it is not the home of the white race or the black race or the yellow race or the lost blue race, but the home ofmanand all men are equal before God and will have their chance, if not now then a million years hence. The little brown brothers of the Philippines may bloom again, one day and the murdered Indians of America north and south may also come alive one day to ride the plains where now the cities stand belching36 fire and pestilence37. Who has the last say? Man!The earth is his because he isthe earth, its fire, its water, its air, its mineral and vegetable matter, its spirit which is cosmic, which is imperishable, which is the spirit of all the planets, which transforms itself through him, through endless signs and symbols, through endless manifestations38. Wait, you cosmococcic telegraphic shits, you demons40 on high waiting for the plumbing41 to be repaired, wait, you dirty white conquerors who have sullied the earth with your cloven hooves, your instruments, your weapons, your disease germs, wait, all you who are sitting in clover and counting your coppers42, it is not the end. The last man will have his say before it is finished. Down to the last sentient molecule43 justice must be done - and will be done!Nobody is getting away with anything, least of all the cosmococdc shits of North America.
When it came time for my vacation -1 hadn't taken one for three years, I was so eager to make the company a success! -1 took three weeks instead of two and I wrote the book about the twelve little men. I wrote it straight off, five, seven, sometimes eight thousand words a day. I thought that a man, to be a writer, must do at least five thousand words a day. I thought he must say everything all at once - in one book - and collapse44 afterwards. I didn't know a thing about writing. I was scared shitless. But I was determined45 to wipe Horatio Alger out of the North American consciousness. I suppose it was the worst book any man has ever written. It was a colossal46 tome and faulty from start to finish. But it was my first book and I was in love with it. If I had the money, as Gide had, I would have published it at my own expense. If I had had the courage that Whitman had, I would have peddled47 it from door to door. Everybody I showed it to said it was terrible. I was urged to give up the idea of writing. I had to learn, as Balzac did, that one must write volumes before signing one's own name. I had to leam, as I soon did, that one must give up everything and not do anything else but write, that one must write and write and write, even if everybody in the world advises you against it, even if nobody believes in you. Perhaps one does it just because nobody believes; perhaps the real secret lies in making people believe. That the book was inadequate48, faulty, bad, terrible, as they said, was only natural. I was attempting at the start what a man of genius would have undertaken only at the end. I wanted to say the last word at the beginning. It was absurd and pathetic. It was a crushing defeat, but it put iron in my backbone50 and sulphur in my blood. I knew at least what it was to fail. I knew what it was to attempt something big. Today, when I think of the circumstances under which I wrote that book, when I think of the overwhelming material which I tried to put into form, when I think of what I hoped to encompass51, I pat myself on the back, I give myself a double A. I am proud of the fact that I made such a miserable52 failure of it; had I succeeded I would have been a monster. Sometimes, when I look over my notebooks, when I look at the names alone of those whom I thought to write about, I am seized with vertigo53. Each man came to me with a world of his own; he came to me and unloaded it on my desk; he expected me to pick it up and put it on my shoulders. I had no time to make a world of my own: I had to stay fixed54 like Atlas55, my feet on the elephant's back and the elephant on the tortoise's back. To inquire on what the tortoise stood would be to go mad. I didn't dare to think of anything then except the "facts". To get beneath the facts I would have had to be an artist, and one doesn't become an artist overnight. First you have to be crushed, to have your conflicting points of view annihilated56. You have to be wiped out as a human being in order to be born again an individual. You have to be carbonized and mineralized in order to work upwards57 from the last common denominator of the self. You have to get beyond pity in order to feel from the very roots of your being. One can't make a new heaven and earth with "facts". There are no "facts" - there is only the fact that man, every man everywhere in the world, is on his way to ordination58. Some men take the long route and some take the short route. Every man is working out his destiny in his own way and nobody can be of help except by being kind, generous and patient. In my enthusiasm certain things were then inexplicable59 to me which now are dear. I think, for