The library was in darkness, and I had to fumble3 for the light switch. I first consulted the index,then dialled the coordinates4 for the first volume of the Solarist Annual and its supplement. Ared light came on. I turned to the register: the two books were marked out to Gibarian, togetherwith The Little Apocrypha6. I switched the lights off and returned to the lower deck.
In spite of having heard the footsteps receding7, I was afraid to re-enter Gibarian's room. Shemight return. I hesitated for some time outside the door; finally, pressing down the handle, Iforced myself to go in.
There was no one in the room. I began rummaging8 through the books scattered9 beneath thewindow, interrupting my search only to close the locker10 door: I could not bear the sight of theempty space among the work-suits.
The supplement was not in the first pile, so, one by one, I started methodically picking up therest of the books around the room. When I reached the final pile, between the bed and thewardrobe, I found the volume I was looking for.
I was hoping to find some sort of clue and, sure enough, a book-marker had been slippedbetween the pages of the index. A name, unfamiliar11 to me, had been underlined in red: AndréBerton. The corresponding page numbers indicated two different chapters; glancing at the first,I learnt that Berton was a reserve pilot on Shannahan's ship. The second reference appearedabout a hundred pages further on.
At first, it seemed, Shannahan's expedition had proceeded with extreme caution. When,however, after sixteen days, the plasmatic12 ocean had not only shown no signs of aggression,but appeared to shun13 any direct contact with men and machines, recoiling14 whenever anythingapproached its surface, Shannahan and his deputy, Timolis, discontinued some of theprecautions which were hindering the progress of their work. The force fences which had beenused to demarcate and protect the working areas were taken back to base, and the expeditionsplit up into groups of two or three men, some groups making reconnaissance flights over aradius of some several hundred miles.
Apart from some unexpected damage to the oxygen-supply systems—the atmosphere had anunusually corrosive16 effect on the valves, which had to be replaced almost daily—four dayspassed without mishap17. On the morning of the fifth day—21 days after the arrival of theexpedition—two scientists, Carucci and Fechner (the first a radiobiologist, the second aphysicist), left on a mission aboard a hovercraft. Six hours later, the explorers were overdue18.
Timolis, who was in charge of the base in Shannahan's absence, raised the alarm and divertedevery available man into search-parties.
By a fatal combination of circumstances, long-range radio contact had been cut that morningan hour after the departure of the exploration groups—a large spot had appeared on the red sun,producing a heavy bombardment of charged particles in the upper atmosphere. Only the ultra-shortwave transmitters continued to function, and contact was restricted to a radius15 of abouttwenty miles. As a crowning stroke of bad luck, a thick fog descended19 just before sunset andthe search had to be called off.
The rescue teams were returning to base when the hovercraft was spotted20 by a flitter, barely 24miles from the command-ship. The engine was running and the machine, at first sightundamaged, was hovering21 above the waves. Carucci alone could be seen, semi-conscious, inthe glass-domed cockpit.
The hovercraft was escorted back to base. After treatment, Carucci quickly regainedconsciousness, but could throw no light on Fechner's disappearance23. Just after they had decidedto return to base a valve in his oxygen-gear had failed and a small amount of unfiltered gas hadpenetrated his atmosphere-suit. In an attempt to repair the valve, Fechner had been forced toundo his safety belt and stand up. That was the last thing Carucci could remember.
According to the experts who reconstructed the sequence of events, Fechner must have openedthe cabin roof because it impeded26 his movements—a perfectly27 legitimate28 thing to do since thecabins of these vehicles were not air-tight, the glass dome22 merely providing some protectionagainst infiltration29 and turbulence30. While Fechner was occupied with his colleague, his ownoxygen supply had probably been damaged and, no longer realizing what he was doing, he hadpulled himself up on to the superstructure, from which he had fallen into the ocean.
Fechner thus became the ocean's first victim. Although the atmosphere-suit was buoyant, theysearched for his body without success. It was, of course, possible that it was still floatingsomewhere on the surface, but the expedition was not equipped for a thorough search of thisimmense, undulating desert, covered with patches of dense31 fog.
