WILLIAM PEARL DID NOT leave a great deal of money when he died, and his will was a
simple one. With the exception of a few small bequests1 to relatives, he left all his property to his
wife.
The solicitor2 and Mrs Pearl went over it together in the solicitor’s office, and when the business
was completed, the widow got up to leave. At that point, the solicitor took a sealed envelope from
the folder3 on his desk and held it out to his client.
‘I have been instructed to give you this,’ he said. ‘Your husband sent it to us shortly before he
passed away.’ The solicitor was pale and prim4, and out of respect for a widow he kept his head on
one side as he spoke5, looking downward. ‘It appears that it might be something personal, Mrs
Pearl. No doubt you’d like to take it home with you and read it in privacy.’
Mrs Pearl accepted the envelope and went out into the street. She paused on the pavement,
feeling the thing with her fingers. A letter of farewell from William? Probably, yes. A formal
letter. It was bound to be formal – stiff and formal. The man was incapable6 of acting7 otherwise. He
had never done anything informal in his life.
My dear Mary, I trust that you will not permit my departure from this world to upset you too much, but
that you will continue to observe those precepts8 which have guided you so well during our partnership9
together. Be diligent10 and dignified11 in all things. Be thrifty12 with your money. Be very careful that you do
not … et cetera, et cetera.
A typical William letter.
Or was it possible that he might have broken down at the last moment and written her
something beautiful? Maybe this was a beautiful tender message, a sort of love letter, a lovely
warm note of thanks to her for giving him thirty years of her life and for ironing a million shirts
and cooking a million meals and making a million beds, something that she could read over and
over again, once a day at least, and she would keep it for ever in the box on the dressing-table
together with her brooches.
There is no knowing what people will do when they are about to die, Mrs Pearl told herself, and
she tucked the envelope under her arm and hurried home.
She let herself in the front door and went straight to the living-room and sat down on the sofa
without removing her hat or coat. Then she opened the envelope and drew out the contents. These
consisted, she saw, of some fifteen or twenty sheets of lined white paper, folded over once and
held together at the top left-hand corner by a clip. Each sheet was covered with the small, neat,
forward-sloping writing that she knew so well, but when she noticed how much of it there was,
and in what a neat businesslike manner it was written, and how the first page didn’t even begin in
the nice way a letter should, she began to get suspicious.
She looked away. She lit herself a cigarette. She took one puff13 and laid the cigarette in the ash-
tray.
If this is about what I am beginning to suspect it is about, she told herself, then I don’t want to
read it.
Can one refuse to read a letter from the dead?
Yes.
Well …
She glanced over at William’s empty chair on the other side of the fireplace. It was a big brown
leather armchair, and there was a depression on the seat of it, made by his buttocks over the years.
Higher up, on the backrest, there was a dark oval stain on the leather where his head had rested.
He used to sit reading in that chair and she would be opposite him on the sofa, sewing on buttons
or mending socks or putting a patch on the elbow of one of his jackets, and every now and then a
pair of eyes would glance up from the book and settle on her, watchful14, but strangely impersonal15,
as if calculating something. She had never liked those eyes. They were ice blue, cold, small, and
rather close together, with two deep vertical16 lines of disapproval17 dividing them. All her life they
had been watching her. And even now, after a week alone in the house, she sometimes had an
uneasy feeling that they were still there, following her around, staring at her from doorways19, from
empty chairs, through a window at night.
Slowly she reached into her handbag and took out her spectacles and put them on. Then,
holding the pages up high in front of her so that they caught the late afternoon light from the
window behind, she started to read:
This note, my dear Mary, is entirely20 for you, and will be given you shortly after I am gone.
Do not be alarmed by the sight of all this writing. It is nothing but an attempt on my part to
explain to you precisely21 what Landy is going to do to me, and why I have agreed that he should do
it, and what are his theories and his hopes. You are my wife and you have a right to know these
things. In fact you must know them. During the past few days, I have tried very hard to speak with
you about Landy, but you have steadfastly22 refused to give me a hearing. This, as I have already
told you, is a very foolish attitude to take, and I find it not entirely an unselfish one either. It stems
mostly from ignorance, and I am absolutely convinced that if only you were made aware of all the
facts, you would immediately change your view. That is why I am hoping that when I am no
longer with you, and your mind is less distracted, you will consent to listen to me more carefully
through these pages. I swear to you that when you have read my story, your sense of antipathy25 will
vanish, and enthusiasm will take its place. I even dare to hope that you will become a little proud
of what I have done.
As you read on, you must forgive me, if you will, for the coolness of my style, but this is the
only way I know of getting my message over to you clearly. You see, as my time draws near, it is
natural that I begin to brim with every kind of sentimentality under the sun. Each day I grow more
extravagantly26 wistful, especially in the evenings, and unless I watch myself closely my emotions
will be overflowing27 on to these pages.
I have a wish, for example, to write something about you and what a satisfactory wife you have
been to me through the years and am promising28 myself that if there is time, and I still have the
strength, I shall do that next.
I have a yearning29 also to speak about this Oxford30 of mine where I have been living and teaching
for the past seventeen years, to tell something about the glory of the place and to explain, if I can,
a little of what it has meant to have been allowed to work in its midst. All the things and places
that I loved so well keep crowding in on me now in this gloomy bedroom. They are bright and
beautiful as they always were, and today, for some reason, I can see them more clearly than ever.
The path around the lake in the gardens of Worcester College, where Lovelace used to walk. The
gateway31 at Pembroke. The view westward32 over the town from Magdalen Tower. The great hall at
Christchurch. The little rockery at St John’s where I have counted more than a dozen varieties of
campanula, including the rare and dainty C. Waldsteiniana. But there, you see! I haven’t even
begun and already I’m falling into the trap. So let me get started now; and let you read it slowly,
my dear, without any of that sense of sorrow or disapproval that might otherwise embarrass your
understanding. Promise me now that you will read it slowly, and that you will put yourself in a
cool and patient frame of mind before you begin.
The details of the illness that struck me down so suddenly in my middle life are known to you. I
need not waste time upon them – except to admit at once how foolish I was not to have gone
earlier to my doctor. Cancer is one of the few remaining diseases that these modern drugs cannot
cure. A surgeon can operate if it has not spread too far; but with me, not only did I leave it too late,
but the thing had the effrontery34 to attack me in the pancreas, making both surgery and survival
equally impossible.
