O FTEN IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON WHEN I ABIDE1 IN THE FARM’S parlor2, adrift in the
slipperiness of time, I see the boys from Company D. They look just as alive as they did all
those years ago. Yes, I think it’s Sam who strides through the front hall to the back door. He
doesn’t notice me stretched out on the sofa just inside the parlor. He’s a gray blur3, really—and
has passed before I can rise and call out his name. I think my mind is playing tricks; but the
image carries me back to the last time I saw him alive.
We were near Chantilly, the last day of August 1862. I sniffed4 the air, sensing the undercurrent
of coolness, and took note of the brittle5 yellow light that heralds6 the end of summer. Across the
fields I witnessed a mob of solemn fellows, some cleaning their rifles, others chopping and
hauling wood. A few quietly wrote letters while another group pulled huge cannons7 into place
by the road for transport. Soldiers, wagons9, encampments, horses, military bustle10, and confusion
spread out on the rocky fields. Some boys sat with minds drawn11 elsewhere.
I lowered myself down on a log and pulled one foot up across my knee to study it. My mud-
crusted ankle emerged from nothing but a shoe top, tongue flapping for lack of laces. The sole
was gone. In its place were wadded rags and straw, bound on with strips of cloth to protect my
raw, oozing12 feet. I didn’t know any man with proper boots after we had trudged13 over a thousand
miles up and down the Valley of Virginia that year.
Hunched14 over a scrap15 of paper laid out on a Bible, Otis McCorkle was intently writing to his
wife Lizzie and didn’t see me approach. By craning my neck, I could see that he advised her to
sell everything, all their geese, cows, and chickens. She could use the money to purchase food
and necessities for herself and the baby before a new dispatch of our soldiers came to the
southern counties to seize whatever cattle were left. In camp, McCorkle had heard that the men
were on their way, seeking cattle hides for shoe leather. The beasts now were too scrawny for
meat.
Zeke had sidled up behind me and mocked my awkward posture17 when he caught sight of
McCorkle’s letter. He grabbed McCorkle’s arm, startling him so that he dropped pencil and
paper. “How can you write such words? Look at my swollen18 feet; look at Tom’s. Look at the
wounds,” he demanded. “You’d deprive us and others of shoe leather? We won’t have a chance
in hell against the Yanks if we can’t chase them across a cornfield or walk down the road.”
“You read my letter!” McCorkle shouted. “You had no business reading my private letter!”
His eyes shot sparks, and his face looked like a ripe plum.
Zeke relaxed the arm he’d pulled back to punch McCorkle, and his voice softened19. “You’re
right. I apologize. I had no right,” he said. “But what are you thinking, saying such things?”
McCorkle’s brow wrinkled in defense20. “You don’t know anything about it. I’m tormented21
every night, worrying about my Lizzie and the baby dying—just to benefit this effort.” He
wasn’t at home to protect them from the depredations22 of either army, so this advice was all he
had to offer. “Our horse is already taken, and Lizzie has no way to travel to market unless
someone more fortunate offers her a ride in his wagon8. How many of those folks are around
these days?”
“None,” we responded in a chorus.
He continued, “You’re damned right. And our generous Confederate government gives a
person less than half what their goods are worth. It’s legal theft. She’ll have nothing if she
doesn’t sell everything before they find her.” After a bit, Zeke settled down, particularly when
several of us concerned about our own folks at home admitted to sharing McCorkle’s view. If
officers had gotten hold of his letter, however, he would have been tossed in the guardhouse for
a couple of days.
Wine-colored bruises23 and weeping blisters24 on my feet dashed any hope of walking home a
hundred miles. How I ached to relax on the wide front porch with my ankles propped25 up on the
railing. I’d listen to Mary’s neighborhood tales and eat Ma’s home cooking. I pined for a chance
to lie on a down mattress26 with a pillow under my head, rain beating on a tin roof. If I were to see
a table laden27 with Ma’s vittles, I suspected I’d kill myself with gluttony. And to her horror, I’d
pitch into everything with fingers and fists, not having used tableware for so long.
There was preaching in camp that morning. There would be preaching again that evening.
Presbyterian, Methodist, and Lutheran ministers, it made no difference. They all came from
Valley churches to take their weekly turns before us. They repeated propaganda from
government-issued pamphlets designed to make it easy for us to draw a bead29 on a Yankee
soldier. They told us the Yankee boys were evil, not sufficiently30 pious31 or God-fearing. “They
deserve to die for their sins. You are doing God’s work in doing battle with them,” one had said,
pounding his fists on a wood-crate lectern.
