When the war between Spain and George Dewey was over, I went to the Philippine Islands. There I remained as bushwhacker correspondent for my paper until its managing editor notified me that an eight-hundred- word cablegram describing the grief of a pet carabao over the death of an infant Moro was not considered by the office to be war news. So I resigned, and came home.
On board the trading-vessel that brought me back I pondered much upon the strange things I had sensed in the weird1 archipelago of the yellow-brown people. The manoeuvres and skirmishings of the petty war interested me not: I was spellbound by the outlandish and unreadable countenance2 of that race that had turned its expressionless gaze upon us out of an unguessable past.
Particularly during my stay in Mindanao had I been fascinated and attracted by that delightfully3 original tribe of heathen known as the head-hunters. Those grim, flinty, relentless5 little men, never seen, but chilling the warmest noonday by the subtle terror of their concealed6 presence, paralleling the trail of their prey7 through unmapped forests, across perilous8 mountain-tops, adown bottomless chasms9, into uninhabitable jungles, always near with the invisible hand of death uplifted, betraying their pursuit only by such signs as a beast or a bird or a gliding10 serpent might make-a twig11 crackling in the awful, sweat-soaked night, a drench12 of dew showering from the screening foliage13 of a giant tree, a whisper at even from the rushes of a water-level-a hint of death for every mile and every hour-they amused me greatly, those little fellows of one idea.
When you think of it, their method is beautifully and almost hilariously14 effective and simple.
You have your hut in which you live and carry out the destiny that was decreed for you. Spiked15 to the jamb of your bamboo doorway16 is a basket made of green withes, plaited. From time to time, as vanity or ennui17 or love or jealousy18 or ambition may move you, you creep forth19 with your snickersnee and take up the silent trail. Back from it you come, triumphant20, bearing the severed21, gory23 head of your victim, which you deposit with pardonable pride in the basket at the side of your door. It may be the head of your enemy, your friend, or a stranger, according as competition, jealousy, or simple sportiveness has been your incentive24 to labor25.
In any case, your reward is certain. The village men, in passing, stop to congratulate you, as your neighbor on weaker planes of life stops to admire and praise the begonias in your front yard. Your particular brown maid lingers, with fluttering bosom26, casting soft tiger's eyes at the evidence of your love for her. You chew betel-nut and listen, content, to the intermittent27 soft drip from the ends of the severed neck arteries28. And you show your teeth and grunt29 like a water-buffalo--which is as near as you can come to laughing-at the thought that the cold, acephalous body of your door ornament30 is being spotted31 by wheeling vultures in the Mindanaoan wilds.
Truly, the life of the merry head-hunter captivated me. He had reduced art and philosophy to a simple code. To take your adversary's head, to basket it at the portal of your castle, to see it lying there, a dead thing, with its cunning and stratagems32 and power gone-- Is there a better way to foil his plots, to refute his arguments, to establish your superiority over his skill and wisdom?
The ship that brought me home was captained by an erratic33 Swede, who changed his course and deposited me, with genuine compassion34, in a small town on the Pacific coast of one of the Central American republics, a few hundred miles south of the port to which he had engaged to convey me. But I was wearied of movement and exotic fancies; so I leaped contentedly35 upon the firm sands of the village of Mojada, telling myself I should be sure to find there the rest that I craved36. After all, far better to linger there (I thought), lulled37 by the sedative38 plash of the waves and the rustling39 of palm-fronds, than to sit upon the horsehair sofa of my parental40 home in the East, and there, cast down by currant wine and cake, and scourged41 by fatuous42 relatives, drivel into the ears of gaping43 neighbors sad stories of the death of colonial governors.
When I first saw Chloe Greene she was standing44, all in white, in the doorway of her father's tile-roofed 'dobe house. She was polishing a silver cup with a cloth, and she looked like a pearl laid against black velvet45. She turned on me a flatteringly protracted46 but a wiltingly disapproving47 gaze, and then went inside, humming a light song to indicate the value she placed upon my existence.
Small wonder: for Dr. Stamford (the most disreputable professional man between Juneau and Valparaiso) and I were zigzagging48 along the turfy street, tunelessly singing the words of Auld49 Lang Syne50 to the air of Muzzer's Little Coal-Black Coon. We had come from the ice factory, which was Mojada's palace of wickedness, where we had been playing billiards51 and opening black bottles, white with frost, that we dragged with strings52 out of old Sandoval's ice-cold vats53.