So here I was with somewhere between one and six months left to live, growing more
melancholy35 every hour – and then, all of a sudden, in comes Landy.
That was six weeks ago, on a Tuesday morning, very early, long before your visiting time, and
the moment he entered I knew there was some sort of madness in the wind. He didn’t creep in on
his toes, sheepish and embarrassed, not knowing what to say, like all my other visitors. He came in
strong and smiling, and he strode up to the bed and stood there looking down at me with a wild
bright glimmer36 in his eyes, and he said, ‘William, my boy, this is perfect. You’re just the one I
want!’
Perhaps I should explain to you here that although John Landy has never been to our house, and
you have seldom if ever met him, I myself have been friendly with him for at least nine years. I
am, of course, primarily a teacher of philosophy, but as you know I’ve lately been dabbling37 a good
deal in psychology38 as well. Landy’s interests and mine have therefore slightly over-lapped. He is a
magnificent neuro-surgeon, one of the finest, and recently he has been kind enough to let me study
the results of some of his work, especially the varying effects of prefrontal lobotomies upon
different types of psychopath. So you can see that when he suddenly burst in on me that Tuesday
morning, we were by no means strangers to one another.
‘Look,’ he said, pulling up a chair beside the bed. ‘In a few weeks you’re going to be dead.
Correct?’
Coming from Landy, the question didn’t seem especially unkind. In a way it was refreshing39 to
have a visitor brave enough to touch upon the forbidden subject.
‘You’re going to expire right here in this room, and then they’ll take you out and cremate40 you.’
‘Bury me,’ I said.
‘That’s even worse. And then what? Do you believe you’ll go to heaven?’
‘I doubt it,’ I said, ‘though it would be comforting to think so.’
‘Or hell, perhaps?’
‘I don’t really see why they should send me there.’
‘You never know, my dear William.’
What’s all this about?’ I asked.
‘Well,’ he said, and I could see him watching me carefully, ‘personally, I don’t believe that after
you’re dead you’ll ever hear of yourself again – unless …’ and here he paused and smiled and
leaned closer ‘ … unless, of course, you have the sense to put yourself into my hands. Would you
care to consider a proposition?’
The way he was staring at me, and studying me, and appraising41 me with a queer kind of
hungriness, I might have been a piece of prime beef on the counter and he had bought it and was
waiting for them to wrap it up.
‘I’m really serious about it, William. Would you care to consider a proposition?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Then listen and I’ll tell you. Will you listen to me?’
‘Go on then, if you like. I doubt I’ve got very much to lose by hearing it.’
‘On the contrary, you have a great deal to gain – especially after you’re dead.’
I am sure he was expecting me to jump when he said this, but for some reason I was ready for it.
I lay quite still, watching his face and that slow white smile of his that always revealed the gold
clasp on an upper denture curled around the canine42 on the left side of his mouth.
‘This is a thing, William, that I’ve been working on quietly for some years. One or two others
here at the hospital have been helping43 me, especially Morrison, and we’ve completed a number of
fairly successful trials with laboratory animals. I’m at the stage now where I’m ready to have a go
with a man. It’s a big idea, and it may sound a bit far-fetched at first, but from a surgical44 point of
view there doesn’t seem to be any reason why it shouldn’t be more or less practicable.’
Landy leaned forward and placed both hands on the edge of my bed. He has a good face,
handsome in a bony sort of way, with none of the usual doctor’s look about it. You know that
look, most of them have it. It glimmers45 at you out of their eyeballs like a dull electric sign and it
reads Only I can save you. But John Landy’s eyes were wide and bright and little sparks of
excitement were dancing in the centres of them.
‘Quite a long time ago,’ he said, ‘I saw a short medical film that had been brought over from
Russia. It was a rather gruesome thing, but interesting. It showed a dog’s head completely severed46
from the body, but with the normal blood supply being maintained through the arteries48 and veins49
by means of an artificial heart. Now the thing is this: that dog’s head, sitting there all alone on a
sort of tray, was alive. The brain was functioning. They proved it by several tests. For example,
when food was smeared50 on the dog’s lips, the tongue would come out and lick it away: and the
eyes would follow a person moving across the room.
‘It seemed reasonable to conclude from this that the head and the brain did not need to be
attached to the rest of the body in order to remain alive – provided, of course, that a supply of
properly oxygenated blood could be maintained.
‘Now then. My own thought, which grew out of seeing this film, was to remove the brain from
the skull51 of a human and keep it alive and functioning as an independent unit for an unlimited52
period after he is dead. Your brain, for example, after you are dead.’
‘I don’t like that,’ I said.
‘Don’t interrupt, William. Let me finish. So far as I can tell from’ subsequent experiments, the
brain is a peculiarly self-supporting object. It manufactures its own cerebrospinal fluid. The magic
processes of thought and memory which go on inside it are manifestly not impaired55 by the absence
of limbs or trunk or even of skull, provided, as I say, that you keep pumping in the right kind of
oxygenated blood under the proper conditions.
‘My dear William, just think for a moment of your own brain. It is in perfect shape. It is
crammed56 full of a lifetime of learning. It has taken you years of work to make it what it is. It is just
beginning to give out some first-rate original ideas. Yet soon it is going to have to die along with
the rest of your body simply because your silly little pancreas is riddled57 with cancer.’
‘No thank you,’ I said to him. ‘You can stop there. It’s a repulsive58 idea, and even if you could
do it, which I doubt, it would be quite pointless. What possible use is there in keeping my brain
alive if I couldn’t talk or see or hear or feel? Personally, I can think of nothing more unpleasant.’
‘I believe that you would be able to communicate with us,’ Landy said. ‘And we might even
succeed in giving you a certain amount of vision. But let’s take this slowly. I’ll come to all that
later on. The fact remains59 that you’re going to die fairly soon whatever happens; and my plans
would not involve touching60 you at all until after you are dead. Come now, William. No true
philosopher could object to lending his dead body to the cause of science.’
‘That’s not putting it quite straight,’ I answered. ‘It seems to me there’d be some doubts as to
whether I were dead or alive by the time you’d finished with me.’
‘Well,’ he said, smiling a little, ‘I suppose you’re right about that. But I don’t think you ought to
turn me down quite so quickly, before you know a bit more about it.’
‘I said I don’t want to hear it.’
‘Have a cigarette,’ he said, holding out his case.
‘I don’t smoke, you know that.’
