Cassilda’s Song in The King in Yellow. Act 1. Scene 2.
Being the Contents of an Unsigned Letter Sent to the Author
There are so many things which are impossible to explain! Why should certain chords in music make me think of the brown and golden tints3 of autumn foliage4? Why should the Mass of Sainte Cécile send my thoughts wandering among caverns5 whose walls blaze with ragged6 masses of virgin7 silver? What was it in the roar and turmoil8 of Broadway at six o’clock that flashed before my eyes the picture of a still Breton forest where sunlight filtered through spring foliage and Silvia bent9, half curiously10, half tenderly, over a small green lizard11, murmuring: “To think that this also is a little ward12 of God!”
When I first saw the watchman his back was toward me. I looked at him indifferently until he went into the church. I paid no more attention to him than I had to any other man who lounged through Washington Square that morning, and when I shut my window and turned back into my studio I had forgotten him. Late in the afternoon, the day being warm, I raised the window again and leaned out to get a sniff13 of air. A man was standing14 in the courtyard of the church, and I noticed him again with as little interest as I had that morning. I looked across the square to where the fountain was playing and then, with my mind filled with vague impressions of trees, asphalt drives, and the moving groups of nursemaids and holidaymakers, I started to walk back to my easel. As I turned, my listless glance included the man below in the churchyard. His face was toward me now, and with a perfectly15 involuntary movement I bent to see it. At the same moment he raised his head and looked at me. Instantly I thought of a coffin16-worm. Whatever it was about the man that repelled17 me I did not know, but the impression of a plump white grave-worm was so intense and nauseating18 that I must have shown it in my expression, for he turned his puffy face away with a movement which made me think of a disturbed grub in a chestnut19.
I went back to my easel and motioned the model to resume her pose. After working awhile I was satisfied that I was spoiling what I had done as rapidly as possible, and I took up a palette knife and scraped the color out again. The flesh tones were sallow and unhealthy, and I did not understand how I could have painted such sickly color into a study which before that had glowed with healthy tones.
I looked at Tessie. She had not changed, and the clear flush of health dyed her neck and cheeks as I frowned.
“Is it something I’ve done?” she said.
“No — I’ve made a mess of this arm, and for the life of me I can’t see how I came to paint such mud as that into the canvas,” I replied.
“Don’t I pose well?” she insisted.
“Of course, perfectly.”
“Then it’s not my fault?”
“No. It’s my own.”
“I’m very sorry,” she said.
I told her she could rest while I applied21 rag and turpentine to the plague spot on my canvas, and she went off to smoke a cigarette and look over the illustrations in the Courier Fran?ais.
I did not know whether it was something in the turpentine or a defect in the canvas, but the more I scrubbed the more that gangrene seemed to spread. I worked like a beaver22 to get it out, and yet the disease appeared to creep from limb to limb of the study before me. Alarmed I strove to arrest it, but now the color on the breast changed and the whole figure seemed to absorb the infection as a sponge soaks up water. Vigorously I plied20 palette knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinking all the time what a séance I should hold with Duval who had sold me the canvas; but soon I noticed that it was not the canvas which was defective23 nor yet the colors of Edward. “It must be the turpentine,” I thought angrily, “or else my eyes have become so blurred24 and confused by the afternoon light that I can’t see straight.” I called Tessie, the model. She came and leaned over my chair blowing rings of smoke into the air.
“What have you been doing to it?” she exclaimed.
“Nothing,” I growled25, “it must be this turpentine!”
“What a horrible color it is now,” she continued. “Do you think my flesh resembles green cheese?”
“No, I don’t,” I said angrily, “did you ever know me to paint like that before?”
“No, indeed!”
“Well, then!”
“It must be the turpentine, or something,” she admitted. She slipped on a Japanese robe and walked to the window. I scraped and rubbed until I was tired and finally picked up my brushes and hurled27 them through the canvas with a forcible expression, the tone alone of which reached Tessie’s ears.
Nevertheless she promptly29 began: “That’s it! Swear and act silly and ruin your brushes! You have been three weeks on that study, and now look! What’s the good of ripping the canvas? What creatures artists are!”
I felt about as much ashamed as I usually did after such an outbreak, and I turned the ruined canvas to the wall. Tessie helped me clean my brushes, and then danced away to dress. From the screen she regaled me with bits of advice concerning whole or partial loss of temper, until, thinking, perhaps, I had been tormented30 sufficiently31, she came out to implore32 me to button her waist where she could not reach it on the shoulder.
“Everything went wrong from the time you came back from the window and talked about that horrid33-looking man you saw in the churchyard,” she announced.
“Yes, he probably bewitched the picture,” I said, yawning. I looked at my watch.
“It’s after six, I know,” said Tessie, adjusting her hat before the mirror.