I turned in sudden rage to Dr. Stamford, as sober as the verger of a cathedral. In a moment I had become aware that we were swine cast before a pearl.
"You beast," I said, "this is half your doing. And the other half is the fault of this cursed country. I'd better have gone back to Sleepy-town and died in a wild orgy of currant wine and buns than to have had this happen."
Stamford filled the empty street with his roaring laughter.
"You too!" he cried. "And all as quick as the popping of a cork54. Well, she does seem to strike agreeably upon the retina. But don't burn your fingers. All Mojada will tell you that Louis Devoe is the man.
"We will see about that," said I. "And, perhaps, whether he is a man as well as the man."
I lost no time in meeting Louis Devoe. That was easily accomplished55, for the foreign colony in Mojada numbered scarce a dozen; and they gathered daily at a half-decent hotel kept by a Turk, where they managed to patch together the fluttering rags of country and civilization that were left them. I sought Devoe before I did my pearl of the doorway, because I had learned a little of the game of war, and knew better than to strike for a prize before testing the strength of the enemy.
A sort of cold dismay-something akin56 to fear-filled me when I had estimated him. I found a man so perfectly57 poised58, so charming, so deeply learned in the world's rituals, so full of tact59, courtesy, and hospitality, so endowed with grace and ease and a kind of careless, haughty60 power that I almost overstepped the bounds in probing him, in turning him on the spit to find the weak point that I so craved for him to have. But I left him whole-I had to make bitter acknowledgment to myself that Louis Devoe was a gentleman worthy61 of my best blows; and I swore to give him them. He was a great merchant of the country, a wealthy importer and exporter. All day he sat in a fastidiously appointed office, surrounded by works of art and evidences of his high culture, directing through glass doors and windows the affairs of his house.
In person he was slender and hardly tall. His small, well-shaped head was covered with thick, brown hair, trimmed short, and he wore a thick, brown beard also cut close and to a fine point. His manners were a pattern.
Before long I had become a regular and a welcome visitor at the Greene home. I shook my wild habits from me like a worn-out cloak. I trained for the conflict with the care of a prize-fighter and the self-denial of a Brahmin.
As for Chloe Greene, I shall weary you with no sonnets62 to her eyebrow63. She was a splendidly feminine girl, as wholesome64 as a November pippin, and no more mysterious than a windowpane. She had whimsical little theories that she had deduced from life, and that fitted the maxims66 of Epictetus like princess gowns. I wonder, after all, if that old duffer wasn't rather wise!
Chloe had a father, the Reverend Homer Greene, and an intermittent mother, who sometimes palely presided over a twilight67 teapot. The Reverend Homer was a burr-like man with a life-work. He was writing a concordance to the Scriptures68, and had arrived as far as Kings. Being, presumably, a suitor for his daughter's hand, I was timber for his literary outpourings. I had the family tree of Israel drilled into my head until I used to cry aloud in my sleep: "And Aminadab begat Jay Eye See," and so forth, until he had tackled another book. I once made a calculation that the Reverend Homer's concordance would be worked up as far as the Seven Vials mentioned in Revelations about the third day after they were opened.
Louis Devoe, as well as I, was a visitor and an intimate friend of the Greenes. It was there I met him the oftenest, and a more agreeable' man or a more accomplished I have never hated in my life.
Luckily or unfortunately, I came to be accepted as a Boy. My appearance was youthful, and I suppose I had that pleading and homeless air that always draws the motherliness that is in women and the cursed theories and hobbies of pater-familiases.
Chloe called me "Tommy," and made sisterly fun of my attempts to woo her. With Devoe she was vastly more reserved. He was the man of romance, one to stir her imagination and deepest feelings had her fancy leaned toward him. I was closer to her, but standing in no glamour69; I had the task before me of winning her in what seems to me the American way of fighting--with cleanness and pluck and everyday devotion to break away the barriers of friendship that divided us, and to take her, if I could, between sunrise and dark, abetted70 by neither moonlight nor music nor foreign wiles71.
Chloe gave no sign of bestowing72 her blithe73 affections upon either of us. But one day she let out to me an inkling of what she preferred in a man. It was tremendously interesting to me, but not illuminating74 as to its application. I had been tormenting75 her for the dozenth time with the statement and catalogue of my sentiments toward her.