He took one himself and lit it with a tiny silver lighter61 that was no bigger than a shilling piece.
‘A present from the people who make my instruments,’ he said. ‘Ingenious, isn’t it?’
I examined the lighter, then handed it back.
‘May I go on?’ he asked.
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘Just lie still and listen. I think you’ll find it quite interesting.’
There were some blue grapes on a plate beside my bed. I put the plate on my chest and began
eating the grapes.
‘At the very moment of death,’ Landy said, ‘I should have to be standing33 by so that I could step
in immediately and try to keep your brain alive.’
‘You mean leaving it in the head?’
‘To start with, yes. I’d have to.’
‘And where would you put it after that?’
‘If you want to know, in a sort of basin.’
‘Are you really serious about this?’
‘Certainly I’m serious.’
‘All right. Go on.’
‘I suppose you know that when the heart stops and the brain is deprived of fresh blood and
oxygen, its tissues die very rapidly. Anything from four to six minutes and the whole thing’s dead.
Even after three minutes you may get a certain amount of damage. So I should have to work
rapidly to prevent this from happening. But with the help of the machine, it should all be quite
simple.’
‘What machine?’
‘The artificial heart. We’ve got a nice adaptation here of the one originally devised by Alexis
Carrel and Lindbergh. It oxygenates the blood, keeps it at the right temperature, pumps it in at the
right pressure, and does a number of other little necessary things. It’s really not at all
complicated.’
‘Tell me what you would do at the moment of death,’ I said. ‘What is the first thing you would
do?’
‘Do you know anything about the vascular62 and venous arrangement of the brain?’
‘No.’
‘Then listen. It’s not difficult. The blood supply to the brain is derived63 from two main sources,
the internal carotid arteries and the vertebral arteries. There are two of each, making four arteries
in all. Got that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the return system is even simpler. The blood is drained away by only two large veins, the
internal jugulars65. So you have four arteries going up – they go up the neck of course – and two
veins coming down. Around the brain itself they naturally branch out into other channels, but
those don’t concern us. We never touch them.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Imagine that I’ve just died. Now what would you do?’
‘I should immediately open your neck and locate the four arteries, the carotids and the
vertebrals. I should then perfuse them, which means that I’d stick a large hollow needle into each.
These four needles would be connected by tubes to the artificial heart.
‘Then, working quickly, I would dissect66 out both the left and right jugular64 veins and hitch67 these
also to the heart machine to complete the circuit. Now switch on the machine, which is already
primed with the right type of blood and there you are. The circulation through your brain would be
restored.’
‘I’d be like that Russian dog.’
‘I don’t think you would. For one thing, you’d certainly lose consciousness when you died, and
I very much doubt whether you would come to again for quite a long time – if indeed you came to
at all. But, conscious or not, you’d be in a rather interesting position, wouldn’t you? You’d have a
cold dead body and a living brain.’
Landy paused to savour this delightful68 prospect69. The man was so entranced and bemused by the
whole idea that he evidently found it impossible to believe I might not be feeling the same way.
‘We could now afford to take our time,’ he said. ‘And believe me, we’d need it. The first thing
we’d do would be to wheel you to the operating-room, accompanied of course by the machine,
which must never stop pumping. The next problem …’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘That’s enough. I don’t have to hear the details.’
‘Oh but you must,’ he said. ‘It is important that you should know precisely what is going to
happen to you all the way through. You see, afterwards, when you regain70 consciousness, it will be
much more satisfactory from your point of view if you are able to remember exactly where you
are and how you came to be there. If only for your own peace of mind you should know that. You
agree?’
I lay still on the bed, watching him.
‘So the next problem would be to remove your brain, intact and undamaged, from your dead
body. The body is useless. In fact it has already started to decay. The skull and the face are also
useless. They are both encumbrances71 and I don’t want them around. All I want is the brain, the
clean beautiful brain, alive and perfect. So when I get you on the table I will take a saw, a small
oscillating saw, and with this I shall proceed to remove the whole vault72 of your skull. You’d still
be unconscious at that point so I wouldn’t have to bother with anaesthetic.’
‘Like hell, you wouldn’t,’ I said.
‘You’d be out cold, I promise you that, William. Don’t forget you died just a few minutes
before.’
‘Nobody’s sawing off the top of my skull without an anaesthetic,’ I said.
Landy shrugged73 his shoulders. ‘It makes no difference to me,’ he said. ‘I’ll be glad to give you a
little procaine if you want it. If it will make you any happier I’ll infiltrate74 the whole scalp with
procaine, the whole head, from the neck up.’
‘Thanks very much,’ I said.
‘You know,’ he went on, ‘it’s extraordinary what sometimes happens. Only last week a man
was brought in unconscious, and I opened his head without any anaesthetic at all and removed a
small blood clot75. I was still working inside the skull when he woke up and began talking.
‘ “Where am I?” he asked.
‘ “You’re in hospital.”
‘ “Well,” he said. ‘Fancy that.”
‘ “Tell me,” I asked him, “is this bothering you, what I’m doing?”
‘ “No,” he answered. “Not at all. What are you doing?”
‘ “I’m just removing a blood clot from your brain.”
‘ “You are?”
‘ “Just lie still. Don’t move, I’m nearly finished.”
‘ “So that’s the bastard76 who’s been giving me all those headaches,” the man said.’
Landy paused and smiled, remembering the occasion. ‘That’s word for word what the man
said,’ he went on, ‘although the next day he couldn’t even recollect77 the incident. It’s a funny thing,
the brain.’
‘I’ll have the procaine,’ I said.
‘As you wish, William. And now, as I say, I’d take a small oscillating saw and carefully remove
your complete calvarium – the whole vault of the skull. This would expose the top half of the
brain, or rather the outer covering in which it is wrapped. You may or may not know that there are
three separate coverings around the brain itself – the outer one called the dura mater or dura, the
middle one called the arachnoid, and the inner one called the pia mater or pia. Most laymen78 seem
to have the idea that the brain is a naked thing floating around in fluid in your head. But it isn’t.
It’s wrapped up neatly79 in these three strong coverings, and the cerebrospinal fluid actually flows
within the little gap between the two coverings, known as the subarachnoid space. As I told you
before, this fluid is manufactured by the brain and it drains off into the venous system by osmosis.
‘I myself would leave all three coverings – don’t they have lovely names, the dura, the
arachnoid, and the pia? – I’d leave them all intact. There are many reasons for this, not least
among them being the fact that within the dura run the venous channels that drain the blood from
the brain into the jugular.