By dusk, all but one of the search craft had returned to base; only a big supply helicopterpiloted by André Berton was still missing. Just as they were about to raise the alarm, theaircraft appeared. Berton was obviously suffering from nervous shock; after struggling out ofhis suit, he ran round in circles like a madman. He had to be overpowered, but went onshouting and sobbing32. It was rather surprising behavior to put it mildly, on the part of a manwho had been flying for seventeen years and was well used to the hazards of cosmicnavigation. The doctors assumed that he too was suffering from the effects of unfiltered gases.
Having more or less recovered his senses, Berton nevertheless refused to leave the base, oreven to go near the window overlooking the ocean. Two days later, he asked for permission todictate a flight-report, stressing the importance of what he was about to reveal. This report wasstudied by the expeditionary council, who concluded that it was the morbid33 creation of a mindunder the influence of poisonous gases from the atmosphere. As for the supposed revelations,they were evidently regarded as part of Berton's clinical history rather than that of theexpedition itself, and they were not described.
So much for the supplement. It seemed to me that Berton's report must at any rate provide akey to the mystery. What strange happening could have had such a shattering effect on aveteran space-pilot? I began to search through the books once more, butThe Little Apocrypha was not to be found. I was growing more and more exhausted34 and left theroom, having decided24 to postpone35 the search until the following day.
As I was passing the foot of the stairway, I noticed that the aluminum2 treads were streakedwith light falling from above. Sartorius was still at work. I decided to go up and see him.
It was hotter on the upper deck, but the paper strips still fluttered frenziedly at the air-vents.
The corridor was wide and low-ceilinged. The main laboratory was enclosed by a thick panelof opaque36 glass in a chrome embrasure. A dark curtain screened the door on the inside, and thelight was coming from windows let in above the lintel. I pressed down the handle, but, as Iexpected, the door refused to budge37. The only sound from the laboratory was an intermittentwhine like that of a defective38 gas jet. I knocked. No reply. I called:
"Sartorius! Dr. Sartorius! I'm the new man, Kelvin. I must see you, it's very important. Pleaselet me in!"There was a rustling39 of papers.
"It's me, Kelvin. You must have heard of me. I arrived off the Prometheus a few hours ago."I was shouting, my lips glued to the angle where the door joined the metal frame.
"Dr. Sartorius, I'm alone. Please open the door!"Not a word. Then the same rustling as before, followed by the clink of metal instruments on atray. Then…I could scarcely believe my ears…there came a succession of little short footsteps,like the rapid drumming of a pair of tiny feet, or remarkably40 agile41 fingers tapping out therhythm of steps on the lid of an empty tin box.
I yelled:
"Dr. Sartorius, are you going to open this door, yes or no?"No answer. Nothing but the pattering, and, simultaneously42, the sound of a man walking ontiptoe. But, if the man was moving about, he could not at the same time be tapping out animitation of a child's footsteps.
No longer able to control my growing fury, I burst out:
"Dr. Sartorius, I have not made a sixteen-month journey just to come here and play games! I'llcount up to ten. If you don't let me in, I shall break down the door!"In fact, I was doubtful whether it would be easy to force this particular door, and the dischargeof a gas pistol is not very powerful. Nevertheless, I was determined43 somehow or other to carryout my threat, even if it meant resorting to explosives, which I could probably find in themunition store. I could not draw back now; I could not go on playing an insane game with allthe cards stacked against me.
There was the sound of a struggle—or was it simply objects being thrust aside? The curtainwas pulled back, and an elongated44 shadow was projected on to the glass.
A hoarse45, high-pitched voice spoke46:
"If I open the door, you must give me your word not to come in.""In that case, why open it?""I'll come out.""Very well, I promise."The silhouette47 vanished and the curtain was carefully replaced.
Obscure noises came from inside the laboratory. I heard a scraping—a table being draggedacross the floor? At last, the lock clicked back, and the glass panel opened just enough to allowSartorius to slip through into the corridor.
He stood with his back against the door, very tall and thin, all bones under his white sweater.
He had a black scarf knotted around his neck, and over his arm he was carrying a laboratorysmock, covered with chemical burns. His head, which was unusually narrow, was cocked toone side. I could not see his eyes: he wore curved dark glasses, which covered up half his face.
His lower jaw49 was elongated; he had bluish lips and enormous, blue-tinged ears. He wasunshaven. Red anti-radiation gloves hung by their laces from his wrists.
For a moment we looked at one another with undisguised aversion. His shaggy hair (he hadobviously cut it himself) was the color of lead, his beard grizzled. Like Snow, his forehead wasburnt, but the lower half only; above it was pallid50. He must have worn some kind of cap whenexposed to the sun.
