The interior of the entire house was now in an uproar1; shots came fast from every landing; the semi-dusk of stair-well and corridor was lighted by incessant3 pistol flashes and the whole building echoed the deafening4 racket.
“What do you make of it?” shouted Sengoun furiously, standing5 like a baited and perplexed6 bull. “Who’s fighting who in this fool of a place? By Erlik! I’d like to know whom I’m to fire at!”
Ilse Dumont, creeping along the wall, looked fearfully down at Weishelm who no longer moved where he lay on the dusty floor, with eyes and mouth open and his distorted face already half covered by a wet and crawling scarlet7 mask.
“Brandes and Stull are betraying us,” she whispered. “They are killing8 my comrades—on the stairs down there––”
“If that is true,” called out Neeland in a low, cautious voice, “you’d better wait a moment, Sengoun!”
But Sengoun’s rage for combat had already filled him to overflowing10, and the last rag of patience left him.
“I don’t care who is fighting!” he bellowed11. “It’s all one to me! Now is the time to shoot our way out of this. Come on, Neeland! Hurrah12 for the Terek Cossacks! Another town taken! Hurrah!”
Neeland caught Ilse by the wrist:378
“You’d better get free of this house while you can!” he said, dragging her with him after Sengoun, who had already reached the head of the stairs and was starting down, peering about for a target.
Suddenly, on the landing below, Golden Beard and Ali Baba appeared, caught sight of Sengoun and Neeland above, and opened fire on them instantly, driving them back from the head of the staircase flat against the corridor wall. But Golden Beard, seeming to realise now that the garret landing was held and the way to the roof cut off, began to retreat from the foot of the garret stairs with Ali Baba following, their restless, upward-pointed pistols searching for the slightest movement in the semi-obscurity of the hallway above.
Sengoun, fuming13 and fretting14, had begun to creep toward the head of the stairs again, when there came a rattling15 hail of shots from below, a rush, the trample16 of feet, the crash of furniture and startling slam of a door.
Downstairs straight toward the uproar ran Sengoun with Neeland beside him. The halls were swimming in acrid17 fumes18; the floors trembled and shook under the shock as a struggling, fighting knot of men went tumbling down the stairway below, reached the landing and burst into the rooms of the Cercle Extranationale.
Leaning over the banisters, Neeland saw Golden Beard turn on Doc Curfoot, raging, magnificent as a Viking, his blue eyes ablaze19. He hurled20 his empty pistol at the American; seized chairs, bronzes, andirons, the clock from the mantel, and sent a storm of heavy missiles through the doorway21 among the knot of men who were pressing him and who had already seized Ali Baba.
Then, from the banisters above, Neeland and 379Sengoun saw Brandes, moving stealthily, swiftly, edge his way to a further door.
Steadying the elbow of his pistol hand in the hollow cup of his left palm, his weapon level, swerving22 as his quarry23 moved, he presently fired at Golden Beard and got him through the back. And then he shot him again deliberately24, through the body, as the giant turned, made a menacing gesture toward him; took an uncertain step in his direction; another step, wavering, blindly grotesque25; then stood swaying there under the glare of the partly shattered chandelier from which hung long shreds26 of crystal prisms.
And Brandes, aiming once more with methodical and merciless precision, and taking what time he required to make a bull’s-eye on this great, reeling, golden-crowned bull, fired the third shot at his magnificent head.
The bronze Barye lion dropped from Golden Beard’s nerveless fist; the towering figure, stiffening27, fell over rather slowly and lay across the velvet28 carpet as rigid29 as a great tree.
Brandes went into the room, leaned over the dying man and fired into his body until his pistol was empty. Then he replaced the exhausted30 clip leisurely31, leering down at his victim.
There was a horrid32 sound from the stairs, where Curfoot and another man were killing a waiter. Strange, sinister33 faces appeared everywhere from the smoke-filled club rooms; Stull came out into the hallway below and shouted up through the stair-well:
“Say, Eddie! For Christ’s sake come down here! There’s a mob outside on the street and they’re tearing the iron shutters34 off the café!”