Their message reminded me of a letter written on my nineteenth birthday by my Aunt Ellen,
Ma’s favorite and youngest sister who lived on a farm near the Bethel road. She exhorted32 me to
serve my country bravely as a soldier, but to serve as the Savior’s warrior33 as well. Enlist34 under
His banner, she’d said, and respond as cheerfully to His call as I had to my country’s.
She meant well, but I saw no benefits to religion on the battlefield or in the camp hospital.
Fellows who attended the preaching twice a day were just as likely to be sliced in half by a
cannon’s grapeshot as those who didn’t. The minié balls didn’t zing by overhead to cut down the
non-religious while going out of their way to avoid the pious. I didn’t know how the new
minister preached, but from the looks of him, I thought I could do as well as him with two days’
Bible study and a glass of whiskey.
I sometimes joined that crowd of fellows, their backs bulging36 out against the canvas walls.
I’ll admit there was some comfort in the repetition of the familiar words within the church tent
where boys sought solace37. Beards’ face gleamed with more than lantern light when he recited
the lines of the twenty-third psalm38: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me.” He swore those words brought him peace late at
night as he lay on the ground. In moments of weakness, I too succumbed39 to hopes that if spoken
enough times, the incantations might ward16 off death and injury.
The aroma41 of stew42 filled my nostrils43. Kettles hung from horizontal branches propped up over
small campfires. The men were preparing rations44 for three days, a sign we’d march and fight for
at least that long. As usual, the direction of our march and the location of battle were a mystery.
These intervals45 between fighting ground down my spirit. On the other hand, combat fired up
every cell of my being once I broke through the fear. My senses buzzed as bullets bore through
the forests, unleashing46 a torrent47 of twigs48 and leaves. Foliage49 wafted50 in slow motion, each vein51
and stem magnified and trembling. Every moment intoxicated52 me with crystal detail.
Nothing in camp could touch it. At that moment, demons53 in my head groused54 about the
captain’s orders and made me long to be anywhere else. For distraction55, I picked up my
sketchbook, trying to find humor in our soldier’s life by cartooning it. First, I surveyed the camp
area.
I spied the boys of my mess—Sam Lucas, Tayloe, Beards, McCorkle, Blue, and Zeke. A
small fire flickered56 where they prepared rations for the march. I had become indifferent to the
camp’s discarded paper and garbage that wreathed tents. An immense pigsty57 proliferated58. The
odor of horse manure59 was no stronger than our own human stink60. Heaps of clothes, coffee-
colored with diarrhea stains, lay about. I meandered61 up the field and stepped around an
unidentifiable animal carcass that someone had hacked62 up. The fellows laughed over one of my
cartoons, forgotten on a log where I’d been sketching63. It depicted64 Sam watching as the day’s pot
of stew tumbled into the ashes from his poorly manufactured tripod. The others were rendered
with mouths agape and arms raised in alarm as they saw their hopes for a meal disappear. Sam
was often the butt65 of our jokes because he detested66 anything related to chores. His five older
sisters back home had coddled him. He still had much to learn and plenty of complaining left in
him.
Cartoon Sam’s hair poked67 out in porcupine68 spikes69, his face was darkened by sunburn, and a
wiry beard sprouted70 below beady eyes. His head teetered above a stick body. The others didn’t
fare so well either. One thing about Sam—he could laugh at himself. And that’s what he was
doing when I hailed him.
As I drew close, I could see that his high spirits, contagious71 like a sneeze, had infected the
men around the fire. They were all laughing as they stamped feet and shifted weight to loosen
joints73 stiff from a night on damp ground. Suddenly, I heard a burst of rifle fire from over my
shoulder, coming from the nearby woods. For a second, no one realized what had happened,
even as Sam tumbled backward. Someone continued laughing. A union sniper had anointed
Sam, not another of us Augusta boys, to die that day. To accept the bullet that carved an exit
through his skull74. He was gone instantly.
How could it be that in the midst of guffawing75 right out loud—laughing from your deep gut76
with your head thrown back in abandon—as though all that matters is the itch28 working its way
up from your innards to your brain—how could it be that you would be shot dead that very
second through your open mouth? How could fate have allowed a bullet to penetrate77 such a pure
expression of mirth, to turn merriment into a river of blood?
Not one of us moved. I stared at Sam’s body on his back before us, wondering if I was next,
but was too shocked to run. It felt as though I was watching the scene from the height of the thin
clouds scrolling78 across the sky, too far away to attach a name to the body on the ground. Jim
Blue was the first to shatter the horrified79 silence. “He should’ve kept his mouth shut! Don’t you
remember how Old Man Kiefer always ordered him to keep his goddamned mouth shut in Greek
and Latin class? If he’d kept his mouth shut, this never would have happened.” His words were
choked with tears.