“Yes,” I replied, “I didn’t mean to keep you so long.” I leaned out of the window but recoiled34 with disgust, for the young man with the pasty face stood below in the churchyard. Tessie saw my gesture of disapproval35 and leaned from the window.
“Is that the man you don’t like?” she whispered.
I nodded.
“I can’t see his face, but he does look fat and soft. Someway or other,” she continued, turning to look at me, “he reminds me of a dream — an awful dream I once had. Or,” she mused36, looking down at her shapely shoes, “was it a dream after all?”
“How should I know?” I smiled.
Tessie smiled in reply.
“You were in it,” she said, “so perhaps you might know something about it.”
“Tessie! Tessie!” I protested, “don’t you dare flatter by saying you dream about me!”
“But I did,” she insisted; “shall I tell you about it?”
“Go ahead,” I replied, lighting37 a cigarette.
Tessie leaned back on the open window-sill and began very seriously.
“One night last winter I was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all in particular. I had been posing for you and I was tired out, yet it seemed impossible for me to sleep. I heard the bells in the city ring ten, eleven, and midnight. I must have fallen asleep about midnight because I don’t remember hearing the bells after that. It seemed to me that I had scarcely closed my eyes when I dreamed that something impelled38 me to go to the window. I rose, and raising the sash, leaned out. Twenty-fifth Street was deserted39 as far as I could see. I began to be afraid; everything outside seemed so — so black and uncomfortable. Then the sound of wheels in the distance came to my ears, and it seemed to me as though that was what I must wait for. Very slowly the wheels approached, and, finally, I could make out a vehicle moving along the street. It came nearer and nearer, and when it passed beneath my window I saw it was a hearse. Then, as I trembled with fear, the driver turned and looked straight at me. When I awoke I was standing by the open window shivering with cold, but the black-plumed hearse and the driver were gone. I dreamed this dream again in March last, and again awoke beside the open window. Last night the dream came again. You remember how it was raining; when I awoke, standing at the open window, my nightdress was soaked.”
“But where did I come into the dream?” I asked.
“You — you were in the coffin; but you were not dead.”
“In the coffin?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know? Could you see me?”
“No; I only knew you were there.”
“Had you been eating Welsh rarebits, or lobster40 salad?” I began laughing, but the girl interrupted me with a frightened cry.
“Hello! What’s up?” I said, as she shrank into the embrasure by the window.
“The — the man below in the churchyard; — he drove the hearse.”
“Nonsense,” I said, but Tessie’s eyes were wide with terror. I went to the window and looked out. The man was gone. “Come, Tessie,” I urged, “don’t be foolish. You have posed too long; you are nervous.”
“Do you think I could forget that face?” she murmured. “Three times I saw the hearse pass below my window, and every time the driver turned and looked up at me. Oh, his face was so white and — and soft? It looked dead — it looked as if it had been dead a long time.”
I induced the girl to sit down and swallow a glass of Marsala. Then I sat down beside her, and tried to give her some advice.
“Look here, Tessie,” I said, “you go to the country for a week or two, and you’ll have no more dreams about hearses. You pose all day, and when night comes your nerves are upset. You can’t keep this up. Then again, instead of going to bed when your day’s work is done, you run off to picnics at Sulzer’s Park, or go to the Eldorado or Coney Island, and when you come down here next morning you are fagged out. There was no real hearse. That was a soft-shell-crab dream.”
She smiled faintly.
“What about the man in the churchyard?”
“Oh, he’s only an ordinary unhealthy, everyday creature.”
“As true as my name is Tessie Reardon, I swear to you, Mr. Scott, that the face of the man below in the churchyard is the face of the man who drove the hearse!”
“What of it?” I said. “It’s an honest trade.”
“Then you think I did see the hearse?”
“Oh,” I said, diplomatically, “if you really did, it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. There is nothing in that.”
Tessie rose, unrolled her scented41 handkerchief, and taking a bit of gum from a knot in the hem28, placed it in her mouth. Then drawing on her gloves she offered me her hand, with a frank, “Good-night, Mr. Scott,” and walked out.
II The next morning, Thomas, the bellboy, brought me the Herald42 and a bit of news. The church next door had been sold. I thanked Heaven for it, not that being a Catholic I had any repugnance43 for the congregation next door, but because my nerves were shattered by a blatant44 exhorter45, whose every word echoed through the aisle46 of the church as if it had been my own rooms, and who insisted on his r’s with a nasal persistence47 which revolted my every instinct. Then, too, there was a fiend in human shape, an organist, who reeled off some of the grand old hymns48 with an interpretation49 of his own, and I longed for the blood of a creature who could play the doxology with an amendment50 of minor51 chords which one hears only in a quartet of very young undergraduates. I believe the minister was a good man, but when he bellowed52: “And the Lorrrrd said unto Moses, the Lorrrd is a man of war; the Lorrrd is his name. My wrath53 shall wax hot and I will kill you with the sworrrd!” I wondered how many centuries of purgatory54 it would take to atone55 for such a sin.
