Girls and boys, the former on the right, the latter on the left-hand side of the church, filled the stalls of the choir2; the priest stood beside the reading-desk; on one stained window of the side-aisle the Holy Ghost hovered3 over the Virgin4; on another one, Mary knelt before the Child Jesus, and behind the altar, a wooden group represented Saint Michael felling the dragon.
The priest first read a condensed lesson of sacred history. Felicite evoked5 Paradise, the Flood, the Tower of Babel, the blazing cities, the dying nations, the shattered idols6; and out of this she developed a great respect for the Almighty7 and a great fear of His wrath8. Then, when she had listened to the Passion, she wept. Why had they crucified Him who loved little children, nourished the people, made the blind see, and who, out of humility9, had wished to be born among the poor, in a stable? The sowings, the harvests, the wine-presses, all those familiar things which the Scriptures10 mention, formed a part of her life; the word of God sanctified them; and she loved the lambs with increased tenderness for the sake of the Lamb, and the doves because of the Holy Ghost.
She found it hard, however, to think of the latter as a person, for was it not a bird, a flame, and sometimes only a breath? Perhaps it is its light that at night hovers11 over swamps, its breath that propels the clouds, its voice that renders church-bells harmonious12. And Felicite worshipped devoutly14, while enjoying the coolness and the stillness of the church.
As for the dogma, she could not understand it and did not even try. The priest discoursed15, the children recited, and she went to sleep, only to awaken16 with a start when they were leaving the church and their wooden shoes clattered17 on the stone pavement.
In this way, she learned her catechism, her religious education having been neglected in her youth; and thenceforth she imitated all Virginia’s religious practices, fasted when she did, and went to confession18 with her. At the Corpus-Christi Day they both decorated an altar.
She worried in advance over Virginia’s first communion. She fussed about the shoes, the rosary, the book and the gloves. With what nervousness she helped the mother dress the child!
During the entire ceremony, she felt anguished19. Monsieur Bourais hid part of the choir from view, but directly in front of her, the flock of maidens20, wearing white wreaths over their lowered veils, formed a snow-white field, and she recognised her darling by the slenderness of her neck and her devout13 attitude. The bell tinkled21. All the heads bent22 and there was a silence. Then, at the peals23 of the organ the singers and the worshippers struck up the Agnes Dei; the boys’ procession began; behind them came the girls. With clasped hands, they advanced step by step to the lighted altar, knelt at the first step, received one by one the Host, and returned to their seats in the same order. When Virginia’s turn came, Felicite leaned forward to watch her, and through that imagination which springs from true affection, she at once became the child, whose face and dress became hers, whose heart beat in her bosom24, and when Virginia opened her mouth and closed her lids, she did likewise and came very near fainting.
The following day, she presented herself early at the church so as to receive communion from the cure. She took it with the proper feeling, but did not experience the same delight as on the previous day.
Madame Aubain wished to make an accomplished25 girl of her daughter; and as Guyot could not teach English or music, she decided26 to send her to the Ursulines at Honfleur.
The child made no objection, but Felicite sighed and thought Madame was heartless. Then, she thought that perhaps her mistress was right, as these things were beyond her sphere. Finally, one day, an old fiacre stopped in front of the door and a nun27 stepped out. Felicite put Virginia’s luggage on top of the carriage, gave the coachman some instructions, and smuggled28 six jars of jam, a dozen pears and a bunch of violets under the seat.
At the last minute, Virginia had a fit of sobbing29; she embraced her mother again and again, while the latter kissed her on the forehead, and said: “Now, be brave, be brave!” The step was pulled up and the fiacre rumbled30 off.
Then Madame Aubain had a fainting spell, and that evening all her friends, including the two Lormeaus, Madame Lechaptois, the ladies Rochefeuille, Messieurs de Houppeville and Bourais, called on her and tendered their sympathy.
At first the separation proved very painful to her. But her daughter wrote her three times a week and the other days she, herself, wrote to Virginia. Then she walked in the garden, read a little, and in this way managed to fill out the emptiness of the hours.
