When the taxicab carrying Captain Sengoun and the unknown Russian girl had finally disappeared far away down the Boulevard in the thin grey haze1 of early morning, Neeland looked around him; and it was a scene unfamiliar2, unreal, that met his anxious eyes.
The sun had not yet gilded3 the chimney tops; east and west, as far as he could see, the Boulevard stretched away under its double line of trees between ranks of closed and silent houses, lying still and mysterious in the misty4, bluish-grey light.
Except for police and municipal guards, and two ambulances moving slowly away from the ruined café, across the street, the vast Boulevard was deserted5; no taxicabs remained; no omnibuses moved; no early workmen passed, no slow-moving farm wagons6 and milk wains from the suburbs; no chiffoniers with scrap-filled sacks on their curved backs, and steel-hooked staves, furtively7 sorting and picking among the night’s débris on sidewalk and in gutter8.
Here and there in front of half a dozen wrecked9 cafés little knots of policemen stood on the glass-littered sidewalk, in low-voiced consultation10; far down the Boulevard, helmets gleamed dully through the haze where municipal cavalry11 were quietly riding off the mobs and gradually pushing them back toward the Montmartre and Villette quarters, whence they had arrived.396
Mounted Municipals still sat their beautiful horses in double line across the corner of the rue12 Vilna and parallel streets, closing that entire quarter where, to judge from a few fitful and far-away pistol shots, the methodical apache hunt was still in progress.
And it was a strange and sinister13 phase of Paris that Neeland now gazed upon through the misty stillness of early morning. For there was something terrible in the sudden quiet, where the swift and shadowy fury of earliest dawn had passed: and the wrecked buildings sagged14 like corpses15, stark16 and disembowelled, spilling out their dead intestines17 indecently under the whitening sky.
Save for the echoes of distant shots, no louder than the breaking of a splinter—save for the deadened stamp and stir of horses, a low-voiced order, the fainter clash of spurs and scabbards—an intense stillness brooded now over the city, ominously18 prophetic of what fateful awakening19 the coming sunrise threatened for the sleeping capital.
Neeland turned and looked at Ilse Dumont. She stood motionless on the sidewalk, in the clear, colourless light, staring fixedly20 across the street at the débris of the gaping21, shattered Café des Bulgars. Her evening gown hung in filmy tinted22 shreds23; her thick, dark hair in lustrous24 disorder25 shadowed her white shoulders; a streak26 of dry blood striped one delicate bare arm.
To see her standing27 there on the sidewalk in the full, unshadowed morning light, silent, dishevelled, scarcely clothed, seemed to him part of the ghastly unreality of this sombre and menacing vision, from which he ought to rouse himself.
She turned her head slowly; her haggard eyes met his 397without expression; and he found his tongue with the effort of a man who strives for utterance28 through a threatening dream:
“We can’t stay here,” he said. The sound of his own voice steadied and cleared his senses. He glanced down at his own attire29, blood-stained, and ragged30; felt for the loose end of his collar, rebuttoned it, and knotted the draggled white tie with the unconscious indifference31 of habit.
“What a nightmare!” he muttered to himself. “The world has been turned upside down over night.” He looked up at her: “We can’t stay here,” he repeated. “Where do you live?”
She did not appear to hear him. She had already started to move toward the rue Vilna, where the troopers barring that street still sat their restive32 horses. They were watching her and her dishevelled companion with the sophisticated amusement of men who, by clean daylight, encounter fagged-out revellers of a riotous33 night.
“Where are you going?” he repeated, uneasily.
“I shall give myself up,” she replied in a dull voice.
“To whom?”
“To the Municipals over there.”
“Give yourself up!” he repeated. “Why?”
She passed a slender hand over her eyes as though unutterably weary:
“Neeland,” she said, “I am lost already.... And I am very tired.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded, drawing her back under a porte-cochère. “You live somewhere, 398don’t you? If it’s safe for you to go back to your lodgings35, I’ll take you there. Is it?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I’ll take you somewhere else. I’ll find somewhere to take you––”
She shook her head:
“It is useless, Neeland. There is no chance of my leaving the city now—no chance left—no hope. It is simpler for me to end the matter this way––”
“Can’t you go to the Turkish Embassy!”