"Well, I'm listening," he said.
I had the impression that he did not care what I had to say to him. Standing51 there, tense, stillpressed against the door panel, his attention was mainly directed to what was going on behindhim.
Disconcerted, I hardly knew how to begin.
"My name is Kelvin," I said, "You must have heard about me. I am, or rather I was, a colleagueof Gibarian's."His thin face, entirely52 composed of vertical53 planes, exactly as I had always imagined DonQuixote's, was quite expressionless. This blank mask did not help me to find the right words.
"I heard that Gibarian was dead…" I broke off.
"Yes. Go on, I'm listening." His voice betrayed his impatience54.
"Did he commit suicide? Who found the body, you or Snow?""Why ask me? Didn't Dr. Snow tell you what happened?""I wanted to hear your own account.""You've studied psychology55, haven't you, Dr. Kelvin?""Yes. What of it?""You think of yourself as a servant of science?""Yes, of course. What has that to do with…""You are not an officer of the law. At this hour of the day, you should be at work, but insteadof doing the job you were sent here for, you not only threaten to force the door of mylaboratory, you question me as though I were a criminal suspect."His forehead was dripping with sweat. I controlled myself with an effort. I was determined toget through to him. I gritted56 my teeth and said:
"You are suspect, Dr. Sartorius. What is more, you're well aware of it!""Kelvin, unless you either retract57 or apologize, I shall lodge58 a complaint against you.""Why should I apologize? You're the one who barricaded59 himself in this laboratory instead ofcoming out to meet me, instead of telling me the truth about what is going on here. Have yougone completely mad? What are you—a scientist, or a miserable60 coward?"I don't know what other insults I hurled61 at him. He did not even flinch62. Globules of sweattrickled down over the enlarged pores of his cheeks. Suddenly I realized that he had not heard aword I was saying. Both hands behind his back, he was holding the door in position with all hisstrength; it was rattling63 as though someone inside were firing bursts from a machine-gun at thepanel.
In a strange, high-pitched voice, he moaned:
"Go away. For God's sake, leave me. Go downstairs, I'll join you later. I'll do whatever youwant, only please go away now."His voice betrayed such exhaustion64 that instinctively65 I put out my arms to help him control thedoor. At this, he uttered a cry of horror, as though I had pointed66 a knife at him. As I retreated,he was shouting in his falsetto voice: "Go away! Go away! I'm coming, I'm coming, I'mcoming! No! No!" He opened the door and shot inside. I thought I saw a shining yellow discflash across his chest.
Now a muffled67 clamor rose from the laboratory; a huge shadow appeared, as the curtain wasbrushed momentarily aside; then it fell back into place and I could see nothing more. What washappening inside that room? I heard running footsteps, as though a mad chase were in progress,followed by a terrifying crash of broken glass and the sound of a child's laugh.
My legs were trembling, and I stared at the door, appalled68. The din5 had subsided69, giving way toan uneasy silence. I sat down on a window ledge70, too stunned71 to move; my head was splitting.
From where I was, I could see only a part of the corridor encircling the laboratory. I was at thesummit of the Station, beneath the actual shell of the superstructure; the walls were concaveand sloping, with oblong windows a few yards apart. The blue day was ending, and, as theshutters grated upwards72, a blinding light shone through the thick glass. Every metal fitting,every latch73 and joint74, blazed, and the great glass panel of the laboratory door glittered with palecoruscations. My hands looked grey in the spectral75 light. I noticed that I was holding the gaspistol; I had not realized that I had taken it out of its holster, and replaced it. What use could Ihave made of it—or even of a gamma pistol, had I had one? I could hardly have taken thelaboratory by force.
I got up. The disc of the sun, reminiscent of a hydrogen explosion, was sinking into the ocean,and as I descended the stairway I was pierced by a jet of horizontal rays which was almosttangible. Halfway76 downstairs I paused to think, then went back up the steps and followed thecorridor round the laboratory. Soon, I came across a second glass door, exactly like the first; Imade no attempt to open it, knowing that it would be locked.
I was looking for an opening or vent25 of some sort. The idea of spying on Sartorius had come tome quite naturally, without the least sense of shame. I was determined to have done withconjecture and discover the truth, even if, as I imagined it would, the truth provedincomprehensible. It struck me that the laboratory must be lit from above by windows let intothe dome. It should be possible, therefore, to spy on Sartorius from the outside. But first Ishould have to equip myself with an atmosphere-suit and oxygen gear.