Each morning, out of habit, Felicite entered Virginia’s room and gazed at the walls. She missed combing her hair, lacing her shoes, tucking her in her bed, and the bright face and little hand when they used to go out for a walk. In order to occupy herself she tried to make lace. But her clumsy fingers broke the threads; she had no heart for anything, lost her sleep and “wasted away,” as she put it.
In order to have some distraction31, she asked leave to receive the visits of her nephew Victor.
He would come on Sunday, after church, with ruddy cheeks and bared chest, bringing with him the scent32 of the country. She would set the table and they would sit down opposite each other, and eat their dinner; she ate as little as possible, herself, to avoid any extra expense, but would stuff him so with food that he would finally go to sleep. At the first stroke of vespers, she would wake him up, brush his trousers, tie his cravat33 and walk to church with him, leaning on his arm with maternal34 pride.
His parents always told him to get something out of her, either a package of brown sugar, or soap, or brandy, and sometimes even money. He brought her his clothes to mend, and she accepted the task gladly, because it meant another visit from him.
It was vacation time and the arrival of the children consoled Felicite. But Paul was capricious, and Virginia was growing too old to be thee-and-thou’d, a fact which seemed to produce a sort of embarrassment36 in their relations.
Victor went successively to Morlaix, to Dunkirk, and to Brighton; whenever he returned from a trip he would bring her a present. The first time it was a box of shells; the second, a coffee-cup; the third, a big doll of ginger-bread. He was growing handsome, had a good figure, a tiny moustache, kind eyes, and a little leather cap that sat jauntily37 on the back of his head. He amused his aunt by telling her stories mingled38 with nautical39 expressions.
One Monday, the 14th of July, 1819 (she never forgot the date), Victor announced that he had been engaged on a merchant-vessel and that in two days he would take the steamer at Honfleur and join his sailer, which was going to start from Havre very soon. Perhaps he might be away two years.
The prospect40 of his departure filled Felicite with despair, and in order to bid him farewell, on Wednesday night, after Madame’s dinner, she put on her pattens and trudged41 the four miles that separated Pont-l’Eveque from Honfleur.
When she reached the Calvary, instead of turning to the right, she turned to the left and lost herself in coal-yards; she had to retrace42 her steps; some people she spoke43 to advised her to hasten. She walked helplessly around the harbour filled with vessels44, and knocked against hawsers45. Presently the ground sloped abruptly46, lights flitted to and fro, and she thought all at once that she had gone mad when she saw some horses in the sky.
Others, on the edge of the dock, neighed at the sight of the ocean. A derrick pulled them up in the air, and dumped them into a boat, where passengers were bustling47 about among barrels of cider, baskets of cheese and bags of meal; chickens cackled, the captain swore and a cabin-boy rested on the railing, apparently48 indifferent to his surroundings. Felicite, who did not recognise him, kept shouting: “Victor!” He suddenly raised his eyes, but while she was preparing to rush up to him, they withdrew the gangplank.
The packet, towed by singing women, glided49 out of the harbour. Her hull50 squeaked51 and the heavy waves beat up against her sides. The sail had turned and nobody was visible;—and on the ocean, silvered by the light of the moon, the vessel formed a black spot that grew dimmer and dimmer, and finally disappeared.
When Felicite passed the Calvary again, she felt as if she must entrust52 that which was dearest to her to the Lord; and for a long while she prayed, with uplifted eyes and a face wet with tears. The city was sleeping; some customs officials were taking the air; and the water kept pouring through the holes of the dam with a deafening53 roar. The town clock struck two.
The parlour of the convent would not open until morning, and surely a delay would annoy Madame, so, in spite of her desire to see the other child, she went home. The maids of the inn were just arising when she reached Pont-l’Eveque.
So the poor boy would be on the ocean for months! His previous trips had not alarmed her. One can come back from England and Brittany; but America, the colonies, the islands, were all lost in an uncertain region at the very end of the world.