“Who bought the property?” I asked Thomas.
“Nobody that I knows, sir. They do say the gent wot owns this ’ere ‘Amilton flats was lookin’ at it. ‘E might be a bildin’ more studios.”
I walked to the window. The young man with the unhealthy face stood by the churchyard gate, and at the mere56 sight of him the same overwhelming repugnance took possession of me.
“By the way, Thomas,” I said, “who is that fellow down there?”
Thomas sniffed57. “That there worm, sir? ‘E’s night-watchman of the church, sir. ‘E maikes me tired a-sittin’ out all night on them steps and lookin’ at you insultin’ like. I’d a punched ‘is ‘ed, sir — beg pardon, sir —”
“Go on, Thomas.”
“One night a comin’ ‘ome with ‘Arry, the other English boy, I sees ’im a sittin’ there on them steps. We ‘ad Molly and Jen with us, sir, the two girls on the tray service, an’ ‘e looks so insultin’ at us that I up and sez: ‘Wat you looking hat, you fat slug?’— beg pardon, sir, but that’s ‘ow I sez, sir. Then ‘e don’t say nothin’ and I sez; ‘Come out and I’ll punch that puddin’ ‘ed.’ Then I hopens the gate an’ goes in, but ‘e don’t say nothin’, only looks insultin’ like. Then I ‘its ’im one, but, ugh! ‘is ‘ed was that cold and mushy it ud sicken you to touch ’im.”
“What did he do then?” I asked, curiously.
“‘Im? Nawthin’.”
“And you, Thomas?”
The young fellow flushed with embarrassment58 and smiled uneasily.
“Mr. Scott, sir, I ain’t no coward an’ I can’t make it out at all why I run. I was in the 5th Lawncers, sir, bugler59 at Tel-el-Kebir, an’ was shot by the wells.”
“You don’t mean to say you ran away?”
“Yes, sir; I run.”
“Why?”
“That’s just what I want to know, sir. I grabbed Molly an’ run, an’ the rest was as frightened as I.”
“But what were they frightened at?”
Thomas refused to answer for a while, but now my curiosity was aroused about the repulsive60 young man below and I pressed him. Three years’ sojourn61 in America had not only modified Thomas’ cockney dialect but had given him the American’s fear of ridicule62.
“You won’t believe me, Mr. Scott, sir?”
“Yes, I will.”
“You will lawf at me, sir?”
“Nonsense!”
He hesitated. “Well, sir, it’s God’s truth that when I ‘it ’im ‘e grabbed me wrists, sir, and when I twisted ‘is soft, mushy fist one of ‘is fingers come off in me ‘and.”
The utter loathing63 and horror of Thomas’ face must have been reflected in my own for he added: “It’s orful, an’ now when I see ’im I just go away. ‘E maikes me hill.”
When Thomas had gone I went to the window. The man stood beside the church-railing with both hands on the gate, but I hastily retreated to my easel again, sickened and horrified64, for I saw that the middle finger of his right hand was missing.
At nine o’clock Tessie appeared and vanished behind the screen with a merry “Good-morning, Mr. Scott.” While she had reappeared and taken her pose upon the model-stand I started a new canvas much to her delight. She remained silent as long as I was on the drawing, but as soon as the scrape of the charcoal65 ceased and I took up my fixative she began to chatter66.
“Oh, I had such a lovely time last night. We went to Tony Pastor’s.”
“Who are ‘we’?” I demanded.
“Oh, Maggie, you know, Mr. Whyte’s model, and Pinkie McCormick — we call her Pinkie because she’s got that beautiful red hair you artists like so much — and Lizzie Burke.”
I sent a shower of spray from the fixative over the canvas and said: “Well, go on.”
“We saw Kelly and Baby Barnes the skirt-dancer and — and all the rest. I made a mash67.”
“Then you have gone back on me, Tessie?”
She laughed and shook her head.
“He’s Lizzie Burke’s brother, Ed. He’s a perfect gen’l’man.”
I felt constrained68 to give her some parental69 advice concerning mashing70, which she took with a bright smile.
“Oh, I can take care of a strange mash,” she said, examining her chewing gum, “but Ed is different. Lizzie is my best friend.”
Then she related how Ed had come back from the stocking mill in Lowell, Massachusetts, to find her and Lizzie grown up, and what an accomplished71 young man he was, and how he thought nothing of squandering72 half a dollar for ice-cream and oysters73 to celebrate his entry as clerk into the woolen74 department of Macy’s. Before she finished I began to paint, and she resumed the pose, smiling and chattering75 like a sparrow. By noon I had the study fairly well rubbed in and Tessie came to look at it.