She looked up at him in a surprised, hopeless way:
“Do you suppose that any Embassy ever receives a spy in trouble? Do you really imagine that any government ever admits employing secret agents, or stirs a finger to aid them when they are in need?”
“I told you I’d stand by you,” he reminded her bluntly.
“You have been—kind—Neeland.”
“And you have been very loyal to me, Scheherazade. I shall not abandon you.”
“How can you help me? I can’t get out of this city. Wherever I go, now, it will be only a matter of a few hours before I am arrested.”
“The American Embassy. There is a man there,” he reminded her.
“I cannot get within sight of the Trocadero before the secret police arrest me. Where shall I go? I have no passport, no papers, not even false ones. If I go to the lodgings where I expected to find shelter it means my arrest, court martial38, and execution in a caserne within twenty-four hours. And it would involve others who trust me—condemn them instantly to a firing 399squad—if I am found by the police in their company!... No, Neeland. There’s no hope for me. Too many know me in Paris. I took a risk in coming here when war was almost certain. I took my chances, and lost. It’s too late to whimper now.”
As he stared at her something suddenly brightened above them; and he looked up and saw the first sunbeam painting a chimney top with palest gold.
“Come,” he said, “we’ve got to get out of this! We’ve got to go somewhere—find a taxicab and get under shelter––”
She yielded to the pressure of his arm and moved forward beside him. He halted for a moment on the curb40, looking up and down the empty streets for a cab of any sort, then, with the instinct of a man for whom the Latin Quarter had once been a refuge and a home, he started across the Boulevard, his arm clasping hers.
All the housetops were glittering with the sun as they passed the ranks of the Municipal cavalry.
A young officer looked down mischievously41 as they traversed the Boulevard—the only moving objects in that vast and still perspective.
“Mon Dieu!” he murmured. “A night like that is something to remember in the winter of old age!”
Neeland heard him. The gay, bantering42, irresponsible Gallic wit awoke him to himself; the rising sun, tipping the city’s spires43 with fire, seemed to relight a little, long-forgotten flame within him. His sombre features cleared; he said confidently to the girl beside him:
“Don’t worry; we’ll get you out of it somehow or other. It’s been a rather frightful44 dream, Scheherazade, nothing worse––”400
Her arm suddenly tightened46 against his and he turned to look at the shattered Café des Bulgars which they were passing, where two policemen stood looking at a cat which was picking its way over the mass of débris, mewing dismally47.
“Would you like to have a cat for your lively ménage?” he said, pointing to the melancholy49 animal which Neeland recognised as the dignified50 property of the Cercle Extranationale.
The other policeman, more suspicious, eyed Ilse Dumont closely as she knelt impulsively51 and picked up the homeless cat.
“Where are you going in such a state?” he asked, moving over the heaps of splintered glass toward her.
“Back to the Latin Quarter,” said Neeland, so cheerfully that suspicion vanished and a faint grin replaced the official frown.
“Allons, mes enfants,” he muttered. “Faut pas s’attrouper dans la rue. Also you both are a scandal. Allons! Filez! Houp! The sun is up already!”
They went out across the rue Royale toward the Place de la Concorde, which spread away before them in deserted immensity and beauty.
There were no taxicabs in sight. Ilse, carrying the cat in her arms, moved beside Neeland through the deathly stillness of the city, as though she were walking in a dream. Everywhere in the pale blue sky above them steeple and dome52 glittered with the sun; there were no sounds from quai or river; no breeze stirred the trees; nothing moved on esplanade or bridge; the pale blue August sky grew bluer; the gilded tip of the obelisk53 glittered like a living flame.401
Neeland turned and looked up the Champs Elysées.
Far away on the surface of the immense avenue a tiny dark speck54 was speeding—increasing in size, coming nearer.
“A taxi,” he said with a quick breath of relief. “We’ll be all right now.”