From that time on, Felicite thought solely55 of her nephew. On warm days she feared he would suffer from thirst, and when it stormed, she was afraid he would be struck by lightning. When she harkened to the wind that rattled56 in the chimney and dislodged the tiles on the roof, she imagined that he was being buffeted57 by the same storm, perched on top of a shattered mast, with his whole body bend backward and covered with sea-foam; or,—these were recollections of the engraved59 geography—he was being devoured60 by savages61, or captured in a forest by apes, or dying on some lonely coast. She never mentioned her anxieties, however.
Madame Aubain worried about her daughter.
The sisters thought that Virginia was affectionate but delicate. The slightest emotion enervated62 her. She had to give up her piano lessons. Her mother insisted upon regular letters from the convent. One morning, when the postman failed to come, she grew impatient and began to pace to and fro, from her chair to the window. It was really extraordinary! No news since four days!
In order to console her mistress by her own example, Felicite said:
“Why, Madame, I haven’t had any news since six months!—”
“From whom?—”
The servant replied gently:
“Why—from my nephew.”
“Oh, yes, your nephew!” And shrugging her shoulders, Madame Aubain continued to pace the floor as if to say: “I did not think of it.—Besides, I do not care, a cabin-boy, a pauper63!—but my daughter—what a difference! just think of it!—”
Felicite, although she had been reared roughly, was very indignant. Then she forgot about it.
It appeared quite natural to her that one should lose one’s head about Virginia.
The two children were of equal importance; they were united in her heart and their fate was to be the same.
The chemist informed her that Victor’s vessel had reached Havana. He had read the information in a newspaper.
Felicite imagined that Havana was a place where people did nothing but smoke, and that Victor walked around among negroes in a cloud of tobacco. Could a person, in case of need, return by land? How far was it from Pont-l’Eveque? In order to learn these things, she questioned Monsieur Bourais. He reached for his map and began some explanations concerning longitudes64, and smiled with superiority at Felicite’s bewilderment. At last, he took a pencil and pointed65 out an imperceptible black point in the scallops of an oval blotch66, adding: “There it is.” She bent over the map; the maze67 of coloured lines hurt her eyes without enlightening her; and when Bourais asked her what puzzled her, she requested him to show her the house Victor lived in. Bourais threw up his hands, sneezed, and then laughed uproariously; such ignorance delighted his soul; but Felicite failed to understand the cause of his mirth, she whose intelligence was so limited that she perhaps expected to see even the picture of her nephew!
It was two weeks later that Liebard came into the kitchen at market-time, and handed her a letter from her brother-in-law. As neither of them could read, she called upon her mistress.
Madame Aubain, who was counting the stitches of her knitting, laid her work down beside her, opened the letter, started, and in a low tone and with a searching look said: “They tell you of a—misfortune. Your nephew—”
He had died. The letter told nothing more.
Felicite dropped on a chair, leaned her head against the back, and closed her lids; presently they grew pink. Then, with drooping68 head, inert69 hands and staring eyes she repeated at intervals70:
“Poor little chap! poor little chap!”
Liebard watched her and sighed. Madame Aubain was trembling.
She proposed to the girl to go to see her sister in Trouville.
With a single motion, Felicite replied that it was not necessary.
There was a silence. Old Liebard thought it about time for him to take leave.
Then Felicite uttered:
“They have no sympathy, they do not care!”
Her head fell forward again, and from time to time, mechanically, she toyed with the long knitting-needles on the work-table.
Some women passed through the yard with a basket of wet clothes.
When she saw them through the window, she suddenly remembered her own wash; as she had soaked it the day before, she must go and rinse71 it now. So she arose and left the room.
Her tub and her board were on the bank of the Toucques. She threw a heap of clothes on the ground, rolled up her sleeves and grasped her bat; and her loud pounding could be heard in the neighbouring gardens. The meadows were empty, the breeze wrinkled the stream, at the bottom of which were long grasses that looked like the hair of corpses72 floating in the water. She restrained her sorrow and was very brave until night; but, when she had gone to her own room, she gave way to it, burying her face in the pillow and pressing her two fists against her temples.