"Tommy," said she, "I don't want a man to show his love for me by leading an army against another country and blowing people off the earth with cannons76."
"If you mean that the opposite way," I answered, "as they say women do, I'll see what I can do. The papers are full of this diplomatic row in Russia. My people know some big people in Washington who are right next to the army people, and I could get an artillery77 commission and--"
"I'm not that way," interrupted Chloe. "I mean what I say. It isn't the big things that are done in the world, Tommy, that count with a woman. When the knights78 were riding abroad in their armor to slay80 dragons, many a stay-at-home page won a lonesome lady's hand by being on the spot to pick up her glove and be quick with her cloak when the wind blew. The man I am to like best, whoever he shall be, must show his love in little ways. He must never forget, after hearing it once, that I do not like to have any one walk at my left side; that I detest81 bright-colored neckties; that I prefer to sit with my back to a light; that I like candied violets; that I must not be talked to when I am looking at the moonlight shining on water, and that I very, very often long for dates stuffed with English walnuts82."
"Frivolity," I said, with a frown. "Any well-trained servant would be equal to such details."
"And he must remember," went on Chloe, to remind me of what I want when I do not know, myself, what I want."
"You're rising in the scale," I said. "What you seem to need is a first-class clairvoyant83."
"And if I say that I am dying to hear a Beethoven sonata84, and stamp my foot when I say it, he must know by that that what my soul craves85 is salted almonds; and he will have them ready in his pocket."
"Now," said I, "I am at a loss. I do not know whether your soul's affinity86 is to be an impresario87 or a fancy grocer."
Chole turned her pearly smile upon me.
"Take less than half of what I said as a jest," she went on. "And don't think too lightly of the little things, Boy. Be a paladin if you must, but don't let it show on you. Most women are only very big children, and most men are only very little ones. Please us; don't try to overpower us. When we want a hero we can make one out of even a plain grocer the third time he catches our handkerchief before it falls to the ground."
That evening I was taken down with pernicious fever. That is a kind of coast fever with improvements and high-geared attachments88. Your temperature goes up among the threes and fours and remains89 there, laughing scornfully and feverishly90 at the cinchona trees and the coal- tar91 derivatives92. Pernicious fever is a case for a simple mathematician93 instead of a doctor. It is merely this formula: Vitality94 + the desire to live--the duration of the fever the result.
I took to my bed in the two-roomed thatched hut where I had been comfortably established, and sent for a gallon of rum. That was not for myself. Drunk, Stamford was the best doctor between the Andes and the Pacific. He came, sat at my bedside, and drank himself into condition.
"My boy," said he, "my lily-white and reformed Romeo, medicine will do you no good. But I will give you quinine, which, being bitter, will arouse in you hatred95 and anger-two stimulants96 that will add ten per cent. to your chances. You are as strong as a caribou97 calf98, and you will get well if the fever doesn't get in a knockout blow when you're off your guard."
For two weeks I lay on my back feeling like a Hindoo widow on a burning ghat. Old Atasca, an untrained Indian nurse, sat near the door like a petrified99 statue of What's-the-Use, attending to her duties, which were, mainly, to see that time went by without slipping a cog. Sometimes I would fancy myself back in the Philippines, or, at worse times, sliding off the horsehair sofa in Sleepytown.
One afternoon I ordered Atasca to vamose, and got up and dressed carefully. I took my temperature, which I was pleased to find 104. I paid almost dainty attention to my dress, choosing solicitously100 a necktie of a dull and subdued101 hue102. The mirror showed that I was looking little the worse from my illness. The fever gave brightness to my eyes and color to my face. And while I looked at my reflection my color went and came again as I thought of Chloe Greene and the millions of eons that had passed since I'd seen her, and of Louis Devoe and the time he had gained on me.
I went straight to her house. I seemed to float rather than walk; I hardly felt the ground under my feet; I thought pernicious fever must be a great boon103 to make one feel so strong.
I found Chloe and Louis Devoe sitting under the awning104 in front of the house. She jumped up and met me with a double handshake.
"I'm glad, glad, glad to see you out again!" she cried, every word a pearl strung on the string of her sentence. "You are well, Tommy--or better, of course. I wanted to come to see you, but they wouldn't let me.