example, of Carnahan, one of the twelve little men I had chosen to write about. He was what is called a model messenger. He was a graduate of a prominent university, had a sound intelligence and was of exemplary character. He worked eighteen and twenty hours a day and earned more than any messenger on the force. The clients whom he served wrote letters about him, praising him to the skies; he was offered good positions which he refused for one reason or another. He lived frugally60, sending the best part of his wages to his wife and children who lived in another city. He had two vices61 - drink and the desire to succeed. He could go for a year without drinking, but if he took one drop he was off. He had deaned up twice in Wall Street and yet, before coming to me for a job, he had gotten no further than to be a sexton of a church in some little town. He had been fired from that job because he had broken into the sacramental wine and rung the bells all night long. He was truthful62, sincere, earnest. I had implicit63 confidence in him and my confidence was proven by the record of his service which was without a blemish64. Nevertheless he shot his wife and children in cold blood and then he shot himself. Fortunatdy none of them died; they all lay in the hospital together and they all recovered. I went to see his wife, after they had transferred him to jail, to get her help. She refused categorically. She said he was the meanest, cruellest son of a bitch that ever walked on two legs - she wanted to see him hanged. I pleaded with her for two days, but she was adamant65. I went to the jail and talked to him through the mesh66. I found that he had already made himself popular with the authorities, had already been granted special privileges. He wasn't at all dejected. On the contrary, he was looking forward to making the best of his time in prison by "studying up" on salesmanship. He was going to be the best salesman in America after his release. I might almost say that he seemed happy. He said not to worry about him, he would get along all right. He said everybody was swell67 to him and that he had nothing to complain about. I left him somewhat in a daze68. I went to a nearby beach and decided69 to take a swim. I saw everything with new eyes. I almost forgot to return home, so absorbed had I become in my speculations70 about this chap. Who could say that everything that happened to him had not happened for the best? Perhaps he might leave the prison a full-fledged evangelist instead of a salesman. Nobody could predict what he might do. And nobody could aid him because he was working out his destiny in his own private way.
There was another chap, a Hindu named Guptal. He was not only a model of good behaviour - he was a saint. He had a passion for the flute71 which he played all by himself in his miserable little room. One day he was found naked, his throat slit72 from ear to ear, and beside him on the bed was his flute. At the funeral there were a dozen women who wept passionate73 tears, including the wife of the janitor74 who had murdered him. I could write a book about this young man who was the gentlest and the holiest man I ever met, who had never offended anybody and never taken anything from anybody, but who had made the cardinal75 mistake of coming to America to spread peace and love
There was Dave Olinski, another faithftil, industrious76 messenger who thought of nothing but work. He had one fatal weakness - he talked too much. When he came to me he had already been around the globe several times and what he hadn't done to make a living isn't worth telling about. He knew about twelve languages and he was rather proud of his linguistic77 ability. He was one of those men whose very willingness and enthusiasm is their undoing78. He wanted to help everybody along, show everybody how to succeed. He wanted more work than we could give him - he was a glutton79 for work. Perhaps I should have warned him, when I sent him to his office on the East Side, that he was going to work in a tough neighbourhood, but he pretended to know so much and he was so insistent80 on working in that locality (because of his linguistic ability) that I said nothing. I thought to myself - you'll find out quickly enough for yourself. And surely enough, he was only there a short time when he got into trouble. A tough Jew boy from the neighbourhood walked in one day and asked for a blank. Dave, the messenger, was behind the desk. He didn't like the way the man asked for the blank. He told him he ought to be more polite. For that he got a box in the ears. That made him wag his tongue some more, whereupon he got such a wallop that his teeth flew down his throat and his jaw-bone was broken in three places. Still he didn't know enough to hold his trap. Like the damned fool that he was he goes to the police station and registers a complaint. A week later, while he's sitting on a bench snoozing, a gang of roughnecks break into the place and beat him to a pulp81. His