vines growing around her wrists
and ankles, trapping her in that chair.
She knew that if she tried hard enough, she could escape this: she could go somewhere into the
deep caverns161 of her mind and hide until it was over, until her body was hers once again.
But Preston was downstairs. Drowning. While Ianto took her lower lip between his teeth and
bit hard enough to make her bleed, Effy reached into the pocket of her trousers and found the hag
stones.
When Ianto broke their kiss for just a moment, Effy crammed the stones into his face, into his
mouth, with as much brutality162 as she could muster163. He staggered backward in shock, choking on
the rocks, garbling164 curses.
“You little whore,” he spat165, hag stones dropping to the floor. “You were meant to have kept
yourself pure for me.”
She had one last hag stone, gripped between her index finger and her thumb, in the hand that
was missing its fourth finger. Trembling, Effy raised it to her eye.
The world around her rippled166, as if it were a reflection on water. And then a shuddering167
metamorphosis took place: Where Ianto’s torn white shirt had been, there was now a vest of black
bramble, and under it just muscle and sinew and pale, pale skin, all wrapped around bone. His hair
had grown longer, sleeker168, reaching the middle of his back. His face had been handsome before,
but too rugged112 somehow, too obviously weatherworn and human. Now it was impossibly,
unreasonably169 beautiful, cheekbones as sharp as blades, eyes so pale they almost looked like they
had no color at all, just the white and a black iris170, like an eclipsed sun.
His fingers ended in claws, and he reached out to Effy with one hand, beckoning171.
The shock of it nearly stopped her breathing. Effy lowered the hag stone, yet there the Fairy
King still stood. He wore a coronet of bone. His hair was dripping with fetid water. She blinked
and blinked and blinked, but nothing could erase172 him from the room.
“I really am mad,” she managed, choking on the words.
“No,” the Fairy King said, and his voice was the sound of shears173 through silk. “You are seeing
truly, the way you always have, Euphemia. You were offered to me on the riverbank, and then
withdrawn174. I don’t like to be forsaken175. I have spent twelve years chasing you, but you hid yourself
from me with your banal176 mortal tricks. No more. I come to claim what is mine by right. Once
offered, a sacrifice cannot be revoked177.”
It could not be real. And yet Effy knew that it was—it must be. There was no escaping this. It
was what her entire life had been lurching toward. She had hidden behind her pink pills, behind
her saints, behind the scolding of the doctor and her mother. She had convinced herself out of it.
And it had almost worked.
But here in the Bottom Hundred, in this ancient, sinking house, there was nowhere left to hide.
“Why?” she cried out, over the sound of the thrashing water below. It was the question that
had plagued her more terribly than anything else. “Why me?”
The Fairy King laughed, a lovely and awful sound. “I am not as cruel a creature as all the
stories say, Euphemia. I do not come for girls just because they are beautiful. You were a pretty
young child, with your golden hair, but there are many pretty children, safe in their beds, who I
cannot touch. I come for the girls who are left out in the cold. They cannot belong anywhere else
but with me.”
Somehow, her missing finger began to throb148, as if she had only just remembered that the loss
of it was painful. A phantom178 pain, eerie179 and old, but a pain nonetheless. Effy gripped the hag
stone, even though she knew it would not save her.
“The world has not been kind to you, Euphemia,” he went on, in his silk-sharp voice. “But I
can be. If you obey, if you give yourself over to me entirely, I will be so kind, it will make you
weep. When you were young, all I could take was your finger. Now I will have the rest.”
“No,” she said, even as her breath came in rough, panicked spurts180. “No. I don’t want to go
with you.”
The Fairy King cocked his head, and for a moment he looked quizzical. Almost human. “And
why not? What is tying you to this insipid181 mortal world? Here you are just another beautiful girl
who has been treated meanly. With me, you could be something so much greater. With me, you
could be a queen.”
Part of her had waited her entire life to hear those words, fearing them and yearning182 for them
in equal measure. Effy let out a tremulous breath, the phantom pain of her missing ring finger still
throbbing.