“That’s better,” she said.
I thought so too, and ate my lunch with a satisfied feeling that all was going well. Tessie spread her lunch on a drawing table opposite me and we drank our claret from the same bottle and lighted our cigarettes from the same match. I was very much attached to Tessie. I had watched her shoot up into a slender but exquisitely76 formed woman from a frail77, awkward child.
She had posed for me during the last three years, and among all my models she was my favorite.
It would have troubled me very much indeed had she become “tough” or “fly,” as the phrase goes, but I never noticed any deterioration78 of her manner, and felt at heart that she was all right.
She and I never discussed morals at all, and I had no intention of doing so, partly because I had none myself, and partly because I knew she would do what she liked in spite of me. Still I did hope she would steer79 clear of complications, because I wished her well, and then also I had a selfish desire to retain the best model I had. I knew that mashing, as she termed it, had no significance with girls like Tessie, and that such things in America did not resemble in the least the same things in Paris. Yet, having lived with my eyes open, I also knew that somebody would take Tessie away some day, in one manner or another, and though I professed80 to myself that marriage was nonsense, I sincerely hoped that, in this case, there would be a priest at the end of the vista81. I am a Catholic. When I listen to high mass, when I sign myself, I feel that everything, including myself, is more cheerful, and when I confess, it does me good. A man who lives as much alone as I do, must confess to somebody. Then, again, Sylvia was Catholic, and it was reason enough for me. But I was speaking of Tessie, which is very different. Tessie also was Catholic and much more devout82 than I, so, taking it all in all, I had little fear for my pretty model until she should fall in love. But then I knew that fate alone would decide her future for her, and I prayed inwardly that fate would keep her away from men like me and throw into her path nothing but Ed Burkes and Jimmy McCormicks, bless her sweet face!
Tessie sat blowing rings of smoke up to the ceiling and tinkling83 the ice in her tumbler.
“Do you know, Kid, that I also had a dream last night?” I observed. I sometimes called her “the Kid.”
“Not about that man,” she laughed.
“Exactly. A dream similar to yours, only much worse.”
It was foolish and thoughtless of me to say this, but you know how little tact84 the average painter has.
“I must have fallen asleep about 10 o’clock,” I continued, “and after awhile I dreamt that I awoke. So plainly did I hear the midnight bells, the wind in the tree-branches, and the whistle of steamers from the bay, that even now I can scarcely believe I was not awake. I seemed to be lying in a box which had a glass cover. Dimly I saw the street lamps as I passed, for I must tell you, Tessie, the box in which I reclined appeared to lie in a cushioned wagon85 which jolted86 me over a stony87 pavement. After a while I became impatient and tried to move but the box was too narrow. My hands were crossed on my breast so I could not raise them to help myself. I listened and then tried to call. My voice was gone. I could hear the trample88 of the horses attached to the wagon and even the breathing of the driver. Then another sound broke upon my ears like the raising of a window sash. I managed to turn my head a little, and found I could look, not only through the glass cover of my box, but also through the glass panes26 in the side of the covered vehicle. I saw houses, empty and silent, with neither light nor life about any of them excepting one. In that house a window was open on the first floor and a figure all in white stood looking down into the street. It was you.”
Tessie had turned her face away from me and leaned on the table with her elbow.
“I could see your face,” I resumed, “and it seemed to me to be very sorrowful. Then we passed on and turned into a narrow black lane. Presently the horses stopped. I waited and waited, closing my eyes with fear and impatience89, but all was silent as the grave. After what seemed to me hours, I began to feel uncomfortable. A sense that somebody was close to me made me unclose my eyes. Then I saw the white face of the hearse-driver looking at me through the coffin-lid —”
A sob90 from Tessie interrupted me. She was trembling like a leaf. I saw I had made an ass2 of myself and attempted to repair the damage.
“Why, Tess,” I said, “I only told you this to show you what influence your story might have on another person’s dreams. You don’t suppose I really lay in a coffin, do you? What are you trembling for? Don’t you see that your dream and my unreasonable92 dislike for that inoffensive watchman of the church simply set my brain working as soon as I fell asleep?” She laid her head between her arms and sobbed93 as if her heart would break. What a precious triple donkey I had made of myself! But I was about to break my record. I went over and put my arm about her.
“Tessie dear, forgive me,” I said; “I had no business to frighten you with such nonsense. You are too sensible a girl, too good a Catholic to believe in dreams.”
Her hand tightened94 on mine and her head fell back upon my shoulder, but she still trembled and I petted her and comforted her.
“Come, Tess, open your eyes and smile.”