Nearer and nearer came the speeding vehicle, rushing toward them between the motionless green ranks of trees. Neeland walked forward across the square to signal it, waited, watching its approach with a slight uneasiness.
Now it sped between the rearing stone horses, and now, swerving55, swung to the left toward the rue Royale. And to his disgust and disappointment he saw it was a private automobile56.
“The devil!” he muttered, turning on his heel.
At the same moment, as though the chauffeur57 had suddenly caught an order from within the limousine58, the car swung directly toward him once more.
As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless cat to her breast, listlessly regarding the approaching automobile, the car swept in a swift circle around the fountain where they stood, stopped short beside them; and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to the pavement.
And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her frail59 gown, cuddling to her breast the purring cat, looked up to meet her doom60 in the steady gaze of the Princess Naïa Mistchenka.
Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy lips parted. Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no movement.
There was a second’s absolute silence; then the dark eyes of the Princess turned on Neeland.402
“Good heavens, James!” she said. “What has happened to you?”
“To whom?” interrupted the Princess sharply.
“To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where it began to look as though we’d get our heads knocked off, Sengoun and I. I’m really quite serious, Princess. If it hadn’t been for Miss Dumont—” he shrugged; “—and that is twice she has saved my idiotic62 head for me,” he added cheerfully.
The Princess Naïa’s dark eyes reverted63 to Ilse Dumont, and the pallid64 girl met them steadily65 enough. There was no supplication66 in her own eyes, no shrinking, only the hopeless tranquillity67 that looks Destiny in the face—the gaze riveted68 unflinchingly upon the descending69 blow.
“What are you doing in Paris at such a time as this?” said the Princess.
The girl’s white lips parted stiffly:
“Do you need to ask?”
“What do you expect from me?” she demanded in a low voice. And, stepping nearer: “What have you to expect from anyone in France on such a day as this?”
Ilse Dumont did not answer. After a moment she dropped her head and fumbled71 with the rags of her bodice, as though trying to cover the delicately rounded shoulders. A shaft72 of sunlight, reflected from the obelisk to the fountain, played in golden ripples73 across her hair.
Neeland looked at the Princess Naïa:
“What you do is none of my business,” he said 403pleasantly, “but—” he smiled at her and stepped back beside Ilse Dumont, and passed his arm through hers: “I’m a grateful beast,” he added lightly, “and if I’ve nine lives to lose, perhaps Miss Dumont will save seven more of them before I’m entirely74 done for.”
The girl gently disengaged his arm.
“You’ll only get yourself into serious trouble,” she murmured, “and you can’t help me, dear Neeland.”
The Princess Naïa, flushed and exasperated75, bit her lip.
“James,” she said, “you are behaving absurdly. That woman has nothing to fear from me now, and she ought to know it!” And, as Ilse lifted her head and stared at her: “Yes, you ought to know it!” she repeated. “Your work is ended. It ended today at sunrise. And so did mine. War is here. There is nothing further for you to do; nothing for me. The end of everything is beginning. What would your death or mine signify now, when the dawn of such a day as this is the death warrant for millions? What do we count for now, Mademoiselle Minna Minti?”
“Do you not mean to give me up, madame?”
“Give you up? No. I mean to get you out of Paris if I can. Give me your cat, mademoiselle. Please help her, James––”
“Give that cat to me. Of course I do! Do you suppose I mean to leave you in rags with your cat on the pavement here?” And, to Neeland: “Where is Alak?”
“Gone home as fit as a fiddle77. Am I to receive the hospitality of your limousine also, dear lady? Look at the state I’m in to travel with two ladies!”
The Princess Naïa’s dark eyes glimmered78; she tucked 404the cat comfortably against her shoulder and motioned Ilse into the car.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to take you, James. What on earth has happened to you?” she added, as he put her into the car, nodded to the chauffeur, and, springing in beside her, slammed the door.
“I’ll tell you in two words,” he explained gaily. “Prince Erlik and I started for a stroll and landed, ultimately, in the Café des Bulgars. And presently a number of gentlemen began to shoot up the place, and Miss Dumont stood by us like a brick.”