A long while afterward74, she learned through Victor’s captain, the circumstances which surrounded his death. At the hospital they had bled him too much, treating him for yellow fever. Four doctors held him at one time. He died almost instantly, and the chief surgeon had said:
“Here goes another one!”
His parents had always treated him barbarously; she preferred not to see them again, and they made no advances, either from forgetfulness or out of innate75 hardness.
Virginia was growing weaker.
A cough, continual fever, oppressive breathing and spots on her cheeks indicated some serious trouble. Monsieur Popart had advised a sojourn76 in Provence. Madame Aubain decided that they would go, and she would have had her daughter come home at once, had it not been for the climate of Pont-l’Eveque.
She made an arrangement with a livery-stable man who drove her over to the convent every Tuesday. In the garden there was a terrace, from which the view extends to the Seine. Virginia walked in it, leaning on her mother’s arm and treading the dead vine leaves. Sometimes the sun, shining through the clouds, made her blink her lids, when she gazed at the sails in the distance, and let her eyes roam over the horizon from the chateau77 of Tancarville to the lighthouses of Havre. Then they rested on the arbour. Her mother had bought a little cask of fine Malaga wine, and Virginia, laughing at the idea of becoming intoxicated78, would drink a few drops of it, but never more.
Her strength returned. Autumn passed. Felicite began to reassure79 Madame Aubain. But, one evening, when she returned home after an errand, she met M. Boupart’s coach in front of the door; M. Boupart himself was standing80 in the vestibule and Madame Aubain was tying the strings81 of her bonnet82. “Give me my foot-warmer, my purse and my gloves; and be quick about it,” she said.
Virginia had congestion83 of the lungs; perhaps it was desperate.
“Not yet,” said the physician, and both got into the carriage, while the snow fell in thick flakes84. It was almost night and very cold.
Felicite rushed to the church to light a candle. Then she ran after the coach which she overtook after an hour’s chase, sprang up behind and held on to the straps85. But suddenly a thought crossed her mind: “The yard had been left open; supposing that burglars got in!” And down she jumped.
The next morning, at daybreak, she called at the doctor’s. He had been home, but had left again. Then she waited at the inn, thinking that strangers might bring her a letter. At last, at daylight she took the diligence for Lisieux.
The convent was at the end of a steep and narrow street. When she arrived about at the middle of it, she heard strange noises, a funeral knell86. “It must be for some one else,” thought she; and she pulled the knocker violently.
After several minutes had elapsed, she heard footsteps, the door was half opened and a nun appeared. The good sister, with an air of compunction, told her that “she had just passed away.” And at the same time the tolling87 of Saint-Leonard’s increased.
Felicite reached the second floor. Already at the threshold, she caught sight of Virginia lying on her back, with clasped hands, her mouth open and her head thrown back, beneath a black crucifix inclined toward her, and stiff curtains which were less white than her face. Madame Aubain lay at the foot of the couch, clasping it with her arms and uttering groans88 of agony. The Mother Superior was standing on the right side of the bed. The three candles on the bureau made red blurs89, and the windows were dimmed by the fog outside. The nuns90 carried Madame Aubain from the room.
For two nights, Felicite never left the corpse73. She would repeat the same prayers, sprinkle holy water over the sheets, get up, come back to the bed and contemplate91 the body. At the end of the first vigil, she noticed that the face had taken on a yellow tinge92, the lips grew blue, the nose grew pinched, the eyes were sunken. She kissed them several times and would not have been greatly astonished had Virginia opened them; to souls like this the supernatural is always quite simple. She washed her, wrapped her in a shroud93, put her into the casket, laid a wreath of flowers on her head and arranged her curls. They were blond and of an extraordinary length for her age. Felicite cut off a big lock and put half of it into her bosom, resolving never to part with it.
The body was taken to Pont-l’Eveque, according to Madame Aubain’s wishes; she followed the hearse in a closed carriage.