When I reached the deck below, I found the door of the radio-cabin ajar. Snow, sunk in hisarmchair, was asleep. At the sound of my footsteps, he opened his eyes with a start.
"Hello, Kelvin!" he croaked77. "Well, did you discover anything?""Yes…he's not alone." Snow grinned sourly.
"Oh, really? Well, that's something. Has he got visitors?""I can't understand why you won't tell me what's going on," I retorted impulsively78. "Since Ihave to remain here, I'm bound to find out the truth sooner or later. Why the mystery?""When you've received some visitors yourself, you'll understand."I had the impression that my presence annoyed him and he had no desire to prolong theconversation. I turned to go. "Where are you off to?" I did not answer.
The hangar-deck was just as I had left it. My burnt-out capsule still stood there, gaping79 open,on its platform. On my way to select an atmosphere-suit, I suddenly realized that the skylightsthrough which I hoped to observe Sartorius would probably be made of slabs80 of opaque glass,and I lost interest in my venture on to the outer hull81.
Instead, I descended the spiral stairway which led to the lower-deck store rooms. The crampedpassage at the bottom contained the usual litter of crates82 and cylinders83.
The walls were sheeted in bare metal which had a bluish glint. A little further on, the frostedpipes of the refrigeration plant appeared beneath a vault84 and I followed them to the far end ofthe corridor where they vanished into a cooling-jacket with a wide, plastic collar. The door tothe cold store was two inches thick and lagged with an insulating compound. When I opened it,the icy cold gripped me. I stood, shivering, on the threshold of a cave carved out of an iceberg;the huge coils, like sculptured reliefs, were hung with stalactites. Here, too, buried beneath acovering of snow, there were crates and cylinders, and shelves laden85 with boxes andtransparent bags containing a yellow, oily substance. The vault sloped downwards86 to where acurtain of ice hid the back of the cave. I broke through it. An elongated figure, covered with asheet of canvas, lay stretched out on an aluminum rack.
I lifted a corner of the canvas and recognised the stiff features of Gibarian. His glossy87 blackhair clung tightly to his skull88. The sinews of his throat stood out like bones. His glazed89 eyesstared up at the vault, a tear of opaque ice hanging from the corner of each lid. The cold was sointense that I had to clench90 my teeth to prevent them from chattering91. I touched Gibarian'scheek; it was like touching92 a block of petrified93 wood, bristling94 with black prickly hairs. Thecurve of the lips seemed to express an infinite, disdainful patience.
As I let the canvas fall, I noticed, peeping out from beneath the folds at the foot, five round,shiny objects, like black pearls, ranged in order of size. I stiffened95 with horror.
What I had seen were the round pads of five bare toes. Under the shroud96, flattened97 againstGibarian's body, lay the Negress. Slowly, I pulled back the canvas. Her head, covered in frizzyhair twisted up into little tufts, was resting in the hollow of one massive arm. Her backglistened, the skin stretched taut98 over the spinal99 column. The huge body gave no sign of life. Ilooked again at the soles of her naked feet; they had not been flattened or deformed100 in any wayby the weight which they had had to carry. Walking had not calloused101 the skin, which was asunblemished as that of her shoulders.
With a far greater effort than it had taken to touch Gibarian's corpse102, I forced myself to touchone of the bare feet. Then I made a second bewildering discovery: this body, abandoned in adeep freeze, this apparent corpse, lived and moved. The woman had withdrawn103 her foot, like asleeping dog when you try to take its paw.
"She'll freeze," I thought confusedly, but her flesh had been warm to the touch, and I evenimagined I had felt the regular beating of her pulse. I backed out and fled.
As I emerged from the white cave, the heat seemed suffocating104. I climbed the spiral stairwayback to the hangar-deck.
I sat on the hoops105 of a rolled-up parachute and put my head in my hands. I was stunned. Mythoughts ran wild. What was happening to me? If my reason was giving way, the sooner I lostconsciousness the better. The idea of sudden extinction106 aroused an inexpressible, unrealistichope.