head was so battered82 that his brains looked like an omelette. For good measure they emptied the safe and turned it upside down. Dave died on the way to hospital. They found five hundred dollars hidden away in the toe of his sock. ... Then there was Clausen and his wife Lena. They came in together when he applied83 for the job. Lena had a baby in her arms and he had two little ones by the hand. They were sent to me by some relief agency. I put him on as a night messenger so that he'd have a fixed salary. In a few days I had a letter from him, a batty letter in which he asked me to excuse him for being absent as he had to report to his parole officer. Then another letter saying that his wife had refused to sleep with him because she didn't want any more babies and would I please come to see them and try to persuade her to sleep with him -. I went to his home - a cellar in the Italian quarter. It looked like a bughouse. Lena was pregnant again, about seven months under way, and on the verge84 of idiocy85. She had taken to sleeping on the roof because it was too hot in the cellar, also because she didn't want him to touch her any more. When I said it wouldn't make any difference now she just looked at me and grinned. Clausen had been in the war and maybe the gas had made him a bit goofy - at any rate he was foaming86 at the mouth. He said he would brain her if she didn't stay off that roof. He insinuated87 that she was sleeping up there in order to carry on with the coal man who lived in the attic88. At this Lena smiled again with that mirthless batrachian grin. Clausen lost his temper and gave her a swift kick in the ass2. She went out in a huff taking the brats89 with her. He told her to stay out for good. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a big Colt. He was keeping it in case he needed it some time, he said. He showed me a few knives too, and a sort of blackjack which he had made himself. Then he began to weep. He said his wife was making a fool of him. He said he was sick of working for her because she was sleeping with everybody in the neighbourhood. The kids weren't his because he couldn't make a kid any more even if he wanted to. The very next day, while Lena was out marketing90, he took the kids up to the roof and with the blackjack he had shown me he beat their brains out. Then he jumped off the roof head first. When Lena came home and saw what happened she went off her nut. They had to put her in a straight-jacket and call for the ambulance... There was Schuldig the rat who had spent twenty years in prison for a crime he had never committed. He had been beaten almost to death before he confessed; then solitary91 confinement92, starvation, torture, perversion93, dope. When they finally released him he was no longer a human being. He described to me one night his last thirty days in jail, the agony of waiting to be released. I have never heard anything like it; I didn't think a human being could survive such anguish94. Freed, he was haunted by the fear that he might be obliged to commit a crime and be sent back to prison again. He complained of being followed, spied on, perpetually tracked. He said "they" were tempting49 him to do things he had no desire to do. "They" were the dicks who were on his trail, who were paid to bring him back again. At night, when he was asleep, they whispered in his ear. He was powerless against them because they mesmerized95 him first. Sometimes they placed dope under his pillow, and with it a revolver or a knife. They wanted him to kill some innocent person so that they would have a solid case against him this time. He got worse and worse. One night, after he had walked around for hours with a batch96 of telegrams in his pocket, he went up to a cop and asked to be locked up. He couldn't remember his name or address or even the office he was working for. He had completely lost his identity. He repeated over and over - "I'm innocent... I'm innocent." Again they gave him the third degree. Suddenly he jumped up and shouted like a madman - "I'll confess ... I'll confess" - and with that he began to reel off one crime after another. He kept it up for three hours. Suddenly in the midst of a harrowing confession97, he stopped short, gave a quick look about, like a man who has suddenly come to, and then, with the rapidity and the force which only a madman can summon he made a tremendous leap across the room and crashed his skull98 against the stone wall... I relate these incidents briefly99 and hurriedly as they flash through my mind; my memory is packed with thousands of such details, with a myriad100 faces, gestures, tales, confessions101 all entwined and interlaced like the stupendous reeling facade102 of some Hindu temple made not of stone but of the experience of human flesh, a monstrous103 dream edifice104 built entirely105 of reality and yet not reality itself but merely the vessel106 in which the mystery of the human being is contained. My mind wanders to the clinic