"Oh yes," said I, carelessly, "it was nothing. Merely a little fever. I am out again, as you see."
We three sat there and talked for half an hour or so. Then Chloe looked out yearningly105 and almost piteously across the ocean. I could see in her sea-blue eyes some deep and intense desire. Devoe, curse him! saw it too.
"What is it?" we asked, in unison106.
"Cocoanut-pudding," said Chloe, pathetically. "I've wanted some--oh, so badly, for two days. It's got beyond a wish; it's an obsession107.
"The cocoanut season is over," said Devoe, in that voice of his that gave thrilling interest to his most commonplace words. "I hardly think one could be found in Mojada. The natives never use them except when they are green and the milk is fresh. They sell all the ripe ones to the fruiterers."
"Wouldn't a broiled108 lobster109 or a Welsh rabbit do as well?" I remarked, with the engaging idiocy110 of a pernicious-fever convalescent.
Chloe came as near to pouting111 as a sweet disposition112 and a perfect profile would allow her to come.
The Reverend Homer poked113 his ermine-lined face through the doorway and added a concordance to the conversation.
"Sometimes," said he, "old Campos keeps the dried nuts in his little store on the hill. But it would be far better, my daughter, to restrain unusual desires, and partake thankfully of the daily dishes that the Lord has set before us."
"Stuff!" said I.
"How was that?" asked the Reverend Homer, sharply.
"I say it's tough," said I, "to drop into the vernacular114, that Miss Greene should be deprived of the food she desires-a simple thing like kalsomine-pudding. Perhaps," I continued, solicitously, "some pickled walnuts or a fricassee of Hungarian butternuts would do as well."
Every one looked at me with a slight exhibition of curiosity.
Louis Devoe arose and made his adieus. I watched him until he had sauntered slowly and grandiosely115 to the corner, around which he turned to reach his great warehouse116 and store. Chloe made her excuses, and went inside for a few minutes to attend to some detail affecting the seven-o'clock dinner. She was a passed mistress in housekeeping. I had tasted her puddings and bread with beatitude.
When all had gone, I turned casually117 and saw a basket made of plaited green withes hanging by a nail outside the door-jamb. With a rush that made my hot temples throb118 there came vividly119 to my mind recollections of the head-hunters--those grim, flinty, relentless little men, never seen, but chilling the warmest noonday by the subtle terror of their concealed presence. . . . From time to time, as vanity or ennui or love or jealousy or ambition may move him, one creeps forth with his snickersnee and takes up the silent trail. . . . Back he comes, triumphant, bearing the severed, gory head of his victim . . . His particular brown or white maid lingers, with fluttering bosom, casting soft tiger's eyes at the evidence of his love for her.
I stole softly from the house and returned to my hut. From its supporting nails in the wall I took a machete as heavy as a butcher's cleaver120 and sharper than a safety-razor. And then I chuckled121 softly to myself, and set out to the fastidiously appointed private office of Monsieur Louis Devoe, usurper122 to the hand of the Pearl of the Pacific.
He was never slow at thinking; he gave one look at my face and another at the weapon in my hand as I entered his door, and then he seemed to fade from my sight. I ran to the back door, kicked it open, and saw him running like a deer up the road toward the wood that began two hundred yards away. I was after him, with a shout. I remember hearing children and women screaming, and seeing them flying from the road.
He was fleet, but I was stronger. A mile, and I had almost come up with him. He doubled cunningly and dashed into a brake that extended into a small canon. I crashed through this after him, and in five minutes had him cornered in an angle of insurmountable cliffs. There his instinct of self-preservation steadied him, as it will steady even animals at bay. He turned to me, quite calm, with a ghastly smile.
"Oh, Rayburn!" he said, with such an awful effort at ease that I was impolite enough to laugh rudely in his face. "Oh, Rayburn!" said he, "come, let's have done with this nonsense. Of course, I know it's the fever and you're not yourself; but collect yourself, man-give me that ridiculous weapon, now, and let's go back and talk it over."
"I will go back," said I, "carrying your head with me. We will see how charmingly it can discourse123 when it lies in the basket at her door."