“For Chris’sake, Blue,” Tayloe muttered.
The truth of the past few seconds finally broke through my stupor80, and I snatched up my rifle
on the run. “I’m going to kill the son-of-a-bitch who did this.” The rest of the boys followed me.
But as the tangle81 of wild grapevines and fallen branches clutched at our feet, the receding82 blue
uniform disappeared into thin air. Finally, we straggled back to where Sam’s body lay.
“That was a goddam union sharpshooter with his telescopic rifle. They’re the only ones
who’ve got no respect for the rules of war,” McCorkle raged. “Only a devil would look down a
rifle barrel and draw a bead on an unarmed man relaxing with his mates.”
“Sam didn’t have a fighting chance,” Beards muttered.
I remained silent. I was fighting to ignore the inky black sorrow that was crawling upward
from my gut and seeping83 behind my eyes.
“Come on. We need to do something with his body,” McCorkle said. “We can’t just stand
here all day.” He moved toward what was left of Sam and the other four of us followed his
example. I grabbed one warm, lifeless leg. Beards clasped the other. No one wanted to be
anywhere near his bloody84 head, but finally Beards and Jim Blue each lifted an arm. I couldn’t
wrest85 my eyes away from Sam’s teeth all lined up like small tombstones. I saw each clearly, as
never before. The bullet had passed through Sam’s mouth a hair’s width away, without damage
to any of them.
We laid the body down in a secluded86 spot at the edge of the woods. Zeke then squatted87 to
loosen Sam’s boots. “He promised these to me in case he died, and I now need them more than
he does.” He looked off in the distance, avoiding everyone’s gaze. I was repulsed88 yet fought my
desire to pull off his good pair of woolen89 pants recently sent from home. I resented Zeke’s
acquisition, even if he was entitled to it, thinking how those shoes would have allowed me to
finally walk home on furlough.
Sam was buried as decently as circumstances would allow. We jabbed our bayonet blades
into the red clay and worked the weapons back and forth90, back and forth. Clawing at the wet,
dense91 earth with our fingernails, we scrabbled out the bayonet- loosened clods and used a
cooking kettle for a scoop92. Finally, we made a depression deep enough to keep out the elements.
“Where is Sam’s top hat?” Zeke shambled back to the camp to retrieve93 it. “Can’t bury him
without his hat,” he said sadly, placing the ragged94 item next to the body. Not looking at anyone,
I reached for it and clasped the battered95 thing tight to my side. It was old to start with; probably
had belonged to Sam’s grandfather. Its jaunty96 little tower had led us into battle atop Sam’s head
more times than I could remember.
“I’m keeping this to remember him by. And maybe his folks might want it,” I said. The
others nodded.
His body shrouded97 in his soiled blanket, dog- eared knapsack settled on top, Sam was
cocooned98 in his nest of red earth. Beards sacrificed a scrap of paper hoarded99 in his knapsack and
tucked it into the blanket’s folds with Sam’s name and company scratched on it in pencil. Then
we piled dirt on what remained of Sam Lucas. We tamped72 it all down with rifle butts100 and
mounded branches on top to deter102 foraging103 dogs and wild pigs. The whole time, I thought the
walls of my chest would rupture104 with the pressure of a silent howl. But not one of us dared show
the strength of our sorrow, in case we all broke down.
We couldn’t just leave Sam without some kind of farewell ceremony. Nothing about it
seemed right. Knit in a silent circle around the mound101, each man probed his heart for words. I
finally found my voice. “We’ll sorely miss your high jinks and mischief105, Sam. May your eternal
soul rest in peace.” No one else spoke40 but stood with shoulders sagging106 and heads bowed. We
had lost the only one of our group guaranteed to make us laugh. He was also the bravest; he was
the one who had saved a whole trainload of us that first morning at Harpers Ferry. I stroked the
hat’s frayed107 silk brim between my thumb and fingers, and later would find room for it in my
backpack. From a hollowness more burnt-out than the big oak seared by lightening up in Pa’s
field three summers earlier, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” emerged from my throat. It
soared as the broken voices of the others joined in the second verse. After we finished singing,
we all wandered off separately to deal with Sam’s death.
Emptiness took root in my soul that day. Everyone was brought mighty108 low by Sam’s loss,
but I felt the most lonesome and apart from the others. I had lost a man as close as a brother. I
couldn’t get out of my head how empty Bethel would be without Sam. Every day would be like
knowing the night sky would never again have stars.