After the ceremony it took three quarters of an hour to reach the cemetery94. Paul, sobbing, headed the procession; Monsieur Bourais followed, and then came the principal inhabitants of the town, the women covered with black capes95, and Felicite. The memory of her nephew, and the thought that she had not been able to render him these honours, made her doubly unhappy, and she felt as if he were being buried with Virginia.
Madame Aubain’s grief was uncontrollable. At first she rebelled against God, thinking that he was unjust to have taken away her child—she who had never done anything wrong, and whose conscience was so pure! But no! she ought to have taken her South. Other doctors would have saved her. She accused herself, prayed to be able to join her child, and cried in the midst of her dreams. Of the latter, one more especially haunted her. Her husband, dressed like a sailor, had come back from a long voyage, and with tears in his eyes told her that he had received the order to take Virginia away. Then they both consulted about a hiding-place.
Once she came in from the garden, all upset. A moment before (and she showed the place), the father and daughter had appeared to her, one after the other; they did nothing but look at her.
During several months she remained inert in her room. Felicite scolded her gently; she must keep up for her son and also for the other one, for “her memory.”
“Her memory!” replied Madame Aubain, as if she were just awakening96, “Oh! yes, yes, you do not forget her!” This was an allusion97 to the cemetery where she had been expressly forbidden to go.
But Felicite went there every day. At four o’clock exactly, she would go through the town, climb the hill, open the gate and arrive at Virginia’s tomb. It was a small column of pink marble with a flat stone at its base, and it was surrounded by a little plot enclosed by chains. The flower-beds were bright with blossoms. Felicite watered their leaves, renewed the gravel98, and knelt on the ground in order to till the earth properly. When Madame Aubain was able to visit the cemetery she felt very much relieved and consoled.
Years passed, all alike and marked by no other events than the return of the great church holidays: Easter, Assumption, All Saints’ Day. Household happenings constituted the only data to which in later years they often referred. Thus, in 1825, workmen painted the vestibule; in 1827, a portion of the roof almost killed a man by falling into the yard. In the summer of 1828, it was Madame’s turn to offer the hallowed bread; at that time, Bourais disappeared mysteriously; and the old acquaintances, Guyot, Liebard, Madame Lechaptois, Robelin, old Gremanville, paralysed since a long time, passed away one by one. One night, the driver of the mail in Pont-l’Eveque announced the Revolution of July. A few days afterward a new sub-prefect was nominated, the Baron99 de Larsonniere, ex-consul in America, who, besides his wife, had his sister-in-law and her three grown daughters with him. They were often seen on their lawn, dressed in loose blouses, and they had a parrot and a negro servant. Madame Aubain received a call, which she returned promptly100. As soon as she caught sight of them, Felicite would run and notify her mistress. But only one thing was capable of arousing her: a letter from her son.
He could not follow any profession as he was absorbed in drinking. His mother paid his debts and he made fresh ones; and the sighs that she heaved while she knitted at the window reached the ears of Felicite who was spinning in the kitchen.
They walked in the garden together, always speaking of Virginia, and asking each other if such and such a thing would have pleased her, and what she would probably have said on this or that occasion.
All her little belongings101 were put away in a closet of the room which held the two little beds. But Madame Aubain looked them over as little as possible. One summer day, however, she resigned herself to the task and when she opened the closet the moths102 flew out.
Virginia’s frocks were hung under a shelf where there were three dolls, some hoops103, a doll-house, and a basic which she had used. Felicite and Madame Aubain also took out the skirts, the handkerchiefs, and the stockings and spread them on the beds, before putting them away again. The sun fell on the piteous things, disclosing their spots and the creases104 formed by the motions of the body. The atmosphere was warm and blue, and a blackbird trilled in the garden; everything seemed to live in happiness. They found a little hat of soft brown plush, but it was entirely105 moth-eaten. Felicite asked for it. Their eyes met and filled with tears; at last the mistress opened her arms and the servant threw herself against her breast and they hugged each other and giving vent54 to their grief in a kiss which equalised them for a moment.