"Come," said he, persuasively124, "I think better of you than to suppose that you try this sort of thing as a joke. But even the vagaries125 of a fever-crazed lunatic come some time to a limit. What is this talk about heads and baskets? Get yourself together and throw away that absurd cane-chopper. What would Miss Greene think of you?" he ended, with the silky cajolery that one would use toward a fretful child.
"Listen," said I. "At last you have struck upon the right note. What would she think of me? Listen," I repeated.
"There are women," I said, "who look upon horsehair sofas and currant wine as dross126. To them even the calculated modulation127 of your well- trimmed talk sounds like the dropping of rotten plums from a tree in the night. They are the maidens128 who walk back and forth in the villages, scorning the emptiness of the baskets at the doors of the young men who would win them.
One such as they," I said, "is waiting. Only a fool would try to win a woman by drooling like a braggart129 in her doorway or by waiting upon her whims65 like a footman. They are all daughters of Herodias, and to gain their hearts one must lay the heads of his enemies before them with his own hands. Now, bend your neck, Louis Devoe. Do not be a coward as well as a chatterer at a lady's tea-table."
"There, there!" said Devoe, falteringly130. "You know me, don't you, Rayburn?"
"Oh yes," I said, "I know you. I know you. I know you. But the basket is empty. The old men of the village and the young men, and both the dark maidens and the ones who are as fair as pearls walk back and forth and see its emptiness. Will you kneel now, or must we have a scuffle? It is not like you to make things go roughly and with bad form. But the basket is waiting for your head."
With that he went to pieces. I had to catch him as he tried to scamper131 past me like a scared rabbit. I stretched him out and got a foot on his chest, but he squirmed like a worm, although I appealed repeatedly to his sense of propriety132 and the duty he owed to himself as a gentleman not to make a row.
But at last he gave me the chance, and I swung the machete.
It was not hard work. He flopped133 like a chicken during the six or seven blows that it took to sever22 his head; but finally he lay still, and I tied his head in my handkerchief. The eyes opened and shut thrice while I walked a hundred yards. I was red to my feet with the drip, but what did that matter? With delight I felt under my hands the crisp touch of his short, thick, brown hair and close-trimmed beard.
I reached the house of the Greenes and dumped the head of Louis Devoe into the basket that still hung by the nail in the door-jamb. I sat in a chair under the awning and waited. The sun was within two hours of setting. Chloe came out and looked surprised.
"Where have you been, Tommy?" she asked. "You were gone when I came out."
"Look in the basket," I said, rising to my feet. She looked, and gave a little scream--of delight, I was pleased to note.
"Oh, Tommy!" she said. "It was just what I wanted you to do. It's leaking a little, but that doesn't matter. Wasn't I telling you? It's the little things that count. And you remembered."
Little things! She held the ensanguined head of Louis Devoe in her white apron134. Tiny streams of red widened on her apron and dripped upon the floor. Her face was bright and tender.
"Little things, indeed!" I thought again. "The head-hunters are right. These are the things that women like you to do for them."
Chloe came close to me. There was no one in sight. She looked tip at me with sea-blue eyes that said things they had never said before.
"You think of me," she said. "You are the man I was describing. You think of the little things, and they are what make the world worth living in. The man for me must consider my little wishes, and make me happy in small ways. He must bring me little red peaches in December if I wish for them, and then I will love him till June. I will have no knight79 in armor slaying135 his rival or killing136 dragons for me. You please me very well, Tommy."
I stooped and kissed her. Then a moisture broke out on my forehead, and I began to feel weak. I saw the red stains vanish from Chloe's apron, and the head of Louis Devoe turn to a brown, dried cocoanut.
"There will be cocoanut-pudding for dinner, Tommy, boy," said Chloe, gayly, "and you must come. I must go in for a little while."
She vanished in a delightful4 flutter.
Dr. Stamford tramped up hurriedly. He seized my pulse as though it were his own property that I had escaped with.
"You are the biggest fool outside of any asylum137!" he said, angrily. "Why did you leave your bed? And the idiotic138 things you've been doing!--and no wonder, with your pulse going like a sledge-hammer."
"Name some of them," said I.
"Devoe sent for me," said Stamford. "He saw you from his window go to old Campos' store, chase him up the hill with his own yardstick139, and then come back and make off with his biggest cocoanut."
"It's the little things that count, after all," said I.
"It's your little bed that counts with you just now," said the doctor. "You come with me at once, or I'll throw up the case. 'You're as loony as a loon140."