where in ignorance and good-will I brought some of the younger ones to be cured. I can think of no more evocative image to convey the atmosphere of this place than the painting by Hieronymus Bosch in which the magician, after the manner of a dentist extracting a live nerve, is represented as the deliverer of insanity108. All the trumpery109 and quackery110 of our scientific practitioners111 came to apotheosis112 in the person of the suave113 sadist who operated this clinic with the full concurrence114 and connivance115 of the law. He was a ringer for Caligari, except that he was minus the dunce cap. Pretending that he understood the secret regulations of the glands116, invested with the powers of a mediaeval monarch117, oblivious118 of the pain he inflicted119, ignorant of everything but his medical knowledge, he went to work on the human organism like a plumber11 sets to work on the underground drainpipes. In addition to the poisons he threw into the patient's system he had recourse to his fists or his knees as the case might be. Anything justified120 a "reaction". If the victim were lethargic121 he shouted at him, slapped him in the face, pinched his arm, cuffed122 him, kicked him. If on the contrary the victim were too energetic he employed the same methods, only with redoubled zest123. The feelings of his subject were of no importance to him; whatever reaction he succeeded in obtaining was merely a demonstration124 or manifestation39 of the laws regulating the operation of the internal glands of secretion125. The purpose of his treatment was to render the subject fit for society. But no matter how fast he worked, no matter whether he was successful or not successful, society was turning out more and more misfits. Some of them were so marvellously maladapted that when, in order to get proverbial reaction, he slapped them vigorously on the cheek they responded with an uppercut or a kick in the balls. It's true, most of his subjects were exactly what he described them to be - incipient126 criminals. The whole continent was on the slide - is still on the slide - and not only the glands need regulating but the ball-bearing, the armature, the skeletal structure, the cerebrum, the cerebellum, the coccyx, the larynx, the pancreas, the liver, the upper intestine127 and the lower intestine, the heart, the kidneys, the testicles, the womb, the Fallopian tubes, the whole god-damned works. The whole country is lawless, violent, explosive, demoniacal. It's in the air, in the climate, in the ultra-grandiose landscape, in the stone forests that are lying horizontal, in the torrential rivers that bite through the rocky canyons128, in the supra-normal distances, the supernal129 arid130 wastes, the over-lush crops, the monstrous fruits, the mixture of quixotic bloods, the fatras of cults131, sects132, beliefs, the opposition133 of laws and languages, the contra-dictoriness of temperaments134, principles, needs, requirements. The continent is full of buried violence, of the bones of antediluvian135 monsters and of lost races of man, of mysteries which are wrapped in doom136. The atmosphere is at times so electrical that the soul is summoned out of its body and runs amok. Like the rain everything comes in bucketsful - or not at all. The whole continent is a huge volcano whose crater137 is temporarily concealed138 by a moving panorama139 which is partly dream, partly fear, partly despair. From Alaska to Yucatan it's the same story. Nature dominates. Nature wins out. Everywhere the same fundamental urge to slay140, to ravage141, to plunder142. Outwardly they seem like a fine, upstanding people - healthy, optimistic, courageous143. Inwardly they are filled with worms. A tiny spark and they blow up.
Often it happened, as in Russia, that a man came in with a chip on his shoulder. He woke up that way, as if struck by a monsoon144. Nine times out often he was a good fellow, a fellow whom everybody liked. But when the rage came on nothing could stop him. He was like a horse with the blind staggers and the best thing you could do for him was to shoot him on the spot. It always happens that way with peaceable people. One day they run amok. In America they're constantly running amok. What they need is an outlet145 for their energy, for their blood lust146. Europe is bled regularly by war. America is pacifistic and cannibalistic. Outwardly it seems to be a beautiful honeycomb, with all the drones crawling over each other in a frenzy147 of work; inwardly it's a slaughterhouse, each man killing148 off his neighbour and sucking the juice from his bones. Superficially it looks like a bold, masculine world; actually it's a whorehouse run by women, with the native sons acting107 as pimps and the bloody foreigners selling their flesh. Nobody knows what it is to sit on his ass and be content. That happens only in the films where everything is faked, even the fires of hell. The whole continent is sound asleep and in that sleep a grand nightmare is taking place.