Her eyes opened with a slow languid movement and met mine, but their expression was so queer that I hastened to reassure95 her again.
“It’s all humbug96, Tessie, you surely are not afraid that any harm will come to you because of that.”
“No,” she said, but her scarlet97 lips quivered.
“Then what’s the matter? Are you afraid?”
“Yes. Not for myself.”
“For me, then?” I demanded gayly.
“For you,” she murmured in a voice almost inaudible, “I— I care — for you.”
At first I started to laugh, but when I understood her, a shock passed through me and I sat like one turned to stone. This was the crowning bit of idiocy98 I had committed. During the moment which elapsed between her reply and my answer I thought of a thousand responses to that innocent confession99. I could pass it by with a laugh, I could misunderstand her and reassure her as to my health, I could simply point out that it was impossible she could love me. But my reply was quicker than my thoughts, and I might think and think now when it was too late, for I had kissed her on the mouth.
That evening I took my usual walk in Washington Park, pondering over the occurrences of the day. I was thoroughly100 committed. There was no backing out now, and I stared the future straight in the face. I was not good, not even scrupulous101, but I had no idea of deceiving either myself or Tessie. The one passion of my life lay buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany. Was it buried forever? Hope cried “No!” For three years I had been listening to the voice of Hope, and for three years I had waited for a footstep on my threshold. Had Sylvia forgotten? “No!” cried Hope.
I said that I was not good. That is true, but still I was not exactly a comic opera villain102. I had led an easy-going reckless life, taking what invited me of pleasure, deploring103 and sometimes bitterly regretting consequences. In one thing alone, except my painting, was I serious, and that was something which lay hidden if not lost in the Breton forests.
It was too late now for me to regret what had occurred during the day. Whatever it had been, pity, a sudden tenderness for sorrow, or the more brutal104 instinct of gratified vanity, it was all the same now, and unless I wished to bruise105 an innocent heart my path lay marked before me. The fire and strength, the depth of passion of a love which I had never even suspected, with all my imagined experience in the world, left me no alternative but to respond or send her away.
Whether because I am so cowardly about giving pain to others, or whether it was that I have little of the gloomy Puritan in me, I do not know, but I shrank from disclaiming106 responsibility for that thoughtless kiss, and in fact had no time to do so before the gates of her heart opened and the flood poured forth107. Others who habitually108 do their duty and find a sullen109 satisfaction in making themselves and everybody else unhappy, might have withstood it. I did not. I dared not. After the storm had abated110 I did tell her that she might better have loved Ed Burke and worn a plain gold ring, but she would not hear of it, and I thought perhaps that as long as she had decided111 to love somebody she could not marry, it had better be me. I, at least, could treat her with an intelligent affection, and whenever she became tired of her infatuation she could go none the worse for it.
For I was decided on that point although I knew how hard it would be. I remembered the usual termination of Platonic112 liaisons113 and thought how disgusted I had been whenever I heard of one. I knew I was undertaking114 a great deal for so unscrupulous a man as I was, and I dreaded115 the future, but never for one moment did I doubt that she was safe with me. Had it been anybody but Tessie I should not have bothered my head about scruples116. For it did not occur to me to sacrifice Tessie as I would have sacrificed a woman of the world. I looked the future squarely in the face and saw the several probable endings to the affair. She would either tire of the whole thing, or become so unhappy that I should have either to marry her or go away. If I married her we would be unhappy. I with a wife unsuited to me, and she with a husband unsuitable for any woman. For my past life could scarcely entitle me to marry. If I went away she might either fall ill, recover, and marry some Eddie Burke, or she might recklessly or deliberately117 go and do something foolish. On the other hand if she tired of me, then her whole life would be before her with beautiful vistas118 of Eddie Burkes and marriage rings and twins and Harlem flats and Heaven knows what. As I strolled along through the trees by the Washington Arch, I decided that she should find a substantial friend in me anyway and the future could take care of itself. Then I went into the house and put on my evening dress for the little faintly perfumed note on my dresser said, “Have a cab at the stage door at eleven,” and the note was signed “Edith Carmichael, Metropolitan119 Theater, June 19th, 189 —.”
I took supper that night, or rather we took supper, Miss Carmichel and I, at Solari’s and the dawn was just beginning to gild120 the cross on the Memorial Church as I entered Washington Square after leaving Edith at the Brunswick. There was not a soul in the park as I passed among the trees and took the walk which leads from the Garibaldi statue to the Hamilton Apartment House, but as I passed the churchyard I saw a figure sitting on the stone steps. In spite of myself a chill crept over me at the sight of the white puffy face, and I hastened to pass. Then he said something which might have been addressed to me or might merely have been a mutter to himself, but a sudden furious anger flamed up within me that such a creature should address me.