‘Now,’ he went on, ‘we’ve got the upper half of your skull off so that the top of the brain,
wrapped in its outer covering, is exposed. The next step is the really tricky80 one: to release the
whole package so that it can be lifted cleanly away, leaving the stubs of the four supply arteries
and the two veins hanging underneath81 ready to be re-connected to the machine. This is an
immensely lengthy82 and complicated business involving the delicate chipping away of much bone,
the severing83 of many nerves, and the cutting and tying of numerous blood vessels84. The only way I
could do it with any hope of success would be by taking a rongeur and slowly biting off the rest of
your skull, peeling it off downward like an orange until the sides and underneath of the brain
covering are fully24 exposed. The problems involved are highly technical and I won’t go into them
but I feel fairly sure that the work can be done. It’s simply a question of surgical skill and
patience. And don’t forget that I’d have plenty of time, as much as I wanted, because the artificial
heart would be continually pumping away alongside the operating-table, keeping the brain alive.
‘Now, let’s assume that I’ve succeeded in peeling off your skull and removing everything else
that surrounds the sides of the brain. That leaves it connected to the body only at the base, mainly
by the spinal54 column and by the two large veins and the four arteries that are supplying it with
blood. So what next?
‘I would sever47 the spinal column just above the first cervical vertebra, taking great care not to
harm the two vertebral arteries which are in that area. But you must remember that the dura or
outer covering is open at this place to receive the spinal column, so I’d have to close this opening
by sewing the edges of the dura together. There’d be no problem there.
‘At this point, I would be ready for the final move. To one side, on a table, I’d have a basin of a
special shape, and this would be filled with what we call Ringer’s Solution. That is a special kind
of fluid we use for irrigation in neurosurgery. I would now cut the brain completely loose by
severing the supply arteries and the veins. Then I would simply pick it up in my hands and transfer
it to the basin. This would be the only other time during the whole proceeding85 when the blood
flow would be cut off; but once it was in the basin, it wouldn’t take a moment to re-connect the
stubs of the arteries and veins to the artificial heart.
‘So there you are,’ Landy said. ‘Your brain is now in the basin, and still alive, and there isn’t
any reason why it shouldn’t stay alive for a very long time, years and years perhaps, provided we
looked after the blood and the machine.’
‘But would it function?’
‘My dear William, how should I know? I can’t even tell you whether it would regain
consciousness.’
‘And if it did?’
‘There now! That would be fascinating!’
‘Would it?’ I said, and I must admit I had my doubts.
‘Of course it would! Lying there with all your thinking processes working beautifully, and your
memory as well …’
‘And not being able to see or feel or smell or hear or talk,’ I said.
‘Ah!’ he cried. ‘I knew I’d forgotten something! I never told you about the eye. Listen. I am
going to try to leave one of your optic nerves intact, as well as the eye itself. The optic nerve is a
little thing about the thickness of a clinical thermometer and about two inches in length as it
stretches between the brain and the eye. The beauty of it is that it’s not really a nerve at all. It’s an
outpouching of the brain itself, and the dura or brain covering extends along it and is attached to
the eyeball. The back of the eye is therefore in very close contact with the brain, and cerebro-
spinal fluid flows right up to it.
‘All this suits my purpose very well, and makes it reasonable to suppose that I could succeed in
preserving one of your eyes. I’ve already constructed a small plastic case to contain the eyeball,
instead of your own socket86, and when the brain is in the basin, submerged in Ringer’s Solution,
the eyeball in its case will float on the surface of the liquid.’
‘Staring at the ceiling,’ I said.
‘I suppose so, yes. I’m afraid there wouldn’t be any muscles there to move it around. But it
might be sort of fun to lie there so quietly and comfortably peering out at the world from your
basin.’
‘Hilarious,” I said. ‘How about leaving me an ear as well?’
‘I’d rather not try an ear this time.’
‘I want an ear,’ I said. ‘I insist upon an ear.’
‘No.’
‘I want to listen to Bach.’
‘You don’t understand how difficult it would be,’ Landy said gently. The hearing apparatus87 –
the cochlea, as it’s called – is a far more delicate mechanism88 than the eye. What’s more, it is
encased in bone. So is a part of the auditory nerve that connects it with the brain. I couldn’t
possibly chisel89 the whole thing out intact.’
‘Couldn’t you leave it encased in the bone and bring the bone to the basin?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. This thing is complicated enough already. And anyway, if the eye works, it
doesn’t matter all that much about your hearing. We can always hold up messages for you to read.
You really must leave me to decide what is possible and what isn’t.’
‘I haven’t yet said that I’m going to do it.’
‘I know, William, I know.’
‘I’m not sure I fancy the idea very much.’
‘Would you rather be dead altogether?’
‘Perhaps I would. I don’t know yet. I wouldn’t be able to talk, would I?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Then how would I communicate with you? How would you know that I’m conscious?’
‘It would be easy for us to know whether or not you regain consciousness,’ Landy said. The
ordinary electro-encephalograph could tell us that. We’d attach the electrodes directly to the
frontal lobes90 of your brain, there in the basin.’
‘And you could actually tell?’
‘Oh, definitely. Any hospital could do that part of it.’
‘But I couldn’t communicate with you.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ Landy said, ‘I believe you could. There’s a man up in London called
Wertheimer who’s doing some interesting work on the subject of thought communication, and I’ve
been in touch with him. You know, don’t you, that the thinking brain throws off electrical and
chemical discharges? And that these discharges go out in the form of waves, rather like radio
waves?’
‘I know a bit about it,’ I said.
‘Well, Wertheimer has constructed an apparatus somewhat similar to the encephalograph,
though far more sensitive, and he maintains that within certain narrow limits it can help him to
interpret the actual things that a brain is thinking. It produces a kind of graph which is apparently91
decipherable into words or thoughts. Would you like me to ask Wertheimer to come and see you?’
‘No,’ I said. Landy was already taking it for granted that I was going to go through with this
business, and I resented his attitude. ‘Go away now and leave me alone,’ I told him. ‘You won’t
get anywhere by trying to rush me.’
He stood up at once and crossed to the door.
‘One question,’ I said.
He paused with a hand on the doorknob. ‘Yes, William?’
‘Simply this. Do you yourself honestly believe that when my brain is in that basin, my mind
will be able to function exactly as it is doing at present? Do you believe that I will be able to think
and reason as I can now? And will the power of memory remain?’