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1
primitives
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| 原始人（primitive的复数形式） | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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stranded
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| a.搁浅的，进退两难的 | |
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calligraphy
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| n.书法 | |
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botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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astronomers
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| n.天文学者，天文学家( astronomer的名词复数 ) | |
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mathematicians
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| 数学家( mathematician的名词复数 ) | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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stevedores
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| n.码头装卸工人，搬运工( stevedore的名词复数 ) | |
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sculptors
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| 雕刻家，雕塑家( sculptor的名词复数 )； [天]玉夫座 | |
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plumber
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| n.(装修水管的)管子工 | |
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plumbers
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| n.管子工，水暖工( plumber的名词复数 )；[美][口]（防止泄密的）堵漏人员 | |
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divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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chicanery
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| n.欺诈，欺骗 | |
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fetters
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| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
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bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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penguins
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| n.企鹅( penguin的名词复数 ) | |
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gorillas
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| n.大猩猩( gorilla的名词复数 )；暴徒，打手 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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maniacs
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| n.疯子（maniac的复数形式） | |
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nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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sentient
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| adj.有知觉的，知悉的；adv.有感觉能力地 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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belching
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| n. 喷出，打嗝 动词belch的现在分词形式 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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plumbing
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| n.水管装置；水暖工的工作；管道工程v.用铅锤测量（plumb的现在分词）；探究 | |
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coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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molecule
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| n.分子，克分子 | |
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collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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peddled
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| （沿街）叫卖( peddle的过去式和过去分词 )； 兜售； 宣传； 散播 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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encompass
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| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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vertigo
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| n.眩晕 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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56
annihilated
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| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
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57
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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58
ordination
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| n.授任圣职 | |
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59
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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60
frugally
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| adv. 节约地, 节省地 | |
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61
vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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62
truthful
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| adj.真实的，说实话的，诚实的 | |
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63
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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64
blemish
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| v.损害；玷污；瑕疵，缺点 | |
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65
adamant
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| adj.坚硬的，固执的 | |
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66
mesh
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| n.网孔，网丝，陷阱；vt.以网捕捉，啮合，匹配；vi.适合； [计算机]网络 | |
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67
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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68
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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69
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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70
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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71
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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72
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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73
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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74
janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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75
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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76
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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77
linguistic
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| adj.语言的，语言学的 | |
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78
undoing
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| n.毁灭的原因，祸根；破坏，毁灭 | |
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79
glutton
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| n.贪食者，好食者 | |
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80
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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81
pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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82
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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83
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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84
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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85
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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86
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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87
insinuated
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| v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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88
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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89
brats
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| n.调皮捣蛋的孩子( brat的名词复数 ) | |
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marketing
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| n.行销，在市场的买卖，买东西 | |
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91
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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93
perversion
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| n.曲解；堕落；反常 | |
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94
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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95
mesmerized
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| v.使入迷( mesmerize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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97
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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98
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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99
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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100
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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101
confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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102
facade
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| n.(建筑物的)正面，临街正面；外表 | |
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103
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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104
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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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
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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107
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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108
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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109
trumpery
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| n.无价值的杂物；adj.（物品）中看不中用的 | |
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110
quackery
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| n.庸医的医术，骗子的行为 | |
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111
practitioners
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| n.习艺者，实习者( practitioner的名词复数 )；从业者（尤指医师） | |
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112
apotheosis
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| n.神圣之理想；美化；颂扬 | |
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113
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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114
concurrence
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| n.同意；并发 | |
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115
connivance
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| n.纵容；默许 | |
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116
glands
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| n.腺( gland的名词复数 ) | |
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117
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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118
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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119
inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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121
lethargic
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| adj.昏睡的，懒洋洋的 | |
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122
cuffed
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| v.掌打，拳打( cuff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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124
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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125
secretion
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| n.分泌 | |
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126
incipient
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| adj.起初的，发端的，初期的 | |
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127
intestine
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| adj.内部的；国内的；n.肠 | |
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128
canyons
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| n.峡谷( canyon的名词复数 ) | |
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129
supernal
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| adj.天堂的，天上的；崇高的 | |
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130
arid
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| adj.干旱的；(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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131
cults
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| n.迷信( cult的名词复数 )；狂热的崇拜；（有极端宗教信仰的）异教团体 | |
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132
sects
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| n.宗派，教派( sect的名词复数 ) | |
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133
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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134
temperaments
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| 性格( temperament的名词复数 )； （人或动物的）气质； 易冲动； （性情）暴躁 | |
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135
antediluvian
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| adj.史前的，陈旧的 | |
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136
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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137
crater
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| n.火山口，弹坑 | |
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138
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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139
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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140
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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141
ravage
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| vt.使...荒废，破坏...；n.破坏，掠夺，荒废 | |
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142
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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143
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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144
monsoon
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| n.季雨，季风，大雨 | |
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145
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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146
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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147
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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148
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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