The belief, the hope and the terror both, had kept her alive. At last Effy understood the magic
of Hiraeth, its curse and its blessing183. Hiraeth Manor184, the grand thing that Ianto had wanted her to
build, would always be an imagined future, a castle in the air. The magic was the impossibility of
it. The unreal could never disappoint you, could never harm you, could never falter185 under your
feet.
But now the real and the unreal had snarled together and it no longer mattered which was
which. Effy was staring down the Fairy King in all his immense power, and she was just a girl
clutching a hollow stone.
“I’ll do it if you save him,” she blurted186 out. “Save Preston, and I’ll go with you. I’ll do
whatever you like.”
The Fairy King looked at her with a treacherous187 fondness. “I don’t make slanted deals with
mortal girls. Mortal girls make their desperate bargains with me. You have walked into my world
already, Euphemia. You took the bait and sauntered right into my trap. I will have you no matter
what, my darling girl. You will not elude188 me again. But it would make me so much happier if you
took my hand and came with a lovely smile on your face.”
It would have been painless. Effy knew that. If it was a kind of death, it would be much
quicker than drowning, easier than falling into the sea along with this ruined house.
In some way, she had always yearned189 for this, to slip through the final crack in the world. But
she had a rope to tether her now, and walls that stood, and a foundation that was strong.
A seed of something began to bloom in Effy’s mind.
“How would you have me?” she asked carefully, trying to make her voice sound low and
sweet. “Would you have me on my knees?”
The idea seemed to surprise the Fairy King, if he were a creature capable of feeling such a
thing. He smiled his beautiful smile.
“Yes,” he said. “It would make me very happy, to see you kneel.”
Very slowly, Effy lowered herself to the ground. The broken glass dug into her knees, but she
swallowed the pain of it. As the Fairy King stalked toward her, she scrabbled through the
wreckage190 until her hands closed on a long, broad shard of glass, about the size of a small dagger191.
“Euphemia,” the Fairy King said, his voice a warning.
“Don’t,” she bit out. “Don’t speak my name.”
And then she held up the shard, the bit of mirrored glass that took in the Fairy King’s form and
reflected it right back at him.
He stared at himself for a long moment, seeing, for the first time, his own lovely face, his black
hair, his bone crown. The moment felt so heavy that Effy nearly let her arm drop from the weight
of it.
Just as she was about to give up, there was a second shuddering metamorphosis: in the mirror,
the Fairy King changed. His beautiful face turned waxy192 and sallow, cheeks hollowed like
porcelain193 bowls. His hair grew silver and brittle194 and then fell out.
His skin sagged195 around his bones, creasing196 with wrinkles, and in the span of seconds he
became a very, very, very old man, pitiful and mortal after all.
The Fairy King opened his wizened197 mouth, but he could not speak a word. He crumbled away
like a sandcastle on the shore, run over by the mindless tide. His eyes shriveled in his skull. Even
his bone crown splintered into tiny pieces.
And then, at long last, he was nothing more than dust.
With difficulty, Effy got to her feet. She staggered over to the ruin of him, her knees aching
and her stockings spotted198 with blood. For a final time, she raised the hag stone to her eye.
But through the hole, all was the same. The Fairy King was still ash on the wind. And Hiraeth
was still crumbling around her. Effy let the stone fall from her hand, but if it made a sound, she
didn’t hear it. There was only her own heartbeat, her own breathing, the gentle but ceaseless
reminder199 that she lived.