I’d close my eyes but couldn’t sleep. The union sniper’s bullet had struck Sam down, but I
couldn’t fully35 blame the sniper. After all, ours lured109 union troops into battle and then quickly
dropped behind the lines to kill our own boys—shirkers fleeing duty. I’d finally leave my
blanket and spend hours at the tent flap staring into the dark while I cursed Jeff Davis, the entire
Confederate government, the slave owners—including Bobby Lee and most of our officers—and
everyone else who’d spouted110 states’ rights and voted for secession. In truth, all those people cost
me my closest friend. For days, I spoke only when necessary. If my grief was so vast and raw,
how would Mr. Lucas and the rest of Sam’s family deal with theirs? An upright, forked stick
was all we had to mark the spot for his folks. It would be three years later when they came for
him with a wagon and a tin box to unearth111 what was left and transport it home for burial.
Campground sounds and sights melt away, and I realize I’ve wandered near the farmhouse112 back
door, confounded by shifting place and time. The sofa in the library is my destination, and I seek
it through the blue shadows enfolding the rooms. The deep tranquility of the library is my
touchstone, and I sink with relief into the soft sofa cushions. But not for long. A sense of great
urgency seizes me. Where is Sam’s top hat? I hadn’t thought of it in many decades until this
afternoon. Could it have been tossed out with everything else these strangers have pitched in the
trash? That hat is all I have left of Sam. Like so many boys lost then, there was little to bring
home and place under a tombstone.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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3
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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6
heralds
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| n.使者( herald的名词复数 )；预报者；预兆；传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 )；宣布（好或重要） | |
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cannons
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| n.加农炮，大炮，火炮( cannon的名词复数 ) | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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10
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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12
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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13
trudged
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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14
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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15
scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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17
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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19
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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depredations
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| n.劫掠，毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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23
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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24
blisters
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| n.水疱( blister的名词复数 )；水肿；气泡 | |
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25
propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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30
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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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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bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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40
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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41
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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42
stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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43
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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46
unleashing
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的现在分词 ) | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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48
twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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50
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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52
intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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53
demons
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| n.恶人( demon的名词复数 )；恶魔；精力过人的人；邪念 | |
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54
groused
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| v.抱怨，发牢骚( grouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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56
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57
pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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58
proliferated
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| 激增( proliferate的过去式和过去分词 )； （迅速）繁殖； 增生； 扩散 | |
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59
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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60
stink
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| vi.发出恶臭；糟透，招人厌恶；n.恶臭 | |
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61
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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63
sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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64
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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65
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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66
detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67
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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68
porcupine
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| n.豪猪， 箭猪 | |
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69
spikes
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| n.穗( spike的名词复数 )；跑鞋；（防滑）鞋钉；尖状物v.加烈酒于( spike的第三人称单数 )；偷偷地给某人的饮料加入（更多）酒精（ 或药物）；把尖状物钉入；打乱某人的计划 | |
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sprouted
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| v.发芽( sprout的过去式和过去分词 )；抽芽；出现；（使）涌现出 | |
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71
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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72
tamped
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| v.捣固( tamp的过去式和过去分词 )；填充；（用炮泥）封炮眼口；夯实 | |
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73
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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guffawing
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| v.大笑，狂笑( guffaw的现在分词 ) | |
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gut
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| n.[pl.]胆量；内脏；adj.本能的；vt.取出内脏 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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scrolling
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| n.卷[滚]动法，上下换行v.（电脑屏幕上）从上到下移动（资料等），卷页( scroll的现在分词 )；（似卷轴般）卷起；（像展开卷轴般地）将文字显示于屏幕 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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81
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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82
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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83
seeping
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| v.（液体）渗( seep的现在分词 )；渗透；渗出；漏出 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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wrest
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| n.扭，拧，猛夺；v.夺取，猛扭，歪曲 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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scoop
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| n.铲子，舀取，独家新闻；v.汲取，舀取，抢先登出 | |
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retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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96
jaunty
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| adj．愉快的，满足的；adv.心满意足地，洋洋得意地；n.心满意足；洋洋得意 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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cocooned
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| v.茧，蚕茧( cocoon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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99
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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101
mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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102
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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103
foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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104
rupture
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| n.破裂；(关系的)决裂；v.(使)破裂 | |
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105
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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106
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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107
frayed
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| adj.磨损的v.（使布、绳等）磨损，磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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109
lured
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| 吸引，引诱（lure的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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110
spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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111
unearth
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| v.发掘，掘出，从洞中赶出 | |
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112
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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