‘I don’t see why not,’ he answered. ‘It’s the same brain. It’s alive. It’s undamaged. In fact, it’s
completely untouched. We haven’t even opened the dura. The big difference, of course, would be
that we’ve severed every single nerve that leads into it – except for the one optic nerve – and this
means that your thinking would no longer be influenced by your senses. You’d be living in an
extraordinary pure and detached world. Nothing to bother you at all, not even pain. You couldn’t
possibly feel pain because there wouldn’t be any nerves to feel it with. In a way, it would be an
almost perfect situation. No worries or fears or pains or hunger or thirst. Not even any desires. Just
your memories and your thoughts and if the remaining eye happened to function, then you could
read books as well. It all sounds rather pleasant to me.’
‘It does, does it?’
‘Yes, William, it does. And particularly for a Doctor of Philosophy. It would be a tremendous
experience. You’d be able to reflect upon the ways of the world with a detachment and a serenity92
that no man had ever attained93 before. And who knows what might not happen then! Great thoughts
and solutions might come to you, great ideas that could revolutionize our way of life! Try to
imagine, if you can, the degree of concentration that you’d be able to achieve!’
‘And the frustration94,’ I said.
‘Nonsense. There couldn’t be any frustration. You can’t have frustration without desire, and
you couldn’t possibly have any desire. Not physical desire, anyway.’
‘I should certainly be capable of remembering my previous life in the world, and I might desire
to return to it.’
‘What, to this mess! Out of your comfortable basin and back into this madhouse!’
‘Answer one more question,’ I said. ‘How long do you believe you could keep it alive?’
‘The brain? Who knows? Possibly for years and years. The conditions would be ideal. Most of
the factors that cause deterioration95 would be absent, thanks to the artificial heart. The blood-
pressure would remain constant at all times, an impossible condition in real life. The temperature
would also be constant. The chemical composition of the blood would be near perfect. There
would be no impurities96 in it, or virus, no bacteria, nothing. Of course it’s foolish to guess, but I
believe that a brain might live for two or three hundred years in circumstances like these. Goodbye
for now,’ he said. ‘I’ll drop in and see you tomorrow.’ He went out quickly, leaving me, as you
might guess, in a fairly disturbed state of mind.
My immediate23 reaction after he had gone was one of revulsion towards the whole business.
Somehow, it wasn’t at all nice. There was something basically repulsive about the idea that I
myself, with all my mental faculties97 intact, should be reduced to a small slimy blob lying in a pool
of water. It was monstrous98, obscene, unholy. Another thing that bothered me was the feeling of
helplessness that I was bound to experience once Landy had got me into the basin. There could be
no going back after that, no way of protesting or explaining. I would be committed for as long as
they could keep me alive.
And what, for example, if I could not stand it? What if it turned out to be terribly painful? What
if I became hysterical99?
No legs to run away on. No voice to scream with. Nothing. I’d just have to grin and bear it for
the next two centuries.
No mouth to grin with either.
At this point, a curious thought struck me, and it was this: Does not a man who has had a leg
amputated often suffer from the delusion100 that the leg is still there? Does he not tell the nurse that
the toes he doesn’t have any more are itching101 like mad, and so on and so forth102? I seemed to have
heard something to that effect quite recently.
Very well. On the same premise103, was it not possible that my brain, lying there alone in that
basin, might not suffer from a similar delusion in regard to my body? In which case, all my usual
aches and pains could come flooding over me and I wouldn’t even be able to take an aspirin104 to
relieve them. One moment I might be imagining that I had the most excruciating cramp105 in my leg,
or a violent indigestion, and a few minutes later, I might easily get the feeling that my poor
bladder – you know me – was so full that if I didn’t get to emptying it soon it would burst.
Heaven forbid.
I lay there for a long time thinking these horrid106 thoughts. Then quite suddenly, round about
midday, my mood began to change. I became less concerned with the unpleasant aspect of the
affair and found myself able to examine Landy’s proposals in a more reasonable light. Was there
not, after all, I asked myself, something a bit comforting in the thought that my brain might not
necessarily have to die and disappear in a few weeks’ time? There was indeed. I am rather proud
of my brain. It is a sensitive, lucid107, and uberous organ. It contains a prodigious108 store of
information, and it is still capable of producing imaginative and original theories. As brains go, it
is a damn good one, though I say it myself. Whereas my body, my poor old body, the thing that
Landy wants to throw away – well, even you, my dear Mary, will have to agree with me that there
is really nothing about that which is worth preserving any more.
I was lying on my back eating a grape. Delicious it was, and there were three little seeds in it
which I took out of my mouth and placed on the edge of the plate.
‘I’m going to do it,’ I said quietly. ‘Yes, by God, I’m going to do it. When Landy comes back to
see me tomorrow I shall tell him straight out that I’m going to do it.’
It was as quick as that. And from then on, I began to feel very much better. I surprised everyone
by gobbling an enormous lunch, and shortly after that you came in to visit me as usual.
But how well I looked, you told me. How bright and well and chirpy. Had anything happened?
Was there some good news?
Yes, I said there was. And then, if you remember, I bade you sit down and make yourself
comfortable and I began immediately to explain to you as gently as I could what was in the wind.
Alas109, you would have none of it. I had hardly begun telling you the barest details when you flew
into a fury and said that the thing was revolting, disgusting, horrible, unthinkable, and when I tried
to go on, you marched out of the room.
Well, Mary, as you know, I have tried to discuss this subject with you many times since then,
but you have consistently refused to give me a hearing. Hence this note, and I can only hope that
you will have the good sense to permit yourself to read it. It has taken me a long time to write.
Two weeks have gone since I started to scribble110 the first sentence, and I’m now a good deal
weaker than I was then. I doubt whether I have the strength to say much more. Certainly I won’t
say good-bye, because there’s a chance, just a tiny chance, that if Landy succeeds in his work I
may actually see you again later, that is if you bring yourself to come and visit me.
I am giving orders that these pages shall not be delivered to you until a week after I am gone.
By now, therefore, as you sit reading them, seven days have already elapsed since Landy did the
deed. You yourself may even know what the outcome has been. If you don’t, if you have
purposely kept yourself apart and have refused to have anything to do with it – which I suspect
may be the case – please change your mind now and give Landy a call to see how things went
with me. That is the least you can do. I have told him that he may expect to hear from you on the
seventh day.