Effy let the shard drop, too, some of her blood falling along with it. Then she limped through
the ruined threshold of the dining room, back to the rotted basement door.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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2
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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3
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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8
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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9
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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10
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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11
reverberated
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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12
algae
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| n.水藻，海藻 | |
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13
rust
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| n.锈；v.生锈；(脑子)衰退 | |
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14
swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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15
deflated
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| adj. 灰心丧气的 | |
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16
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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17
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
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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19
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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20
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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21
chafe
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| v.擦伤；冲洗；惹怒 | |
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22
drenched
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| adj.湿透的；充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 )；在某人（某物）上大量使用（某液体） | |
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23
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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24
sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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25
consecration
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| n.供献，奉献，献祭仪式 | |
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26
whittled
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| v.切，削（木头），使逐渐变小( whittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
initially
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| adv.最初，开始 | |
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28
crumble
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| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
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29
crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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30
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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31
chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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32
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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33
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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34
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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35
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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36
shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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37
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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38
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
naturalists
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| n.博物学家( naturalist的名词复数 )；（文学艺术的）自然主义者 | |
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40
superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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41
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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42
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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43
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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44
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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45
shards
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| n.（玻璃、金属或其他硬物的）尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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46
shard
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| n.（陶瓷器、瓦等的）破片，碎片 | |
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47
jolt
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| v.（使）摇动，（使）震动，（使）颠簸 | |
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48
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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49
perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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50
crumpling
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| 压皱，弄皱( crumple的现在分词 )； 变皱 | |
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51
mumbling
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的现在分词 ) | |
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52
musket
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| n.滑膛枪 | |
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53
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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54
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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55
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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56
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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57
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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58
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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59
nefarious
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| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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60
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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61
translucent
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| adj.半透明的；透明的 | |
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62
rippling
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| 起涟漪的，潺潺流水般声音的 | |
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63
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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64
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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65
defiling
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| v.玷污( defile的现在分词 )；污染；弄脏；纵列行进 | |
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66
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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67
seduce
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| vt.勾引，诱奸，诱惑，引诱 | |
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68
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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69
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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70
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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71
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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72
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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73
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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74
tabloid
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| adj.轰动性的，庸俗的；n.小报，文摘 | |
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75
lascivious
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| adj.淫荡的，好色的 | |
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76
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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77
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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79
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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80
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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81
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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82
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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83
fissure
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| n.裂缝；裂伤 | |
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84
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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85
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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86
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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87
obituary
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| n.讣告，死亡公告；adj.死亡的 | |
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88
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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89
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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90
dungeon
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| n.地牢，土牢 | |
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91
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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92
garish
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| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
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93
ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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94
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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95
tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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96
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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97
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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98
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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99
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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100
pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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101
devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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102
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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103
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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104
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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105
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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106
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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107
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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108
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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109
smarmy
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| adj.爱说奉承话的 | |
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110
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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111
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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112
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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113
twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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114
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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115
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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116
fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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117
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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118
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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119
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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120
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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121
seeped
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的过去式和过去分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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122
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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123
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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124
wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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125
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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126
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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127
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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128
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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129
syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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130
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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131
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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132
starry
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| adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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133
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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134
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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135
rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
increments
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| n.增长( increment的名词复数 )；增量；增额；定期的加薪 | |
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137
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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138
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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139
slanted
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| 有偏见的； 倾斜的 | |
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140
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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141
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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142
pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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143
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
hurling
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| n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的现在分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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145
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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146
blueprints
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| n.蓝图，设计图( blueprint的名词复数 ) | |
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147
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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148
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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149
throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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150
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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151
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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152
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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153
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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154
wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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155
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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156
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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157
constellation
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| n.星座n.灿烂的一群 | |
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158
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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159
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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160
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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161
caverns
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| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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162
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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163
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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164
garbling
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| v.对（事实）歪曲，对（文章等）断章取义，窜改( garble的现在分词 ) | |
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165
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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166
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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167
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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168
sleeker
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| 磨光器，异型墁刀 | |
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169
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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170
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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171
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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172
erase
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| v.擦掉；消除某事物的痕迹 | |
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173
shears
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| n.大剪刀 | |
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174
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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175
Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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176
banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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177
revoked
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| adj.[法]取消的v.撤销，取消，废除( revoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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178
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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179
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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180
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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181
insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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182
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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183
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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184
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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185
falter
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| vi.(嗓音)颤抖，结巴地说；犹豫；蹒跚 | |
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186
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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187
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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188
elude
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| v.躲避，困惑 | |
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189
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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190
wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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191
dagger
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| n.匕首，短剑，剑号 | |
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192
waxy
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| adj.苍白的；光滑的 | |
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193
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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194
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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195
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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196
creasing
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的现在分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 挑檐 | |
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197
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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198
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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199
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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