For an instant I felt like wheeling about and smashing my stick over his head, but I walked on, and entering the Hamilton went to my apartment. For some time I tossed about the bed trying to get the sound of his voice out of my ears, but could not. It filled my head, that muttering sound, like thick oily smoke from a fat-rendering vat121 or an odor of noisome122 decay. And as I lay and tossed about, the voice in my ears seemed more distinct, and I began to understand the words he had muttered. They came to me slowly as if I had forgotten them, and at last I could make some sense out of the sounds. It was this:
“Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
“Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
“Have you found the Yellow Sign?”
I was furious. What did he mean by that? Then with a curse upon him and his I rolled over and went to sleep, but when I awoke later I looked pale and haggard, for I had dreamed the dream of the night before and it troubled me more than I cared to think.
I dressed and went down into my studio. Tessie sat by the window, but as I came in she rose and put both arms around my neck for an innocent kiss. She looked so sweet and dainty that I kissed her again and then sat down before the easel.
“Hello! Where’s the study I began yesterday?” I asked.
Tessie looked conscious, but did not answer. I began to hunt among the piles of canvases, saying, “Hurry up, Tess, and get ready; we must take advantage of the morning light.”
When at last I gave up the search among the other canvases and turned to look around the room for the missing study I noticed Tessie standing by the screen with her clothes still on.
“What’s the matter,” I asked, “don’t you feel well?”
“Yes.”
“Then hurry.”
“Do you want me to pose as — as I have always posed?”
Then I understood. Here was a new complication. I had lost, of course, the best nude123 model I had ever seen. I looked at Tessie. Her face was scarlet. Alas124! Alas! We had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and Eden and native innocence125 were dreams of the past — I mean — for her.
I suppose she noticed the disappointment on my face, for she said: “I will pose if you wish. The study is behind the screen here where I put it.”
“No,” I said, “we will begin something new;” and I went into my wardrobe and picked out a Moorish126 costume which fairly blazed with tinsel. It was a genuine costume, and Tessie retired127 to the screen with it enchanted128. When she came forth again I was astonished. Her long black hair was bound above her forehead with a circlet of turquoises129, and the ends curled about her glittering girdle. Her feet were encased in the embroidered130 pointed131 slippers132 and the skirt of her costume, curiously wrought133 with arabesques134 in silver, fell to her ankles. The deep metallic135 blue vest embroidered with silver and the short Mauresque jacket spangled and sewn with turquoises became her wonderfully. She came up to me and held up her face smiling. I slipped my hand into my pocket and drawing out a gold chain with a cross attached, dropped it over her head.
“It’s yours, Tessie.”
“Mine?” she faltered136.
“Yours. Now go and pose.” Then with a radiant smile she ran behind the screen and presently reappeared with a little box on which was written my name.
“I had intended to give it to you when I went home tonight,” she said, “but I can’t wait now.”
I opened the box. On the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol or letter in gold. It was neither Arabic nor Chinese, nor as I found afterwards did it belong to any human script.
“It’s all I had to give you for a keepsake,” she said, timidly.
I was annoyed, but I told her how much I should prize it, and promised to wear it always. She fastened it on my coat beneath the lapel.
“How foolish, Tess, to go and buy me such a beautiful thing as this,” I said.
“I did not buy it,” she laughed.
“Where did you get it?”
Then she told me how she had found it one day while coming from the Aquarium137 in the Battery, how she had advertised it and watched the papers, but at last gave up all hopes of finding the owner.
“That was last winter,” she said, “the very day I had the first horrid dream about the hearse.”
I remembered my dream of the previous night but said nothing, and presently my charcoal was flying over a new canvas, and Tessie stood motionless on the model-stand.
III The day following was a disastrous138 one for me. While moving a framed canvas from one easel to another my foot slipped on the polished floor and I fell heavily on both wrists. They were so badly sprained139 that it was useless to attempt to hold a brush, and I was obliged to wander about the studio, glaring at unfinished drawings and sketches140 until despair seized me and I sat down to smoke and twiddle my thumbs with rage. The rain blew against the windows and rattled141 on the roof of the church, driving me into a nervous fit with its interminable patter. Tessie sat sewing by the window, and every now and then raised her head and looked at me with such innocent compassion142 that I began to feel ashamed of my irritation143 and looked about for something to occupy me. I had read all the papers and all the books in the library, but for the sake of something to do I went to the bookcases and shoved them open with my elbow. I knew every volume by its color and examined them all, passing slowly around the library and whistling to keep up my spirits. I was turning to go into the dining-room when my eye fell upon a book bound in yellow, standing in a corner of the top shelf of the last bookcase. I did not remember it and from the floor could not decipher the pale lettering on the back, so I went to the smoking-room and called Tessie. She came in from the studio and climbed up to reach the book.