Your faithful husband,
William
ps. Be good when I am gone, and always remember that it is harder to be a widow than a wife. Do
not drink cocktails111. Do not waste money. Do not smoke cigarettes. Do not eat pastry112. Do not use
lipstick113. Do not buy a television apparatus. Keep my rose beds and my rockery well weeded in the
summers. And incidentally I suggest that you have the telephone disconnected now that I shall
have no further use for it.
W.
Mrs Pearl laid the last page of the manuscript slowly down on the sofa beside her. Her little
mouth was pursed up tight and there was a whiteness around her nostrils114.
But really! You would think a widow was entitled to a bit of peace after all these years.
The whole thing was just too awful to think about. Beastly and awful. It gave her the shudders115.
She reached for her bag and found herself another cigarette. She lit it, inhaling116 the smoke deeply
and blowing it out in clouds all over the room. Through the smoke she could see her lovely
television set, brand new, lustrous117, huge, crouching118 defiantly119 but also a little self-consciously on
top of what used to be William’s worktable.
What would he say, she wondered, if he could see that now?
She paused, to remember the last time he had caught her smoking a cigarette. That was about a
year ago, and she was sitting in the kitchen by the open window having a quick one before he
came home from work. She’d had the radio on loud playing dance music and she had turned round
to pour herself another cup of coffee and there he was standing in the doorway18, huge and grim,
staring down at her with those awful eyes, a little black dot of fury blazing in the centre of each.
For four weeks after that, he had paid the housekeeping bills himself and given her no money at
all, but of course he wasn’t to know that she had over six pounds salted away in a soap-flake
carton in the cupboard under the sink.
‘What is it?’ she had said to him once during supper. ‘Are you worried about me getting lung
cancer?’
‘I am not,’ he had answered.
‘Then why can’t I smoke?’
‘Because I disapprove120, that’s why.’
He had also disapproved121 of children, and as a result they had never had any of them either.
Where was he now, this William of hers, the great disapprover122?
Landy would be expecting her to call up. Did she have to call Landy?
Well, not really, no.
She finished her cigarette, then lit another one immediately from the old stub. She looked at the
telephone that was sitting on the worktable beside the television set. William had asked her to call.
He had specifically requested that she telephone Landy as soon as she had read the letter. She
hesitated, fighting hard now against that old ingrained sense of duty that she didn’t quite yet dare
to shake off. Then, slowly, she got to her feet and crossed over to the phone on the worktable. She
found a number in the book, dialled it, and waited.
‘I want to speak to Mr Landy, please.’
‘Who is calling?’
‘Mrs Pearl. Mrs William Pearl.’
‘One moment, please.’
Almost at once, Landy was on the other end of the wire.
‘Mrs Pearl?’
‘This is Mrs Pearl.’
There was a slight pause.
‘I am so glad you called at last, Mrs Pearl. You are quite well, I hope?’ The voice was quiet,
unemotional, courteous123. ‘I wonder if you would care to come over to the hospital? Then we can
have a little chat. I expect you are very eager to know how it all came out.’
She didn’t answer.
‘I can tell you now that everything went pretty smoothly124, one way and another. Far better, in
fact, than I was entitled to hope. It is not only alive, Mrs Pearl, it is conscious. It recovered
consciousness on the second day. Isn’t that interesting?’
She waited for him to go on.
‘And the eye is seeing. We are sure of that because we get an immediate change in the
deflections on the encephalograph when we hold something up in front of it. And now we’re
giving it the newspaper to read every day.’
‘Which newspaper?’ Mrs Pearl asked sharply.
‘The Daily Mirror. The headlines are larger.’
‘He hates the Mirror. Give him The Times.’
There was a pause, then the doctor said, ‘Very well, Mrs Pearl. We’ll give it The Times. We
naturally want to do all we can to keep it happy.’
‘Him,’ she said. ‘Not it. Him!’
‘Him,’ the doctor said. ‘Yes, I beg your pardon. To keep him happy. That’s one reason why I
suggested you should come along here as soon as possible. I think it would be good for him to see
you. You could indicate how delighted you were to be with him again – smile at him and blow
him a kiss and all that sort of thing. It’s bound to be a comfort to him to know that you are
standing by.’
There was a long pause.
‘Well,’ Mrs Pearl said at last, her voice suddenly very meek125 and tired. ‘I suppose I had better
come on over and see how he is.’
‘Good. I knew you would. I’ll wait here for you. Come straight up to my office on the second
floor. Good-bye.’
Half an hour later, Mrs Pearl was at the hospital.
‘You mustn’t be surprised by what he looks like,’ Landy said as he walked beside her down a
corridor.
‘No, I won’t.’
‘It’s bound to be a bit of a shock to you at first. He’s not very prepossessing in his present state,
I’m afraid.’
‘I didn’t marry him for his looks, Doctor.’
Landy turned and stared at her. What a queer little woman this was, he thought with her large
eyes and her sullen126, resentful air. Her features, which must have been quite pleasant once, had now
gone completely. The mouth was slack, the cheeks loose and flabby, and the whole face gave the
impression of having slowly but surely sagged127 to pieces through years and years of joyless
married life. They walked on for a while in silence.
‘Take your time when you get inside,’ Landy said. ‘He won’t know you’re in there until you
place your face directly above his eye. The eye is always open, but he can’t move it at all, so the
field of vision is very narrow. At present we have it looking up at the ceiling. And of course he
can’t hear anything. We can talk together as much as we like. It’s in here.’
Landy opened a door and ushered128 her into a small square room.
‘I wouldn’t go too close yet,’ he said, putting a hand on her arm. ‘Stay back here a moment with
me until you get used to it all.’
There was a biggish white enamel129 bowl about the size of a washbasin standing on a high white
table in the centre of the room, and there were half a dozen thin plastic tubes coming out of it.
These tubes were connected with a whole lot of glass piping in which you could see the blood
flowing to and from the heart machine. The machine itself made a soft rhythmic130 pulsing sound.
‘He’s in there,’ Landy said, pointing to the basin, which was too high for her to see into. ‘Come
just a little closer. Not too near.’
He led her two paces forward.
By stretching her neck, Mrs Pearl could now see the surface of the liquid inside the basin. It was
clear and still, and on it there floated a small oval capsule, about the size of a pigeon’s egg.
‘That’s the eye in there,’ Landy said. ‘Can you see it?’