Useless to go and find Snow or Sartorius: no one could fully48 understand what I had justexperienced, what I had seen, what I had touched with my own hands. There was only onepossible explanation, one possible conclusion: madness. Yes, that was it, I had gone mad assoon as I arrived here. Emanations from the ocean had attacked my brain, and hallucinationhad followed hallucination. Rather than exhaust myself trying to solve these illusory riddles107, Iwould do better to ask for medical assistance, to radio the Prometheus or some other vessel108, tosend out an SOS.
Then a curious change came over me: at the thought that I had gone mad, I calmed down.
And yet…I had heard Snow's words quite clearly. If, that is, Snow existed and I had everspoken to him. The hallucinations might have begun much earlier. Perhaps I was still on boardthe Prometheus, perhaps I had been stricken with a sudden mental illness and was nowconfronting the creations of my own inflamed109 brain.
Assuming that I was ill, there was reason to believe that I would get better, which gave mesome hope of deliverance—a hope irreconcilable110 with a belief in the reality of the tanglednightmares through which I had just lived.
If only I could think up some experiment in logic—a key experiment—which would revealwhether I had really gone mad and was a helpless prey111 to the figments of my imagination, orwhether, in spite of their ludicrous improbability, I had been experiencing real events.
As I turned all this over in my mind, I was looking at the monorail which led to the launchingpad. It was a steel girder, painted pale green, a yard above the ground. Here and there, the paintwas chipped, worn by the friction112 of the rocket trolleys113. I touched the steel, feeling it growwarm beneath my fingers, and rapped the metal plating with my knuckles114. Could madnessattain such a degree of reality? Yes, I answered myself. After all, it was my own subject, Iknew what I was talking about.
But was it possible to work out a controlled experiment? At first I told myself that it was not,since my sick brain (if it really was sick) would create the illusions I demanded of it. Evenwhile dreaming, when we are in perfectly good health, we talk to strangers, put questions tothem and hear their replies. Moreover, although our interlocutors are in fact the creations of ourown psychic115 activity, evolved by a pseudo-independent process, until they have spoken to uswe do not know what words will emerge from their lips. And yet these words have beenformulated by a separate part of our own minds; we should therefore be aware of them at thevery moment that we think them up in order to put them into the mouths of imaginary beings.
Consequently, whatever form my proposed test were to take, and whatever method I used toput it into execution, there was always the possibility that I was behaving exactly as in a dream.
Neither Snow nor Sartorius having any real existence, it would be pointless to put questions tothem.
I thought of taking some powerful drug, peyotl for example, or another preparation inducingvivid hallucinations. If visions ensued, this would prove that I had really experienced theserecent events and that they were part and parcel of the surrounding material reality. But then,no, I thought, this would not constitute the proof I needed, since I knew the effects of the drug(which I should have chosen for myself) and my imagination could suggest to me the doubleillusion of having taken the drug and of experiencing its effects.
I was going around in circles; there seemed to be no escape. It was not possible to think exceptwith one's brain, no one could stand outside himself in order to check the functioning of hisinner processes. Suddenly an idea struck me, as simple as it was effective.
I leapt to my feet and ran to the radio-cabin. The room was deserted116. I glanced at the electricclock on the wall. Nearly four o'clock, the fourth hour of the Station's artificial night-time.
Outside, the red sun was shining. I quickly plugged in the long-range transmitter, and while thevalves warmed up, I went over in my mind the principal stages of the experiment.
I could not remember the call-sign for the automatic station on the satellite, but I found it on acard hanging above the main instrument panel, sent it out in Morse, and received the answeringsignal eight seconds later. The satellite, or rather its electronic brain, identified itself by arhythmic pulse.
I instructed the satellite to give me the figures of the galactic meridians117 it was traversing at 22secondintervals while orbiting Solaris, and I specified119 an answer to five decimal points.
Then I sat and waited for the reply. Ten minutes later, it arrived. I tore off the strip of freshlyprinted paper and hid it in a drawer, taking care not to look at it. I went to the bookcase andtook out the big galactic charts, the logarithm tables, a calendar giving the daily path of thesatellite, and various other textbooks. Then I sat down to work out for myself the answer to thequestion I had posed.
For an hour or more, I integrated the equations. It was a long time since I had tackled suchelaborate calculations. My last major effort in this direction must have been my practicalastronomy exam.