It was the first time that this had ever happened, for Madame Aubain was not of an expansive nature. Felicite was as grateful for it as if it had been some favour, and thenceforth loved her with animal-like devotion and a religious veneration106.
Her kind-heartedness developed. When she heard the drums of a marching regiment107 passing through the street, she would stand in the doorway108 with a jug109 of cider and give the soldiers a drink. She nursed cholera110 victims. She protected Polish refugees, and one of them even declared that he wished to marry her. But they quarrelled, for one morning when she returned from the Angelus she found him in the kitchen coolly eating a dish which he had prepared for himself during her absence.
After the Polish refugees, came Colmiche, an old man who was credited with having committed frightful111 misdeeds in ‘93. He lived near the river in the ruins of a pig-sty. The urchins112 peeped at him through the cracks in the walls and threw stones that fell on his miserable113 bed, where he lay gasping114 with catarrh, with long hair, inflamed115 eyelids116, and a tumour117 as big as his head on one arm.
She got him some linen118, tried to clean his hovel and dreamed of installing him in the bake-house without his being in Madame’s way. When the cancer broke, she dressed it every day; sometimes she brought him some cake and placed him in the sun on a bundle of hay; and the poor old creature, trembling and drooling, would thank her in his broken voice, and put out his hands whenever she left him. Finally he died; and she had a mass said for the repose119 of his soul.
That day a great joy came to her: at dinner-time, Madame de Larsonniere’s servant called with the parrot, the cage, and the perch58 and chain and lock. A note from the baroness120 told Madame Aubain that as her husband had been promoted to a prefecture, they were leaving that night, and she begged her to accept the bird as a remembrance and a token of her esteem121.
Since a long time the parrot had been on Felicite’s mind, because he came from America, which reminded her of Victor, and she had approached the negro on the subject.
Once even, she had said:
“How glad Madame would be to have him!”
The man had repeated this remark to his mistress who, not being able to keep the bird, took this means of getting rid of it.
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1
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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3
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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6
idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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10
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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hovers
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| 鸟( hover的第三人称单数 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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discoursed
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| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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anguished
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| adj.极其痛苦的v.使极度痛苦(anguish的过去式) | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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30
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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31
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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32
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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33
cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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34
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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35
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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36
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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37
jauntily
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| adv.心满意足地；洋洋得意地；高兴地；活泼地 | |
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38
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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39
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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40
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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41
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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42
retrace
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| v.折回；追溯，探源 | |
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43
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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44
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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45
hawsers
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| n.（供系船或下锚用的）缆索，锚链( hawser的名词复数 ) | |
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46
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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47
bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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49
glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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50
hull
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| n.船身；(果、实等的)外壳；vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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51
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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52
entrust
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| v.信赖，信托，交托 | |
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53
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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54
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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55
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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56
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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57
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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58
perch
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| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
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59
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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60
devoured
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| 吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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61
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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62
enervated
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| adj.衰弱的，无力的v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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64
longitudes
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| 经度 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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66
blotch
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| n.大斑点；红斑点；v.使沾上污渍，弄脏 | |
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67
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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68
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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69
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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70
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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71
rinse
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| v.用清水漂洗，用清水冲洗 | |
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72
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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73
corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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74
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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75
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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76
sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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77
chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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78
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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79
reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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80
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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81
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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82
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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83
congestion
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| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
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84
flakes
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| 小薄片( flake的名词复数 )； （尤指）碎片； 雪花； 古怪的人 | |
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85
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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86
knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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87
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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88
groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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89
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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90
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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91
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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92
tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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93
shroud
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| n.裹尸布，寿衣；罩，幕；vt.覆盖，隐藏 | |
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94
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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95
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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96
awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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97
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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98
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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99
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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100
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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101
belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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102
moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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103
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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104
creases
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
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105
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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106
veneration
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| n.尊敬，崇拜 | |
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107
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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108
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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109
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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110
cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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111
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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112
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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113
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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114
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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115
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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116
eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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117
tumour
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| n.(tumor)(肿)瘤，肿块 | |
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118
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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119
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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120
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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121
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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