‘Yes.’
‘So far as we can tell, it is still in perfect condition. It’s his right eye, and the plastic container
has a lens on it similar to the one he used in his own spectacles. At this moment he’s probably
seeing quite as well as he did before.’
‘The ceiling isn’t much to look at,’ Mrs Pearl said.
‘Don’t worry about that. We’re in the process of working out a whole programme to keep him
amused, but we don’t want to go too quickly at first.’
‘Give him a good book.’
‘We will, we will. Are you feeling all right, Mrs Pearl?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll go forward a little more, shall we, and you’ll be able to see the whole thing.’
He led her forward until they were standing only a couple of yards from the table and now she
could see right down into the basin.
‘There you are,’ Landy said. That’s William.’
He was far larger than she had imagined he would be, and darker in colour. With all the ridges131
and creases132 running over his surface, he reminded her of nothing so much as an enormous pickled
walnut133. She could see the stubs of the four big arteries and the two veins coming out from the base
of him and the neat way in which they were joined to the plastic tubes; and with each throb134 of the
heart machine, all the tubes gave a little jerk in unison135 as the blood was pushed through them.
‘You’ll have to lean over,’ Landy said, ‘and put your pretty face right above the eye. He’ll see
you then, and you can smile at him and blow him a kiss. If I were you I’d say a few nice things as
well. He won’t actually hear them, but I’m sure he’ll get the general idea.’
‘He hates people blowing kisses at him,’ Mrs Pearl said. ‘I’ll do it my own way if you don’t
mind.’ She stepped up to the edge of the table, leaned forward until her face was directly over the
basin, and looked straight down in William’s eye.
‘Hallo, dear,’ she whispered. ‘It’s me – Mary.’
The eye, bright as ever, stared back at her with a peculiar53, fixed136 intensity137.
‘How are you, dear?’ she said.
The plastic capsule was transparent138 all the way round so that the whole of the eyeball was
visible. The optic nerve connecting the underside of it to the brain looked a short length of grey
spaghetti.
‘Are you feeling all right, William?’
It was a queer sensation peering into her husband’s eye when there was no face to go with it. All
she had to look at was the eye, and she kept staring at it, and gradually it grew bigger and bigger,
and in the end it was the only thing that she could see – a sort of face in itself. There was a
network of tiny red veins running over the white surface of the eyeball, and in the ice-blue of the
iris139 there were three or four rather pretty darkish streaks140 radiating from the pupil in the centre. The
pupil was large and black, with a little spark of light reflecting from one side of it.
‘I got your letter, dear, and came over at once to see how you were. Dr Landy says you are
doing wonderfully well. Perhaps if I talk slowly you can understand a little of what I am saying by
reading my lips.’
There was no doubt that the eye was watching her.
‘They are doing everything possible to take care of you, dear. This marvellous machine thing
here is pumping away all the time and I’m sure it’s a lot better than those silly old hearts all the
rest of us have. Ours are liable to break down at any moment, but yours will go on for ever.’
She was studying the eye closely, trying to discover what there was about it that gave it such an
unusual appearance.
‘You seem fine, dear, simply fine. Really you do.’
It looked ever so much nicer, this eye, than either of his eyes used to look, she told herself.
There was a softness about it somewhere, a calm, kindly141 quality that she had never seen before.
Maybe it had to do with the dot in the very centre, the pupil. William’s pupils used always to be
tiny black pinheads. They used to glint at you, stabbing into your brain, seeing right through you,
and they always knew at once what you were up to and even what you were thinking. But this one
she was looking at now was large and soft and gentle, almost cow-like.
‘Are you quite sure he’s conscious?’ she asked, not looking up.
‘Oh yes, completely,’ Landy said.
‘And he can see me?’
‘Perfectly142.’
‘Isn’t that marvellous? I expect he’s wondering what happened.’
‘Not at all. He knows perfectly well where he is and why he’s there. He can’t possibly have
forgotten that.’
‘You mean he knows he’s in this basin?’
‘Of course. And if only he had the power of speech, he would probably be able to carry on a
perfectly normal conversation with you this very minute. So far as I can see, there should be
absolutely no difference mentally between this William here and the one you used to know back
home.’
‘Good gracious me,’ Mrs Pearl said, and she paused to consider this intriguing143 aspect.
You know what, she told herself, looking behind the eye now and staring hard at the great grey
pulpy144 walnut that lay so placidly145 under the water, I’m not at all sure that I don’t prefer him as he is
at present. In fact, I believe that I could live very comfortably with this kind of a William. I could
cope with this one.
‘Quiet, isn’t he?’ she said.
‘Naturally he’s quiet.’
No arguments and criticisms, she thought, no constant admonitions, no rules to obey, no ban on
smoking cigarettes, no pair of cold disapproving146 eyes watching me over the top of a book in the
evenings, no shirts to wash and iron, no meals to cook – nothing but the throb of the heart
machine, which was rather a soothing147 sound anyway and certainly not loud enough to interfere148
with television.
‘Doctor,’ she said. ‘I do believe I’m suddenly getting to feel the most enormous affection for
him. Does that sound queer?’
‘I think it’s quite understandable.’
‘He looks so helpless and silent lying there under the water in his little basin.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘He’s like a baby, that’s what he’s like. He’s exactly like a little baby.’
Landy stood still behind her, watching.
‘There,’ she said softly, peering into the basin. ‘From now on Mary’s going to look after you all
by herself and you’ve nothing to worry about in the world. When can I have him back home,
Doctor?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said when can I have him back – back in my own house?’
‘You’re joking,’ Landy said.
She turned her head slowly around and looked directly at him. ‘Why should I joke?’ she asked.
Her face was bright, her eyes round and bright as two diamonds.
‘He couldn’t possibly be moved.’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘This is an experiment, Mrs Pearl.’
‘It’s my husband, Dr Landy.’
A funny little nervous half-smile appeared on Landy’s mouth. ‘Well …’ he said.
‘It is my husband, you know.’ There was no anger in her voice. She spoke quietly, as though
merely reminding him of a simple fact.
‘That’s rather a tricky point,’ Landy said, wetting his lips. ‘You’re a widow now, Mrs Pearl. I
think you must resign yourself to that fact.’
She turned away suddenly from the table and crossed over to the window. ‘I mean it,’ she said,
fishing in her bag for a cigarette. ‘I want him back.’