I worked at the problem with the help of the Station's giant computer. My reasoning went asfollows: by making my calculations from the galactic charts, I would obtain an approximatecross-check with the results provided by the satellite. Approximate because the path of thesatellite was subject to very complex variations due to the effects of the gravitational forces ofSolaris and its two suns, as well as to the local variations in gravity caused by the ocean. WhenI had the two series of figures, one furnished by the satellite and the other calculatedtheoretically on the basis of the galactic charts, I would make the necessary adjustments andthe two groups would then coincide up to the fourth decimal point, discrepancies120 due to theunforeseeable influence of the ocean arising only at the fifth.
If the figures obtained from the satellite were simply the product of my deranged121 mind, theycould not possibly coincide with the second series. My brain might be unhinged, but it couldnot conceivably compete with the Station's giant computer and secretly perform calculationsrequiring several months' work. Therefore if the figures corresponded, it would follow that theStation's computer really existed, that I had really used it, and that I was not delirious122.
My hands trembled as I took the telegraphic tape out of the drawer and laid it alongside thewide band of paper from the computer. As I had predicted, the two series of numberscorresponded up to the fourth decimal point.
I put all the papers away in the drawer. So the computer existed independently of me; thatmeant that the Station and its inhabitants really existed too.
As I was closing the drawer, I noticed that it was stuffed with sheets of paper covered withhastily scribbled123 sums. A single glance told me that someone had already attempted anexperiment similar to mine and had asked the satellite, not for information about the galacticmeridians, but for the measurements of Solaris's albedo at intervals118 of forty seconds.
I was not mad. The last ray of hope was extinguished. I unplugged the transmitter, drank theremains of the soup in the vacuum flask124, and went to bed.
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replica
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aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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fumble
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| vi.笨拙地用手摸、弄、接等，摸索 | |
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coordinates
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| n.相配之衣物；坐标( coordinate的名词复数 )；（颜色协调的）配套服装；[复数]女套服；同等重要的人（或物）v.使协调，使调和( coordinate的第三人称单数 )；协调；协同；成为同等 | |
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din
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apocrypha
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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rummaging
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scattered
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locker
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unfamiliar
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plasmatic
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shun
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| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
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recoiling
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| v.畏缩( recoil的现在分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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radius
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corrosive
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mishap
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overdue
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descended
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spotted
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hovering
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dome
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disappearance
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decided
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vent
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impeded
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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29
infiltration
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| n.渗透；下渗；渗滤；入渗 | |
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30
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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31
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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32
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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33
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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34
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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35
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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36
opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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37
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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38
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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39
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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40
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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41
agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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42
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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43
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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44
elongated
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| v.延长，加长( elongate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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45
hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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46
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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47
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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48
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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49
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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50
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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51
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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52
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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53
vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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54
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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55
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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56
gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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57
retract
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| vt.缩回，撤回收回，取消 | |
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58
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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59
barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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60
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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61
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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62
flinch
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| v.畏缩，退缩 | |
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63
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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64
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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65
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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66
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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67
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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68
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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69
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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70
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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71
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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72
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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73
latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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74
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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75
spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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76
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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77
croaked
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的过去式和过去分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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78
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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79
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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80
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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81
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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82
crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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83
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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84
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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85
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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86
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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87
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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88
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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89
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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90
clench
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| vt.捏紧（拳头等），咬紧（牙齿等），紧紧握住 | |
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91
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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92
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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93
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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94
bristling
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| a.竖立的 | |
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95
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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96
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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97
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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98
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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99
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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100
deformed
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| adj.畸形的；变形的；丑的，破相了的 | |
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101
calloused
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| adj.粗糙的，粗硬的，起老茧的v.（使）硬结，（使）起茧( callous的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）冷酷无情 | |
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102
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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103
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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104
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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105
hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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106
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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107
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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108
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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109
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
irreconcilable
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| adj.（指人）难和解的，势不两立的 | |
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111
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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112
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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113
trolleys
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| n.（两轮或四轮的）手推车( trolley的名词复数 )；装有脚轮的小台车；电车 | |
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114
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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115
psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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116
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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117
meridians
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| n.子午圈( meridian的名词复数 )；子午线；顶点；（权力，成就等的）全盛时期 | |
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118
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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119
specified
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| adj.特定的 | |
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120
discrepancies
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| n.差异，不符合（之处），不一致（之处）( discrepancy的名词复数 ) | |
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121
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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122
delirious
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| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
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123
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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124
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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