“What is it?” I asked.
“The King in Yellow.”
I was dumbfounded. Who had placed it there? How came it in my rooms? I had long ago decided that I should never open that book, and nothing on earth could have persuaded me to buy it. Fearful lest curiosity might tempt91 me to open it, I had never even looked at it in book-stores. If I ever had had any curiosity to read it, the awful tragedy of young Castaigne, whom I knew, prevented me from exploring its wicked pages. I had always refused to listen to any description of it, and indeed, nobody ever ventured to discuss the second part aloud, so I had absolutely no knowledge of what those leaves might reveal. I stared at the poisonous yellow binding144 as I would at a snake.
“Don’t touch it, Tessie,” I said, “come down.”
Of course my admonition was enough to arouse her curiosity, and before I could prevent it she took the book and, laughing, danced away into the studio with it. I called to her but she slipped away with a tormenting145 smile at my helpless hands, and I followed her with some impatience.
“Tessie!” I cried, entering the library, “listen, I am serious. Put that book away. I do not wish you to open it!” The library was empty. I went into both drawing-rooms, then into the bedrooms, laundry, kitchen, and finally returned to the library and began a systematic146 search. She had hidden herself so well that it was half an hour later when I discovered her crouching147 white and silent by the latticed window in the store-room above. At the first glance I saw she had been punished for her foolishness. The King in Yellow lay at her feet, but the book was open at the second part. I looked at Tessie and saw it was too late. She had opened The King in Yellow. Then I took her by the hand and led her into the studio. She seemed dazed, and when I told her to lie down on the sofa she obeyed me without a word. After a while she closed her eyes and her breathing became regular and deep, but I could not determine whether or not she slept. For a long while I sat silently beside her, but she neither stirred nor spoke148, and at last I rose and entering the unused store-room took the yellow book in my least injured hand. It seemed heavy as lead, but I carried it into the studio again, and sitting down on the rug beside the sofa, opened it and read it through from beginning to end.
When, faint with the excess of my emotions, I dropped the volume and leaned wearily back against the sofa, Tessie opened her eyes and looked at me.
We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous149 strain before I realized that we were discussing The King in Yellow. Oh the sin of writing such words — words which are clear as crystal, limpid150 and musical as bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medicis! Oh the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with such words — words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are more precious than jewels, more soothing151 than Heavenly music, more awful than death itself.
We talked on, unmindful of the gathering152 shadows, and she was begging me to throw away the clasp of black onyx quaintly153 inlaid with what we now knew to be the Yellow Sign. I never shall know why I refused, though even at this hour, here in my bedroom as I write this confession, I should be glad to know what it was that prevented me from tearing the Yellow Sign from my breast and casting it into the fire. I am sure I wished to do so, but Tessie pleaded with me in vain.
Night fell and the hours dragged on, but still we murmured to each other of the King and the Pallid154 Mask, and midnight sounded from the misty155 spires156 in the fog-wrapped city. We spoke of Hastur and of Cassilda, while outside the fog rolled against the blank window-panes as the cloud waves roll and break on the shores of Hali.
The house was very silent now and not a sound from the misty streets broke the silence. Tessie lay among the cushions, her face a gray blot157 in the gloom, but her hands were clasped in mine and I knew that she knew and read my thoughts as I read hers, for we had understood the mystery of the Hyades and the Phantom158 of Truth was laid. Then as we answered each other, swiftly, silently, thought on thought, the shadows stirred in the gloom about us, and far in the distant streets we heard a sound. Nearer and nearer it came, the dull crunching159 of wheels, nearer and yet nearer, and now, outside before the door it ceased, and I dragged myself to the window and saw a black-plumed hearse. The gate below opened and shut, and I crept shaking to my door and bolted it, but I knew no bolts, no locks, could keep that creature out who was coming for the Yellow Sign. And now I heard him moving very softly along the hall. Now he was at the door, and the bolts rotted at his touch. Now he had entered. With eyes starting from my head I peered into the darkness, but when he came into the room I did not see him. It was only when I felt him envelop160 me in his cold soft grasp that I cried out and struggled with deadly fury, but my hands were useless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat and struck me full in the face. Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie’s soft cry and her spirit fled to God, and even while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered161 mantle162 and there was only Christ to cry to now.
I could tell more, but I cannot see what help it will be to the world. As for me I am past human help or hope. As I lie here, writing, careless even whether or not I die before I finish, I can see the doctor gathering up his powders and phials with a vague gesture to the good priest beside me, which I understand.