So I got no cocoanut-pudding that evening, but I conceived a distrust as to the value of the method of the head-hunters. Perhaps for many centuries the maidens of the villages may have been looking wistfully at the heads in the baskets at the doorways141, longing142 for other and lesser143 trophies144.
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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chasms
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| 裂缝( chasm的名词复数 )； 裂口； 分歧； 差别 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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drench
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| v.使淋透，使湿透 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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hilariously
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spiked
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| adj.有穗的；成锥形的；有尖顶的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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gory
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| adj.流血的；残酷的 | |
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incentive
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| n.刺激；动力；鼓励；诱因；动机 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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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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intermittent
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arteries
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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31
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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32
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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33
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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34
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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35
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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36
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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37
lulled
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| vt.使镇静，使安静（lull的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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38
sedative
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| adj.使安静的，使镇静的；n. 镇静剂，能使安静的东西 | |
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39
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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40
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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41
scourged
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| 鞭打( scourge的过去式和过去分词 )； 惩罚，压迫 | |
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42
fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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43
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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44
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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45
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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46
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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48
zigzagging
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| v.弯弯曲曲地走路，曲折地前进( zigzag的现在分词 )；盘陀 | |
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49
auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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50
syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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51
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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52
strings
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| n.弦 | |
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53
vats
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| varieties 变化，多样性，种类 | |
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54
cork
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| n.软木，软木塞 | |
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55
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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56
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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57
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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58
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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59
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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60
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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61
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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62
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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63
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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64
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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65
WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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66
maxims
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| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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67
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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68
scriptures
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| 经文，圣典( scripture的名词复数 )； 经典 | |
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69
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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70
abetted
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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71
wiles
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| n.（旨在欺骗或吸引人的）诡计，花招；欺骗，欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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72
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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73
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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74
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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75
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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76
cannons
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| n.加农炮，大炮，火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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77
artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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78
knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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79
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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80
slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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81
detest
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| vt.痛恨，憎恶 | |
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82
walnuts
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| 胡桃（树）( walnut的名词复数 )； 胡桃木 | |
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83
clairvoyant
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| adj.有预见的；n.有预见的人 | |
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84
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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85
craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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86
affinity
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| n.亲和力，密切关系 | |
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87
impresario
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| n.歌剧团的经理人；乐团指挥 | |
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88
attachments
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| n.（用电子邮件发送的）附件( attachment的名词复数 )；附着；连接；附属物 | |
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89
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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90
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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91
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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92
derivatives
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| n.衍生性金融商品；派生物，引出物( derivative的名词复数 )；导数 | |
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93
mathematician
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| n.数学家 | |
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94
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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95
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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96
stimulants
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| n.兴奋剂( stimulant的名词复数 )；含兴奋剂的饮料；刺激物；激励物 | |
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97
caribou
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| n.北美驯鹿 | |
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98
calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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99
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100
solicitously
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| adv.热心地，热切地 | |
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101
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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102
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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103
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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104
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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105
yearningly
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| 怀念地，思慕地，同情地； 渴 | |
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106
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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107
obsession
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| n.困扰，无法摆脱的思想(或情感) | |
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108
broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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109
lobster
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| n.龙虾，龙虾肉 | |
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110
idiocy
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| n.愚蠢 | |
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111
pouting
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| v.撅（嘴）( pout的现在分词 ) | |
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112
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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113
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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114
vernacular
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| adj.地方的，用地方语写成的；n.白话；行话；本国语；动植物的俗名 | |
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115
grandiosely
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116
warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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117
casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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118
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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119
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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120
cleaver
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| n.切肉刀 | |
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121
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
usurper
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| n. 篡夺者, 僭取者 | |
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123
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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124
persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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125
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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126
dross
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| n.渣滓；无用之物 | |
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127
modulation
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| n.调制 | |
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128
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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129
braggart
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| n.吹牛者；adj.吹牛的，自夸的 | |
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130
falteringly
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| 口吃地，支吾地 | |
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131
scamper
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| v.奔跑，快跑 | |
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132
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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133
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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134
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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135
slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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136
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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137
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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138
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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139
yardstick
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| n.计算标准，尺度；评价标准 | |
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140
loon
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| n.狂人 | |
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141
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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142
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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143
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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144
trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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