The Princess Mistchenka lifted the cat from her lap and placed it in the arms of Ilse Dumont.
“That ought to win our gratitude79, I’m sure,” she said politely to the girl. “We Russians never forget such pleasant obligations. There is a Cossack jingle80:
“To those who befriend our friends
Our duty never ends.”
Ilse Dumont bent low over the purring cat in her lap; the Princess watched her askance from moment to moment, and Neeland furtively noted81 the contrast between these women—one in rags and haggard disorder; the other so trim, pretty, and fresh in her morning walking suit.
“James,” she said abruptly82, “we’ve had a most horrid83 night, Ruhannah and I. The child waited up for you, it seems—I thought she’d gone to bed—and she came to my room about two in the morning—the little goose—as though men didn’t stay out all night!”
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said contritely84.
“You ought to be.... And Ruhannah was so disturbed that I put on something and got out of bed. And after a while”—the Princess glanced sardonically85 405at Ilse Dumont—“I telephoned to various sources of information and was informed concerning the rather lively episodes of your nocturnal career with Sengoun. And when I learned that you and he had been seen to enter the Café des Bulgars, I became sufficiently86 alarmed to notify several people who might be interested in the matter.”
“One of those people,” said Neeland, smiling, “was escorted to her home by Captain Sengoun, I think.”
The Princess glanced out of the window where the early morning sun glimmered on the trees as the car flew swiftly through the Champs Elysées.
“I heard that there were some men killed there last night,” she said without turning.
“Several, I believe,” admitted Neeland.
“Were you there, then?”
“Yes,” he replied, uncomfortably.
“Did you know anybody who was killed, James?”
“Yes, by sight.”
She turned to him:
“Who?”
“There was a man named Kestner; another named Weishelm. Three American gamblers were killed also.”
“And Karl Breslau?” inquired the Princess coolly.
There was a moment’s silence.
“No. I think he got away across the roofs of the houses,” replied Neeland.
Ilse Dumont, bent over the cat in her lap, stared absently into its green eyes where it lay playfully patting the rags that hung from her torn bodice.
Perhaps she was thinking of the dead man where he lay in the crowded café—the dead man who had confronted her with bloodshot eyes and lifted pistol—whose voice, thick with rage, had denounced her—whose 406stammering, untaught tongue stumbled over the foreign words with which he meant to send her to her death—this dead man who once had been her man—long ago—very, very long ago when there was no bitterness in life, no pain, no treachery—when life was young in the Western World, and Fate gaily beckoned87 her, wearing a smiling mask and crowned with flowers.
“I hope,” remarked the Princess Mistchenka, “that it is sufficiently early in the morning for you to escape observation, James.”
“I’m a scandal; I know it,” he admitted, as the car swung into the rue Soleil d’Or.
The Princess turned to the drooping88 girl beside her and laid a gloved hand lightly on her shoulder.
“My dear,” she said gently, “there is only one chance for you, and if we let it pass it will not come again—under military law.”
The Princess said:
“Twenty-four hours will be given for all Germans to leave France. But—you took your nationality from the man you married. You are American.”
The girl flushed painfully:
“I do not care to take shelter under his name,” she said.
“It is the only way. And you must get to the coast in my car. There is no time to lose. Every vehicle, private and public, will be seized for military uses this morning. Every train will be crowded; every foot of room occupied on the Channel boats. There is only one thing for you to do—travel with me to Havre as my American maid.”
“Madame—would you do that—for me?”407
“Why, I’ve got to,” said the Princess Mistchenka with a shrug37. “I am not a barbarian90 to leave you to a firing squad39, I hope.”
“Caron,” said the Princess, “no servants are stirring yet. Take my key, find a cloak and bring it out—and a coat for Monsieur Neeland—the one that Captain Sengoun left the other evening. Have you plenty of gasoline?”
“Plenty, madame.”
“Good. We leave for Havre in five minutes. Bring the cloak and coat quickly.”
The chauffeur hastened to the door, unlocked it, disappeared, then came out carrying a voluminous wrap and a man’s opera cloak. The Princess threw the one over Ilse Dumont; Neeland enveloped92 himself in the other.