Landy watched her as she put the cigarette between her lips and lit it. Unless he were very much
mistaken, there was something a bit odd about this woman, he thought. She seemed almost pleased
to have her husband over there in the basin.
He tried to imagine what his own feelings would be if it were his wife’s brain lying there and
her eye staring at him out of that capsule.
He wouldn’t like it.
‘Shall we go back to my room now?’ he said.
She was standing by the window, apparently quite calm and relaxed, puffing149 her cigarette.
‘Yes, all right.’
On her way past the table she stopped and leaned over the basin once more. ‘Mary’s leaving
now, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘And don’t you worry about a single thing, you understand? We’re
going to get you right back home where we can look after you properly just as soon as we possibly
can. And listen dear …’ At this point she paused and carried the cigarette to her lips, intending to
take a puff.
Instantly the eye flashed.
She was looking straight into it at the time and right in the centre of it she saw a tiny but
brilliant flash of light, and the pupil contracted into a minute black pinpoint150 of absolute fury.
At first she didn’t move. She stood bending over the basin, holding the cigarette up to her
mouth, watching the eye.
Then very slowly, deliberately151, she put the cigarette between her lips and took a long suck. She
inhaled152 deeply, and she held the smoke inside her lungs for three or four seconds; then suddenly,
whoosh153, out it came through her nostrils in two thin jets which struck the water in the basin, and
billowed out over the surface in a thick blue cloud, enveloping154 the eye.
Landy was over by the door, with his back to her, waiting. ‘Come on, Mrs Pearl,’ he called.
‘Don’t look so cross, William,’ she said softly. ‘It isn’t any good looking cross.’
Landy tuned155 his head to see what she was doing.
‘Not any more it isn’t,’ she whispered. ‘Because from now on, my pet, you’re going to do just
exactly what Mary tells you. Do you understand that?’
‘Mrs Pearl,’ Landy said, moving towards her.
‘So don’t be a naughty boy again, will you, my precious,’ she said, taking another pull at the
cigarette. ‘Naughty boys are liable to get punished most severely156 nowadays, you ought to know
that.’
Landy was beside her now, and he took her by the arm and began drawing her firmly but gently
away from the table.
‘Good-bye, darling,’ she called. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
‘That’s enough, Mrs Pearl.’
‘Isn’t he sweet?’ she cried, looking up at Landy with big bright eyes. ‘Isn’t he heaven? I just
can’t wait to get him home.’
点击
收听单词发音
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bequests
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| n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 )；遗产，遗赠物 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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folder
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| n.纸夹，文件夹 | |
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prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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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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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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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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precepts
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| n.规诫，戒律，箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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antipathy
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| n.憎恶；反感，引起反感的人或事物 | |
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extravagantly
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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30
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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31
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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32
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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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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34
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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35
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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36
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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37
dabbling
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| v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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38
psychology
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| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
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39
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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40
cremate
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| v.火葬，烧成灰 | |
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41
appraising
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| v.估价( appraise的现在分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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42
canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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43
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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44
surgical
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| adj.外科的，外科医生的，手术上的 | |
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45
glimmers
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| n.微光，闪光( glimmer的名词复数 )v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的第三人称单数 ) | |
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46
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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47
sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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48
arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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49
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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50
smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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51
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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52
unlimited
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| adj.无限的，不受控制的，无条件的 | |
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53
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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54
spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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55
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
crammed
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|
| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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57
riddled
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| adj.布满的；充斥的；泛滥的v.解谜，出谜题(riddle的过去分词形式) | |
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58
repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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59
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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60
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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61
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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62
vascular
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| adj.血管的，脉管的 | |
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63
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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64
jugular
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| n.颈静脉 | |
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65
jugulars
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| n.颈静脉( jugular的名词复数 ) | |
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66
dissect
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| v.分割；解剖 | |
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67
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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68
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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69
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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70
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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71
encumbrances
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| n.负担( encumbrance的名词复数 )；累赘；妨碍；阻碍 | |
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72
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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73
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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74
infiltrate
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| vt./vi.渗入，透过；浸润 | |
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75
clot
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| n.凝块；v.使凝成块 | |
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76
bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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77
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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78
laymen
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| 门外汉，外行人( layman的名词复数 )； 普通教徒（有别于神职人员） | |
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79
neatly
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|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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80
tricky
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| adj.狡猾的，奸诈的；(工作等)棘手的，微妙的 | |
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81
underneath
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|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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82
lengthy
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|
| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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83
severing
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|
| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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84
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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85
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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86
socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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87
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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88
mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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89
chisel
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|
| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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90
lobes
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|
| n.耳垂( lobe的名词复数 )；（器官的）叶；肺叶；脑叶 | |
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91
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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92
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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93
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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94
frustration
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|
| n.挫折，失败，失效，落空 | |
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95
deterioration
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|
| n.退化；恶化；变坏 | |
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96
impurities
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| 不纯( impurity的名词复数 )； 不洁； 淫秽； 杂质 | |
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97
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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98
monstrous
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|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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99
hysterical
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|
| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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100
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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101
itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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102
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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103
premise
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|
| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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104
aspirin
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| n.阿司匹林 | |
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105
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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106
horrid
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|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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107
lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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108
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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109
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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110
scribble
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| v.潦草地书写，乱写，滥写；n.潦草的写法，潦草写成的东西，杂文 | |
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111
cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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112
pastry
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| n.油酥面团，酥皮糕点 | |
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113
lipstick
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| n.口红，唇膏 | |
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114
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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115
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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116
inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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117
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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118
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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119
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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120
disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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121
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
disapprover
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| vi.不赞成vt.反对，否决；持相反的意见 | |
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123
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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124
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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125
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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126
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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127
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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128
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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129
enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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130
rhythmic
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| adj.有节奏的，有韵律的 | |
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131
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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132
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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133
walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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134
throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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135
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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136
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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137
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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138
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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139
iris
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| n.虹膜，彩虹 | |
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140
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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141
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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142
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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143
intriguing
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|
| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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144
pulpy
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| 果肉状的，多汁的，柔软的； 烂糊； 稀烂 | |
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145
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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146
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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147
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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148
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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149
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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150
pinpoint
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|
| vt.准确地确定；用针标出…的精确位置 | |
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151
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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152
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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153
whoosh
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| v.飞快地移动，呼 | |
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154
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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155
tuned
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| adj.调谐的，已调谐的v.调音( tune的过去式和过去分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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156
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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