Curfoot immediately started downstairs; Brandes, pistol in hand, came slowly out of the club rooms, still 380leering, his slitted, greenish eyes almost phosphorescent in the semi-obscurity.
Suddenly he caught sight of Ilse Dumont standing close behind Sengoun and Neeland on the landing above.
“By God!” he shouted to Curfoot. “Here she is, Doc! Tell your men! Tell them she’s up here on the next floor!”
Sengoun immediately fired at Brandes, who did not return the shot but went plunging35 downstairs into the smoky obscurity below.
“Come on!” roared Sengoun to Neeland, starting forward with levelled weapon. “They’ve all gone crazy and it’s time we were getting out of this!”
“Quick!” whispered Neeland to Ilse Dumont. “Follow me downstairs! It’s the only chance for you now!”
But the passageway was blocked by a struggling, cursing, panting crowd, and they were obliged to retreat into the club rooms.
In the salle de jeu, Ali Baba, held fast by three men dressed as waiters, suddenly tripped up two of them, turned, and leaped for the doorway. The two men who had been tripped scrambled36 to their feet and tore after him. When they reached the hallway the Eurasian was gone; but all of a sudden there came the crash of a splintered door from the landing above; and the dim corridor rang with the frightful37 screaming of a woman.
“It’s—that—that—Russian girl!” stammered38 Ilse Dumont; “—The girl I locked in! Oh, my God!—my God! Karl Breslau is killing her!”
Neeland sprang into the hall and leaped up the stairs; but the three men disguised as waiters had arrived before him.
And there, across the threshold of the bedroom, backed up flat against the shattered door, Ali Baba 381was already fighting for his life; and the frightened Russian girl crept out from the bedroom behind him and ran to Neeland for protection.
Twice Neeland aimed at Ali Baba, but could not bring himself to fire at the bleeding, rabid object which snarled39 and slavered and bit and kicked, regardless of the blows raining on him. At last one of his assailants broke the half demented creature’s arm with a chair; and the bloody40, battered41 thing squeaked42 like a crippled rat and darted43 away amid the storm of blows descending44, limping and floundering up the attic45 stairs, his broken arm flapping with every gasping46 bound.
After him staggered his sweating and exhausted assailants, reeling past Neeland and Ilse Dumont and the terrified Russian girl who crouched47 behind them. But, halfway48 up the stairs all three halted and stood clinging to the banisters as though listening to something on the floor above them.
Neeland heard it, too: from the roof came a ripping, splintering sound, as though people on the slates49 were prying50 up the bolted scuttle51. The three men on the stairs hesitated a moment longer; then turned to flee, too late; a hail of pistol shots swept the attic stairs; all three men came pitching and tumbling down to the landing.
Two of them lay still; one rose immediately and limped on again down the hallway, calling over the banisters to those below:
“The Germans on the leads ’ave busted52 into the garret! Breslau is up ’ere! Send along those American gunmen, or somebody what can shoot!”
He was a grey-haired Englishman, smooth shaven and grim; and, as he stood there at the head of the 382further stairs, breathing heavily, awaiting aid from below, he said to Neeland coolly enough:
“You’d better go below, sir. We ’ad our orders to take this Breslau rat alive, but we can’t do it now, and there’s like to be a ’orrid mess ’ere directly.”
“Can we get through below?”
“You can,” said the man significantly, “but they’ll be detaining one o’ them ladies at the door.”
“Do you mean me?” said Ilse Dumont.
“Yes, ma’am, I do––”
She sprang toward the attic stairway, but the British agent whipped out a pistol and covered her.
“No,” he said grimly. “You’re wanted below. Go down!”
She came slowly back to where Neeland was standing.
“You’ll have to take your chance below,” he said under his breath. “I’ll stand by you to the end.”
She smiled and continued on toward the stairs where the English agent stood. Neeland and the Russian girl followed her.
The agent said:
“There’s ’ell to pay below, sir.”
The depths of the house rang with the infernal din2 of blows falling on iron shutters. A deeper, more sinister roar rose from the mob outside. There was a struggle going on inside the building, too; Neeland could hear the trampling53 and surging of men on every floor—voices calling from room to room, shouts of anger, the terrible outcry of a man in agony.
“Wot a rat’s nest, then, there was in this here blessed ’ouse, sir!” said the British agent, coolly. “If we get Breslau and the others on the roof we’ve bagged ’em all.”
The Russian girl was trembling so violently that 383Neeland took her by the arm. But Ilse Dumont, giving her a glance of contempt, moved calmly past the British agent to the head of the stairway.
“Come,” she said to Neeland.
The agent, leaning over the banisters, shouted to a man on the next floor:
“Look sharp below there! I’m sendin’ Miss Dumont down with Mr. Neeland, the American! Take her in charge, Bill!”
“Send her along!” bawled54 the man, framing his face with both hands. “Keep Breslau on the roof a bit and we’ll ’ave the beggar in a few moments!”
“It’s war, ’Arry! ’Ave you ’eard? It’s war this morning! Them ’Uns ’as declared war! And the perlice is a-killin’ of the Apaches all over Paris!”
Ilse Dumont looked curiously56 at the agent, calmly at Neeland, then, dropping one hand on the banisters, she went lightly down the stairs toward the uproar below, followed by Neeland and the Russian girl clinging to his arm with both desperate little hands.
The British agent hung far over the banisters until he saw his colleague join them on the floor below; then, reassured57, and on guard again, he leaned back against the corridor wall, his pistol resting on his thigh58, and fixed59 his cold grey eyes on the attic stairs once more.
The secret agent who now joined Neeland and Ilse Dumont on the fourth floor had evidently been constructing a barricade60 across the hallway as a precaution in case of a rush from the Germans on the roof.
Chairs and mattresses62, piled shoulder high, obstructed63 the passageway, blocking the stairs; and the secret agent—a very young man with red hair and in the garb64 of a waiter—clambered over it, revolver in 384one hand, a pair of handcuffs in the other. He lost his balance on top of the shaky heap; strove desperately65 to recover it, scrambled like a cat in a tub, stumbled, rolled over on a mattress61.
And there Neeland pinned him, closing his mouth with one hand and his throat with the other, while Ilse Dumont tore weapon and handcuffs from his grasp, snapped the latter over his wrists, snatched the case from a bedroom pillow lying among the mattresses, and, with Neeland’s aid, swathed the struggling man’s head in it.
“Into that clothes-press!” whispered Ilse, pointing along the hallway where a door swung open.
“Help me lift him!” motioned Neeland.
Together they got him clear of the shaky barricade and, lugging66 him between them, deposited him on the floor of the clothes-press and locked the door.
So silent had they been that, listening, they heard no movement from the watcher on the floor above, who stood guard at the attic stairs. And it was evident he had heard nothing to make him suspicious.
The Russian girl, dreadfully pale, leaned against the wall as though her limbs scarcely supported her. Neeland passed his arm under hers, nodded to Ilse Dumont, and started cautiously down the carpeted stairs, his automatic pistol in one hand, and the revolver taken from the imprisoned67 secret agent clutched tightly in the other.
Down the stairs they crept, straight toward the frightful tumult still raging below—down past the wrecked68 club rooms; past a dead man sprawling69 on the landing across the blood-soaked carpet—down into the depths of the dusky building toward the lighted café floor whence came the uproar of excited men, while, 385from the street outside, rose the frantic70 yelling of the mob mingled71 with the crash of glass and the clanging dissonance of iron grilles and shutters which were being battered into fragments.
“It’s my chance, now!” whispered Ilse Dumont, slipping past him like a shadow.
For a moment he saw her silhouetted72 against the yellow electric glare on the stairs below, then, half carrying the almost helpless Russian girl, he stumbled down the last flight of stairs and pushed his way through a hurrying group of men who seemed to be searching for something, for they were tearing open cupboards and buffets73, dragging out table drawers and tumbling linen74, crockery, and glassware all over the black and white marble floor.
The whole place was ankle deep in shattered glass and broken bottles, and the place reeked75 with smoke and the odour of wine and spirits.
Neeland forced his way forward into the café, looked around for Sengoun, and saw him almost immediately.
The young Russian, flushed, infuriated, his collar gone and his coat in tatters, was struggling with some men who held both his arms but did not offer to strike him.
Behind him, crowded back into a corner near the cashier’s steel-grilled desk, stood Ilse Dumont, calm, disdainful, confronted by Brandes, whose swollen76, greenish eyes, injected with blood, glared redly at her. Stull had hold of him and was trying to drag him away:
“For God’s sake, Eddie, shut your mouth,” he pleaded in English. “You can’t do that to her, whatever she done to you!”386
But Brandes, disengaging himself with a jerk, pushed his way past Sengoun to where Ilse stood.
“I’ve got the goods on you!” he said in a ferocious77 voice that neither Stull nor Curfoot recognised. “You know what you did to me, don’t you! You took my wife from me! Yes, my wife! She was my wife! She is my wife!—For all you did, you lying, treacherous78 slut!—For all you’ve done to break me, double-cross me, ruin me, drive me out of every place I went! And now I’ve got you! I’ve sold you out! Get that? And you know what they’ll do to you, don’t you? Well, you’ll see when––”
Curfoot and Stull threw themselves against him, but Brandes, his round face pasty with fury, struggled back again to confront Ilse Dumont.
“Ruined me!” he repeated. “Took away from me the only thing God ever gave me for my own! Took my wife!”
“You dog!” said Ilse Dumont very slowly. “You dirty dog!”
A frightful spasm79 crossed Brandes’ features, and Stull snatched at the pistol he had whipped out. There was a struggle; Brandes wrenched80 the weapon free; but Neeland tore his way past Curfoot and struck Brandes in the face with the butt81 of his heavy revolver.
Instantly the group parted right and left; Sengoun suddenly twisted out of the clutches of the men who held him, sprang upon Curfoot, and jerked the pistol from his fist. At the same moment the entire front of the café gave way and the mob crashed inward with a roar amid the deafening din of shattered metal and the clash of splintering glass.
Through the dust and falling shower of débris, Brandes fired at Ilse Dumont, reeled about in the whirl of 387the inrushing throng82 engulfing83 him, still firing blindly at the woman who had been his wife.
Neeland put a bullet into his pistol arm, and it fell. But Brandes stretched it out again with a supreme84 effort, pointing at Ilse Dumont with jewelled and bloody fingers:
“That woman is a German spy! A spy!” he screamed. “You damn French mutts, do you understand what I say! Oh, my God! Will someone who speaks French tell them! Will somebody tell them she’s a spy! La femme! Cette femme!” he shrieked85. “Elle est espion! Esp––!” He fired again, with his left hand. Then Sengoun shot him through the head; and at the same moment somebody stabbed Curfoot in the neck; and the lank86 American gambler turned and cried out to Stull in a voice half strangled with pain and fury:
“Tiens, v’la pour toi, sale mec de malheur!” muttered a voice at his elbow, and a blow from a slung-shot crushed the base of his skull88.
As Curfoot crumpled89 up, Stull caught him; but the tall gambler’s dead weight bore Stull to his knees among the fierce apaches.
And there, fighting in silence to the end, his chalky face of a sick clown meeting undaunted the overwhelming odds90 against him, Stull was set upon by the apaches and stabbed and stabbed until his clothing was a heap of ribbons and the watch and packet of French bank-notes which the assassins tore from his body were dripping with his blood.
Sengoun and Neeland, their evening clothes in tatters, hatless, dishevelled, began shooting their way out 388of the hell of murder and destruction raging around them.
Behind them crept Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl: dust and smoke obscured the place where the mob raged from floor to floor in a frenzy91 of destruction, tearing out fixtures92, telephones, window-sashes, smashing tables, bar fixtures, mirrors, ripping the curtains from the windows and the very carpets from the floor in their overwhelming rage against this German café.
That apaches had entered with them the mob cared nothing; the red lust93 of destruction blinded them to everything except their terrible necessity for the annihilation of this place.
If they saw murder done, and robbery—if they heard shots in the tumult and saw pistol flashes through the dust and grey light of daybreak, they never turned from their raging work.
Out of the frightful turmoil94 stormed Neeland and Sengoun, their pistols spitting flame, the two women clinging to their ragged95 sleeves. Twice the apaches barred their way with bared knives, crouching96 for a rush; but Sengoun fired into them and Neeland’s bullets dropped the ruffian in the striped jersey where he stood over Stull’s twitching97 body; and the sinister creatures leaped back from the levelled weapons, turned, and ran.
Through the gaping98 doorway sprang Sengoun, his empty pistol menacing the crowd that choked the shadowy street; Neeland flung away his pistol and turned his revolver on those in the café behind him, as Ilse Dumont and the Russian girl crept through and out into the street.
The crowd was cheering and shouting:
“Down with the Germans! To the Brasserie Schwarz!”389
An immense wave of people surged suddenly across the rue9 Vilna, headed toward the German cafés on the Boulevard; and then, for the first time, Neeland caught sight of policemen standing in little groups, coolly watching the destruction of the Café des Bulgars.
Either they were too few to cope with the mob, or they were indifferent as to what was being done to a German café, but one thing was plain; the police had not the faintest idea that murder had been rampant99 in the place. For, when suddenly a dead body was thrown from the door out on the sidewalk, their police whistles shrilled100 through the street, and they started for the mob, resolutely101, pushing, striking with white-gloved fists, shouting for right of way.
Other police came running, showing that they had been perfectly102 aware that German cafés were being attacked and wrecked. A mounted inspector103 forced his horse along the swarming104 sidewalk, crying:
“Allons! Circulez! C’est défendu de s’attrouper dans la rue! Mais fichez-moi le camp, nom de Dieu! Les Allemands ne sont pas encore dans la place!”
Along the street and on the Boulevard mobs were forming and already storming three other German cafés; a squadron of Republican Guard cavalry105 arrived at a trot106, their helmets glittering in the increasing daylight, driving before them a mob which had begun to attack a café on the corner.
A captain, superbly mounted, rode ahead of the advancing line of horses, warning the throng back into the rue Vilna, up which the mob now recoiled107, sullenly108 protesting.
Neeland and Sengoun and the two women were forced back with the crowd as a double rank of steel-helmeted 390horsemen advanced, sweeping109 everybody into the rue Vilna.
Up the street, through the vague morning light, they retired110 between ranks of closed and silent houses, past narrow, evil-looking streets and stony111 alleys112 still dark with the shadows of the night.
Into one of these Neeland started with Ilse Dumont, but Sengoun drew him back with a sharp exclamation114 of warning. At the same time the crowd all around them became aware of what was going on in the maze115 of dusky lanes and alleys past which they were being driven by the cavalry; and the people broke and scattered116 like rabbits, darting117 through the cavalry, dodging118, scuttling119 under the very legs of the horses.
The troop, thrown into disorder120, tried to check the panic-stricken flight; a brigadier, spurring forward to learn the cause of the hysterical121 stampede, drew bridle122 sharply, then whipped his pistol out of the saddle-holster, and galloped123 into an impasse124.
The troop captain, pushing his horse, caught sight of Sengoun and Neeland in the remains125 of their evening dress; and he glanced curiously at them, and at the two young women clad in the rags of evening gowns.
“Nom de Dieu!” he cried. “What are such people as you doing here? Go back! This is no quarter for honest folk!”
“What are those police doing in the alleys?” demanded Sengoun; but the captain cantered his horse up the street, pistol lifted; and they saw him fire from his saddle at a man who darted out of an alley113 and who started to run across the street.
The captain missed every shot, but a trooper, whose horse had come up on the sidewalk beside Neeland, fired 391twice more after the running man, and dropped him at the second shot.
“A good business, too,” he said calmly, winking126 at Neeland. “You bourgeois127 ought to be glad that we’re ordered to clean up Paris for you. And now is the time to do it,” he added, reloading his weapon.
Sengoun said in a low voice to Neeland:
“They’re ridding the city of apaches. It’s plain enough that they have orders to kill them where they find them! Look!” he added, pointing to the dead wall across the street; “It’s here at last, and Paris is cleaning house and getting ready for it! This is war, Neeland—war at last!”
Neeland looked across the street where, under a gas lamp on a rusty128 iron bracket, was pasted the order for general mobilisation. And on the sidewalk at the base of the wall lay a man, face downward, his dusty shoes crossed under the wide flaring129 trousers, the greasy130 casquet still crowding out his lop ears; his hand clenched131 beside a stiletto which lay on the stone flagging beside him.
“An apache,” said Sengoun coolly. “That’s right, too. It’s the way we do in Russia when we clean house for war––”
“Thank God for my thousand lances!” he said, lifting his eyes to the yellowing sky between the houses in the narrow street. “Thank God! Thank God!”
Now, across the intersections133 of streets and alleys beyond where they stood, policemen and Garde cavalry were shooting into doorways134, basements, and up the sombre, dusky lanes, the dry crack of their service revolvers re-echoing noisily through the street.
Toward the Boulevard below, a line of police and of 392cavalrymen blocked the rue Vilna; and, beyond them, the last of the mob was being driven from the Café des Bulgars, where the first ambulances were arriving and the police, guarding the ruins, were already looking out of windows on the upper floors.
A cavalryman135 came clattering136 down the rue Vilna, gesticulating and calling out to Sengoun and Neeland to take their ladies and depart.
“Get us a taxicab—there’s a good fellow!” cried Sengoun in high spirits; and the cavalryman, looking at their dishevelled attire137, laughed and nodded as he rode ahead of them down the rue Vilna.
There were several taxicabs on the Boulevard, their drivers staring up at the wrecked café. As Neeland spoke138 to the driver of one of the cabs, Ilse Dumont stepped back beside the silent girl whom she had locked in the bedroom.
“I gave you a chance,” she said under her breath. “What may I expect from you? Answer me quickly!—What am I to expect?”
The girl seemed dazed:
“N-nothing,” she stammered. “The—the horror of that place—the killing—has sickened me. I—I want to go home––”
“You do not intend to denounce me?”
“No—Oh, God! No!”
“Is that the truth? If you are lying to me it means my death.”
The girl gazed at her in horror; tears sprang to her eyes:
“I couldn’t—I couldn’t!” she stammered in a choking voice. “I’ve never before seen death—never seen how it came—how men die! This—this killing is horrible, revolting!” She had laid one trembling little 393hand on Ilse Dumont’s bare shoulder. “I don’t want to have you killed; the idea of death makes me ill! I’m going home—that is all I ask for—to go home––”
She dropped her pretty head and began to sob139 hysterically140, standing there under the growing daylight of the Boulevard, in her tattered141 evening gown.
“You weren’t meant for this!” she whispered. “You do it for money. Go home. Do anything else for wages—anything except this!—Anything, I tell you––”
Neeland’s hand touched her arm:
“I have a cab. Are you going home with her?”
“I dare not,” she said.
“Then will you take this Russian girl to her home, Sengoun?” he asked. And added in a low voice: “She is one of your own people, you know.”
“All right,” said Sengoun blissfully. “I’d take the devil home if you asked me! Besides, I can talk to her about my regiment143 on the way. That will be wonderful, Neeland! That will be quite wonderful! I can talk to her in Russian about my regiment all the way home!”
He laughed and looked at his friend, at Ilse Dumont, at the drooping144 figure he was to take under his escort. He glanced down at his own ragged attire where he stood hatless, collarless, one sleeve of his evening coat ripped open to the shoulder.
“Isn’t it wonderful!” he cried, bursting out into uncontrollable laughter. “Neeland, my dear comrade, this has been the most delightfully145 wonderful night of my entire life! But the great miracle is still to come! Hurrah for a thousand lances! Hurrah! Town taken by Prince Erlik! Hurrah!”
And he seized the young girl whom he was to escort 394to her home—wherever that hazy146 locality might be—and carried her in his arms to the taxicab, amid encouraging shouts of laughter from the line of cavalrymen who had been watching the proceedings147 from the corner of the rue Vilna.
That shout of Gallic appreciation148 inflamed149 Sengoun: he reached for his hat, to lift and wave it, but found no hat on his head. So he waved his tattered sleeve instead:
“Hurrah for France!” he shouted. “Hurrah for Russia! I’m Sengoun, of the Terek!—And I am to have a thousand lances with which to explain to the Germans my opinion of them and of their Emperor!”
The troopers cheered him from their stirrups, in spite of their officers, who pretended to check their men.
“Vive la France! Vive la Russie!” they roared. “Forward the Terek Cossacks!”
Sengoun turned to Ilse Dumont:
“Madame,” he said, “in gratitude150 and admiration151!”—and he gracefully152 saluted153 her hand. Then, to his comrade: “Neeland!”—seizing both the American’s hands. “Such a night and such a comrade I shall never forget! I adore our night together; I love you as a brother. I shall see you before I go?”
“Surely, Sengoun, my dear comrade!”
“Alors—au revoir!” He sprang into the taxicab. “To the Russian Embassy!” he called out; and turned to the half fainting girl on the seat beside him.
“Where do you live, my dear?” he asked very gently, taking her icy hand in his.
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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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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perplexed
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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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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bellowed
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的过去式和过去分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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17
acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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18
fumes
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| n.(强烈而刺激的)气味，气体 | |
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19
ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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21
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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22
swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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23
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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24
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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25
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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27
stiffening
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| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
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28
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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29
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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30
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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31
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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32
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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33
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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34
shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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35
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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36
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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37
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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38
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
snarled
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的过去式和过去分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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40
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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41
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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42
squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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43
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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44
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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45
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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46
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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47
crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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49
slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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50
prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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51
scuttle
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| v.急赶，疾走，逃避；n.天窗；舷窗 | |
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52
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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53
trampling
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| 踩( trample的现在分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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54
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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55
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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56
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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57
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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58
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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59
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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60
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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61
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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62
mattresses
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| 褥垫，床垫( mattress的名词复数 ) | |
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63
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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64
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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65
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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66
lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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67
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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69
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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70
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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71
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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72
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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73
buffets
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| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
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74
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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75
reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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76
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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77
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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78
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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79
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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80
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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81
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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82
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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83
engulfing
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| adj.吞噬的v.吞没，包住( engulf的现在分词 ) | |
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84
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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85
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
lank
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| adj.瘦削的；稀疏的 | |
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87
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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88
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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89
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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90
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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91
frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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92
fixtures
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| （房屋等的）固定装置( fixture的名词复数 )； 如（浴盆、抽水马桶）； 固定在某位置的人或物； （定期定点举行的）体育活动 | |
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93
lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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94
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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95
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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96
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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97
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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98
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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99
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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100
shrilled
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| （声音）尖锐的，刺耳的，高频率的( shrill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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101
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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102
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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103
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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104
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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105
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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106
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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107
recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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108
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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109
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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110
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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111
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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112
alleys
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| 胡同，小巷( alley的名词复数 )； 小径 | |
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113
alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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114
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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115
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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116
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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117
darting
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的现在分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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118
dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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119
scuttling
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| n.船底穿孔，打开通海阀（沉船用）v.使船沉没( scuttle的现在分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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120
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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121
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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122
bridle
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| n.笼头，束缚；vt.抑制，约束；动怒 | |
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123
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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124
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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125
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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126
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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127
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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128
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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129
flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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130
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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131
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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132
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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133
intersections
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| n.横断( intersection的名词复数 )；交叉；交叉点；交集 | |
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134
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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135
cavalryman
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| 骑兵 | |
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136
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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137
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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138
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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139
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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140
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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141
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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142
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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143
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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144
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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145
delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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147
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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148
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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149
inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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151
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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152
gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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153
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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