“Now,” murmured the Princess Naïa, “it will look more like a late automobile party than an ambulance after a free fight—if any early servants are watching us.”
She descended from the car; Ilse Dumont followed, still clasping the cat under her cloak; and Neeland followed her.
“Be very quiet,” whispered the Princess. “There is no necessity for servants to observe what we do––”
A small and tremulous voice from the head of the stairs interrupted her:
“Naïa! Is it you?”
“Hush, Ruhannah! Yes, darling, it is I. Everything is all right and you may go back to bed––”
“Naïa! Where is Mr. Neeland?” continued the voice, fearfully.408
“He is here, Rue! He is all right. Go back to your room, dear. I have a reason for asking you.”
Listening, she heard a door close above; then she touched Ilse on the shoulder and motioned her to follow up the stairs. Halfway93 up the Princess halted, bent swiftly over the banisters:
“James!” she called softly.
“Yes?”
“Go into the pantry and find a fruit basket and fill it with whatever food you can find. Hurry, please.”
He discovered the pantry presently, and a basket of fruit there. Poking94 about he contrived95 to disinter from various tins and ice-boxes some cold chicken and biscuits and a bottle of claret. These he wrapped hastily in a napkin which he found there, placed them in the basket of fruit, and came out into the hall just as Ilse Dumont, in the collar and cuffs96 and travelling coat of a servant, descended, carrying a satchel97 and a suitcase.
“Good business!” he whispered, delighted. “You’re all right now, Scheherazade! And for heaven’s sake, keep out of France hereafter. Do you promise?”
He had taken the satchel and bag from her and handed both, and the fruit basket, to Caron, who stood outside the door.
In the shadowy hall those two confronted each other now, probably for the last time. He took both her hands in his.
“Good-bye, Scheherazade dear,” he said, with a new seriousness in his voice which made the tone of it almost tender.
“G-good-bye––” The girl’s voice choked; she bent her head and rested her face on the hands he held clasped in his.
He felt her hot tears falling, felt the slender fingers 409within his own tighten45 convulsively; felt her lips against his hand—an instant only; then she turned and slipped through the open door.
A moment later the Princess Naïa appeared on the stairs, descending lightly and swiftly, her motor coat over her arm.
“Jim,” she said in a low voice, “it’s the wretched girl’s only chance. They know about her; they’re looking for her now. But I am trusted by my Ambassador; I shall have what papers I ask for; I shall get her through to an American steamer.”
“Princess Naïa, you are splendid!”
“You don’t think so, Jim; you never did.... Be nice to Rue. The child has been dreadfully frightened about you.... And,” added the Princess Mistchenka with a gaily forced smile, resting her hand on Neeland’s shoulder for an instant, “don’t ever kiss Rue Carew unless you mean it with every atom of your heart and soul.... I know the child.... And I know you. Be generous to her, James. All women need it, I think, from such men as you—such men as you,” she added laughingly, “who know not what they do.”
If there was a subtle constraint98 in her pretty laughter, if her gay gesture lacked spontaneity, he did not perceive it. His face had flushed a trifle under her sudden badinage99.
“Good-bye,” he said. “You are splendid, and I do think so. I know you’ll win through.”
“I shall. I always do—except with you,” she added audaciously. And “Look for me tomorrow!” she called back to him through the open door; and slammed it behind her, leaving him standing there alone in the dark and curtained house.
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1
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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6
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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furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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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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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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intestines
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| n.肠( intestine的名词复数 ) | |
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ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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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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tinted
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| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
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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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lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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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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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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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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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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36
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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squad
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| n.班，小队，小团体；vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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bantering
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| adj.嘲弄的v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的现在分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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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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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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obelisk
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| n.方尖塔 | |
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speck
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| n.微粒，小污点，小斑点 | |
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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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automobile
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| n.汽车，机动车 | |
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chauffeur
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| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
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limousine
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| n.豪华轿车 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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reverted
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| 恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 )； 重提； 回到…上； 归还 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple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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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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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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fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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contritely
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sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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90
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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92
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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98
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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99
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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