They will be very curious to know the tragedy — they of the outside world who write books and print millions of newspapers, but I shall write no more, and the father confessor will seal my last words with the seal of sanctity when his holy office is done. They of the outside world may send their creatures into wrecked163 homes and death-smitten firesides, and their newspapers will batten on blood and tears, but with me their spies must halt before the confessional. They know that Tessie is dead and that I am dying. They know how the people in the house, aroused by an infernal scream, rushed into my room and found one living and two dead, but they do not know what I shall tell them now; they do not know that the doctor said as he pointed to a horrible decomposed164 heap on the floor — the livid corpse165 of the watchman from the church: “I have no theory, no explanation. That man must have been dead for months!”
I think I am dying. I wish the priest would —
The End
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
lengthen
|
|
| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
caverns
|
|
| 大山洞，大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
ragged
|
|
| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
virgin
|
|
| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
turmoil
|
|
| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
lizard
|
|
| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
sniff
|
|
| vi.嗅…味道；抽鼻涕；对嗤之以鼻，蔑视 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
repelled
|
|
| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
nauseating
|
|
| adj.令人恶心的，使人厌恶的v.使恶心，作呕( nauseate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
plied
|
|
| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
beaver
|
|
| n.海狸，河狸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
defective
|
|
| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
blurred
|
|
| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
growled
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
panes
|
|
| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
tormented
|
|
| 饱受折磨的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
implore
|
|
| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
disapproval
|
|
| n.反对，不赞成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
lighting
|
|
| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
deserted
|
|
| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
lobster
|
|
| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
repugnance
|
|
| n.嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
blatant
|
|
| adj.厚颜无耻的；显眼的；炫耀的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
exhorter
|
|
| n.劝勉者，告诫者，提倡者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
aisle
|
|
| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
persistence
|
|
| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
hymns
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌( hymn的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
interpretation
|
|
| n.解释，说明，描述；艺术处理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
amendment
|
|
| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
bellowed
|
|
| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
purgatory
|
|
| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
atone
|
|
| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
sniffed
|
|
| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
bugler
|
|
| 喇叭手； 号兵； 吹鼓手； 司号员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
repulsive
|
|
| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
loathing
|
|
| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
horrified
|
|
| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
charcoal
|
|
| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
mash
|
|
| n.麦芽浆，糊状物，土豆泥；v.把…捣成糊状，挑逗，调情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
constrained
|
|
| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
parental
|
|
| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
mashing
|
|
| 捣碎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
squandering
|
|
| v.（指钱，财产等）浪费，乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
oysters
|
|
| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
woolen
|
|
| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
chattering
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
exquisitely
|
|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
deterioration
|
|
| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
steer
|
|
| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
vista
|
|
| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
devout
|
|
| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
tinkling
|
|
| n.丁当作响声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
wagon
|
|
| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
jolted
|
|
| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
stony
|
|
| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
trample
|
|
| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
tempt
|
|
| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
tightened
|
|
| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
reassure
|
|
| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
humbug
|
|
| n.花招，谎话，欺骗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
scarlet
|
|
| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
idiocy
|
|
| n.愚蠢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
villain
|
|
| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
deploring
|
|
| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
104
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
bruise
|
|
| n.青肿，挫伤；伤痕；vt.打青；挫伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
disclaiming
|
|
| v.否认( disclaim的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
sullen
|
|
| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
platonic
|
|
| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
liaisons
|
|
| n.联络( liaison的名词复数 )；联络人；（尤指一方或双方已婚的）私通；组织单位间的交流与合作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
undertaking
|
|
| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
dreaded
|
|
| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
scruples
|
|
| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
vistas
|
|
| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
metropolitan
|
|
| adj.大城市的，大都会的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
gild
|
|
| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
vat
|
|
| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
noisome
|
|
| adj.有害的，可厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
nude
|
|
| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
moorish
|
|
| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
turquoises
|
|
| n.绿松石( turquoise的名词复数 )；青绿色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
130
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
arabesques
|
|
| n.阿拉伯式花饰( arabesque的名词复数 )；错综图饰；阿拉伯图案；阿拉贝斯克芭蕾舞姿（独脚站立，手前伸，另一脚一手向后伸） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
135
metallic
|
|
| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
faltered
|
|
| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
aquarium
|
|
| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
sprained
|
|
| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
sketches
|
|
| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
rattled
|
|
| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
irritation
|
|
| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
tormenting
|
|
| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
systematic
|
|
| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
crouching
|
|
| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
limpid
|
|
| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
quaintly
|
|
| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
misty
|
|
| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
spires
|
|
| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
blot
|
|
| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
phantom
|
|
| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
crunching
|
|
| v.嘎吱嘎吱地咬嚼( crunch的现在分词 )；嘎吱作响；（快速大量地）处理信息；数字捣弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
envelop
|
|
| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
tattered
|
|
| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
wrecked
|
|
| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
decomposed
|
|
| 已分解的，已腐烂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |