章节正文
the savage Indian, though he sees little to admire in a flower,
yet seeing this one would veil his face and turn back; even the
browsing beast crashing his way through the forest, struck with
its strange glory, would swerve aside and pass on without harming
it. Afterwards I heard from some Indians to whom I described it
that the flower I had discovered was called Hata; also that they
had a superstitionconcerning it--a strange belief. They said
that only one Hata flower existed in the world; that it bloomed
in one spot for the space of a moon; that on the disappearance of
the moon in the sky the Hata disappeared from its place, only to
reappear blooming in some other spot, sometimes in some distant
forest. And they also said that whosoever discovered the Hata
flower in the forest would overcome all his enemies and obtain
all his desires, and finally outlive other men by many years.
But, as I have said, all this I heard afterwards, and my
half-superstitious feeling for the flower had grown up
independently in my own mind. A feeling like that was in me
while I gazed on the face that had no motion, no consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识；觉悟；知觉">consciousness in
it, and yet had life, a life of so high a kind as to match with
its pure, surpassing loveliness. I could almost believe that,
like the forest flower, in this state and aspect it would endure
for ever; endure and perhaps give of its own immortality to
everything around it--to me, holding her in my arms and gazing
fixedly on the pale face framed in its cloud of dark, silken
hair; to the leaping flames that threw changing lights on the dim
stony wall of rock; to old Nuflo and his two yellow dogs
stretched out on the floor in eternal, unawakening sleep.
This feeling took such firm possession of my mind that it kept me
for a time as motionless as the form I held in my arms. I was
only released from its power by noting still further changes in
the face I watched, a more distinct advance towards conscious
life. The faint colour, which had scarcely been more than a
suspicion of colour, had deepened perceptibly; the lids were
lifted so as to show a gleam of the crystal orbs beneath; the
lips, too, were lightly" target="_blank" title="ad.轻微地；细长的">slightly parted.
And, at last, bending lower down to feel her breath, the beauty
and sweetness of those lips could no longer be resisted, and I
touched them with mine. Having once tasted their sweetness and
fragrance, it was impossible to keep from touching them again and
again. She was not conscious--how could she be and not shrink
from my caress? Yet there was a suspicion in my mind, and
drawing back I gazed into her face once more. A strange new
radiance had overspread it. Or was this only an illusive colour
thrown on her skin by the red firelight? I shaded her face with
my open hand, and saw that her pallor had really gone, that the
rosy flame on her cheeks was part of her life. Her lustrous
eyes, half open, were gazing into mine. Oh, surely consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识；觉悟；知觉">consciousness
had returned to her! Had she been sensible of those stolen
kisses? Would she now shrink from another caress? Trembling, I
bent down and touched her lips again, lightly, but lingeringly,
and then again, and when I drew back and looked at her face the
rosy flame was brighter, and the eyes, more open still, were
looking into mine. And gazing with those open, conscious eyes,
it seemed to me that at last, at last, the shadow that had rested
between us had vanished, that we were united in perfect love and
confidence, and that speech was superfluous. And when I spoke,
it was not without doubt and hesitation: our bliss in those
silent moments had been so complete, what could speaking do but
make it less!
"My love, my life, my sweet Rima, I know that you will understand
me now as you did not before, on that dark night--do you remember
it, Rima?--when I held you clasped to my breast in the wood. How
it pierced my heart with pain to speak plainly to you as I did on
the mountain tonight--to kill the hope that had sustained and
brought you so far from home! But now that anguish is over; the
shadow has gone out of those beautiful eyes that are looking at
me. It is because loving me, knowing now what love is, knowing,
too, how much I love you, that you no longer need to speak to any
other living being of such things? To tell it, to show it, to me
is now enough--is it not so, Rima? How strange it seemed, at
first, when you shrank in fear from me! But, afterwards, when
you prayed aloud to your mother, opening all the secrets of your
heart, I understood it. In that lonely, isolated life in the
wood you had heard nothing of love, of its power over the heart,
its infinitesweetness; when it came to you at last it was a new,
inexplicable thing, and filled you with misgivings and tumultuous
thoughts, so that you feared it and hid yourself from its cause.
Such tremors would be felt if it had always been night, with no
light except that of the stars and the pale moon, as we saw it a
little while ago on the mountain; and, at last, day dawned, and a
strange, unheard-of rose and purple flame kindled in the eastern
sky, foretelling the coming sun. It would seem beautiful beyond
anything that night had shown to you, yet you would tremble and
your heart beat fast at that strange sight; you would wish to fly
to those who might be able to tell you its meaning, and whether
the sweet things it prophesied would ever really come. That is
why you wished to find your people, and came to Riolama to seek
them; and when you knew--when I cruelly told you--that they would
never be found, then you imagined that that strange feeling in
your heart must remain a secret for ever, and you could not
endure the thought of your loneliness. If you had not fainted so
quickly, then I should have told you what I must tell you now.
They are lost, Rima--your people--but I am with you, and know
what you feel, even if you have no words to tell it. But what
need of words? It shines in your eyes, it burns like a flame in
your face; I can feel it in your hands. Do you not also see it
in my face--all that I feel for you, the love that makes me
happy? For this is love, Rima, the flower and the melody of
life, the sweetest thing, the sweet miracle that makes our two
souls one."
Still resting in my arms, as if glad to rest there, still gazing
into my face, it was clear to me that she understood my every
word. And then, with no trace of doubt or fear left, I stooped
again, until my lips were on hers; and when I drew back once
more, hardly knowing which bliss was greatest--kissing her
delicate mouth or gazing into her face--she all at once put her
arms about my neck and drew herself up until she sat on my knee.
"Abel--shall I call you Abel now--and always?" she spoke, still
with her arms round my neck. "Ah, why did you let me come to
Riolama? I would come! I made him come--old grandfather,
sleeping there: he does not count, but you--you! After you had
heard my story, and knew that it was all for nothing! And all I
wished to know was there--in you. Oh, how sweet it is! But a
little while ago, what pain! When I stood on the mountain when
you talked to me, and I knew that you knew best, and tried and
tried not to know. At last I could try no more; they were all
dead like mother; I had chased the false water on the savannah.
'Oh, let me die too,' I said, for I could not bear the pain. And
afterwards, here in the cave, I was like one asleep, and when I
woke I did not really wake. It was like morning with the light
teasing me to open my eyes and look at it. Not yet, dear light;
a little while longer, it is so sweet to lie still. But it would
not leave me, and stayed teasing me still, like a small shining
green fly; until, because it teased me so, I opened my lids just
a little. It was not morning, but the firelight, and I was in
your arms, not in my little bed. Your eyes looking, looking into
mine. But I could see yours better. I remembered everything
then, how you once asked me to look into your eyes. I remembered
so many things--oh, so many!"
"How many things did you remember, Rima?"
"Listen, Abel, do you ever lie on the dry moss and look straight
up into a tree and count a thousand leaves?"
"No, sweetest, that could not be done, it is so many to count.
Do you know how many a thousand are?"
"Oh, do I not! When a humming-bird flies close to my face and
stops still in the air, humming like a bee, and then is gone, in
that short time I can count a hundred small round bright feathers
on its throat. That is only a hundred; a thousand are more, ten
times. Looking up I count a thousand leaves; then stop counting,
because there are thousands more behind the first, and thousands
more, crowded together so that I cannot count them. Lying in
your arms, looking up into your face, it was like that; I could
not count the things I remembered. In the wood, when you were
there, and before; and long, long ago at Voa, when I was a child
with mother."
"Tell me some of the things you remembered, Rima."
"Yes, one--only one now. When I was a child at Voa mother was
very lame--you know that. Whenever we went out, away from the
houses, into the forest, walking slowly, slowly, she would sit
under a tree while I ran about playing. And every time I came
back to her I would find her so pale, so sad, crying--crying.
That was when I would hide and come softly back so that she would
not hear me coming. 'Oh, mother, why are you crying? Does your
lame foot hurt you?' And one day she took me in her arms and told
me truly why she cried."
She ceased speaking, but looked at me with a strange new light
coming into her eyes.
"Why did she cry, my love?"
"Oh, Abel, can you understand--now--at last!" And putting her
lips close to my ear, she began to murmur soft, melodious sounds
that told me nothing. Then drawing back her head, she looked
again at me, her eyes glistening with tears, her lips half parted
with a smile, tender and wistful.
Ah, poor child! in spite of all that had been said, all that had
happened, she had returned to the old delusion that I must
understand her speech. I could only return her look, sorrowfully
and in silence.
Her face became clouded with disappointment, then she spoke again
with something of pleading in her tone. "Look, we are not now
apart, I hiding in the wood, you seeking, but together, saying
the same things. In your language--yours and now mine. But
before you came I knew nothing, nothing, for there was only
grandfather to talk to. A few words each day, the same words.
If yours is mine, mine must be yours. Oh, do you not know that
mine is better?"
"Yes, better; but alas! Rima, I can never hope to understand
your sweet speech, much less to speak it. The bird that only
chirps and twitters can never sing like the organ-bird."
Crying, she hid her face against my neck, murmuring sadly between
her sobs: "Never--never!"
How strange it seemed, in that moment of joy, such a passion of
tears, such despondent words!
For some minutes I preserved a sorrowful silence, realizing for
the first time, so far as it was possible to realize- such a
thing, what my inability to understand her secret language meant
to her--that finer language in which alone her swift thoughts and
vivid emotions could be expressed. Easily and well as she seemed
able to declare herself in my tongue, I could well imagine that
to her it would seem like the merest stammering. As she had said
to me once when I asked her to speak in Spanish, "That is not
speaking." And so long as she could not commune with me in that
better language, which reflected her mind, there would not be
that perfect union of soul she so passionately desired.
By and by, as she grew calmer, I sought to say something that
would be consoling to both of us. "Sweetest Rima," I spoke, "it
is so sad that I can never hope to talk with you in your way; but
a greater love than this that is ours we could never feel, and
love will make us happy, unutterably happy, in spite of that one
sadness. And perhaps, after a while, you will be able to say all
you wish in my language, which is also yours, as you said some
time ago. When we are back again in the beloved wood, and talk
yet seeing this one would veil his face and turn back; even the
browsing beast crashing his way through the forest, struck with
its strange glory, would swerve aside and pass on without harming
it. Afterwards I heard from some Indians to whom I described it
that the flower I had discovered was called Hata; also that they
had a superstitionconcerning it--a strange belief. They said
that only one Hata flower existed in the world; that it bloomed
in one spot for the space of a moon; that on the disappearance of
the moon in the sky the Hata disappeared from its place, only to
reappear blooming in some other spot, sometimes in some distant
forest. And they also said that whosoever discovered the Hata
flower in the forest would overcome all his enemies and obtain
all his desires, and finally outlive other men by many years.
But, as I have said, all this I heard afterwards, and my
half-superstitious feeling for the flower had grown up
independently in my own mind. A feeling like that was in me
while I gazed on the face that had no motion, no consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识；觉悟；知觉">consciousness in
it, and yet had life, a life of so high a kind as to match with
its pure, surpassing loveliness. I could almost believe that,
like the forest flower, in this state and aspect it would endure
for ever; endure and perhaps give of its own immortality to
everything around it--to me, holding her in my arms and gazing
fixedly on the pale face framed in its cloud of dark, silken
hair; to the leaping flames that threw changing lights on the dim
stony wall of rock; to old Nuflo and his two yellow dogs
stretched out on the floor in eternal, unawakening sleep.
This feeling took such firm possession of my mind that it kept me
for a time as motionless as the form I held in my arms. I was
only released from its power by noting still further changes in
the face I watched, a more distinct advance towards conscious
life. The faint colour, which had scarcely been more than a
suspicion of colour, had deepened perceptibly; the lids were
lifted so as to show a gleam of the crystal orbs beneath; the
lips, too, were lightly" target="_blank" title="ad.轻微地；细长的">slightly parted.
And, at last, bending lower down to feel her breath, the beauty
and sweetness of those lips could no longer be resisted, and I
touched them with mine. Having once tasted their sweetness and
fragrance, it was impossible to keep from touching them again and
again. She was not conscious--how could she be and not shrink
from my caress? Yet there was a suspicion in my mind, and
drawing back I gazed into her face once more. A strange new
radiance had overspread it. Or was this only an illusive colour
thrown on her skin by the red firelight? I shaded her face with
my open hand, and saw that her pallor had really gone, that the
rosy flame on her cheeks was part of her life. Her lustrous
eyes, half open, were gazing into mine. Oh, surely consciousness" target="_blank" title="n.意识；觉悟；知觉">consciousness
had returned to her! Had she been sensible of those stolen
kisses? Would she now shrink from another caress? Trembling, I
bent down and touched her lips again, lightly, but lingeringly,
and then again, and when I drew back and looked at her face the
rosy flame was brighter, and the eyes, more open still, were
looking into mine. And gazing with those open, conscious eyes,
it seemed to me that at last, at last, the shadow that had rested
between us had vanished, that we were united in perfect love and
confidence, and that speech was superfluous. And when I spoke,
it was not without doubt and hesitation: our bliss in those
silent moments had been so complete, what could speaking do but
make it less!
"My love, my life, my sweet Rima, I know that you will understand
me now as you did not before, on that dark night--do you remember
it, Rima?--when I held you clasped to my breast in the wood. How
it pierced my heart with pain to speak plainly to you as I did on
the mountain tonight--to kill the hope that had sustained and
brought you so far from home! But now that anguish is over; the
shadow has gone out of those beautiful eyes that are looking at
me. It is because loving me, knowing now what love is, knowing,
too, how much I love you, that you no longer need to speak to any
other living being of such things? To tell it, to show it, to me
is now enough--is it not so, Rima? How strange it seemed, at
first, when you shrank in fear from me! But, afterwards, when
you prayed aloud to your mother, opening all the secrets of your
heart, I understood it. In that lonely, isolated life in the
wood you had heard nothing of love, of its power over the heart,
its infinitesweetness; when it came to you at last it was a new,
inexplicable thing, and filled you with misgivings and tumultuous
thoughts, so that you feared it and hid yourself from its cause.
Such tremors would be felt if it had always been night, with no
light except that of the stars and the pale moon, as we saw it a
little while ago on the mountain; and, at last, day dawned, and a
strange, unheard-of rose and purple flame kindled in the eastern
sky, foretelling the coming sun. It would seem beautiful beyond
anything that night had shown to you, yet you would tremble and
your heart beat fast at that strange sight; you would wish to fly
to those who might be able to tell you its meaning, and whether
the sweet things it prophesied would ever really come. That is
why you wished to find your people, and came to Riolama to seek
them; and when you knew--when I cruelly told you--that they would
never be found, then you imagined that that strange feeling in
your heart must remain a secret for ever, and you could not
endure the thought of your loneliness. If you had not fainted so
quickly, then I should have told you what I must tell you now.
They are lost, Rima--your people--but I am with you, and know
what you feel, even if you have no words to tell it. But what
need of words? It shines in your eyes, it burns like a flame in
your face; I can feel it in your hands. Do you not also see it
in my face--all that I feel for you, the love that makes me
happy? For this is love, Rima, the flower and the melody of
life, the sweetest thing, the sweet miracle that makes our two
souls one."
Still resting in my arms, as if glad to rest there, still gazing
into my face, it was clear to me that she understood my every
word. And then, with no trace of doubt or fear left, I stooped
again, until my lips were on hers; and when I drew back once
more, hardly knowing which bliss was greatest--kissing her
delicate mouth or gazing into her face--she all at once put her
arms about my neck and drew herself up until she sat on my knee.
"Abel--shall I call you Abel now--and always?" she spoke, still
with her arms round my neck. "Ah, why did you let me come to
Riolama? I would come! I made him come--old grandfather,
sleeping there: he does not count, but you--you! After you had
heard my story, and knew that it was all for nothing! And all I
wished to know was there--in you. Oh, how sweet it is! But a
little while ago, what pain! When I stood on the mountain when
you talked to me, and I knew that you knew best, and tried and
tried not to know. At last I could try no more; they were all
dead like mother; I had chased the false water on the savannah.
'Oh, let me die too,' I said, for I could not bear the pain. And
afterwards, here in the cave, I was like one asleep, and when I
woke I did not really wake. It was like morning with the light
teasing me to open my eyes and look at it. Not yet, dear light;
a little while longer, it is so sweet to lie still. But it would
not leave me, and stayed teasing me still, like a small shining
green fly; until, because it teased me so, I opened my lids just
a little. It was not morning, but the firelight, and I was in
your arms, not in my little bed. Your eyes looking, looking into
mine. But I could see yours better. I remembered everything
then, how you once asked me to look into your eyes. I remembered
so many things--oh, so many!"
"How many things did you remember, Rima?"
"Listen, Abel, do you ever lie on the dry moss and look straight
up into a tree and count a thousand leaves?"
"No, sweetest, that could not be done, it is so many to count.
Do you know how many a thousand are?"
"Oh, do I not! When a humming-bird flies close to my face and
stops still in the air, humming like a bee, and then is gone, in
that short time I can count a hundred small round bright feathers
on its throat. That is only a hundred; a thousand are more, ten
times. Looking up I count a thousand leaves; then stop counting,
because there are thousands more behind the first, and thousands
more, crowded together so that I cannot count them. Lying in
your arms, looking up into your face, it was like that; I could
not count the things I remembered. In the wood, when you were
there, and before; and long, long ago at Voa, when I was a child
with mother."
"Tell me some of the things you remembered, Rima."
"Yes, one--only one now. When I was a child at Voa mother was
very lame--you know that. Whenever we went out, away from the
houses, into the forest, walking slowly, slowly, she would sit
under a tree while I ran about playing. And every time I came
back to her I would find her so pale, so sad, crying--crying.
That was when I would hide and come softly back so that she would
not hear me coming. 'Oh, mother, why are you crying? Does your
lame foot hurt you?' And one day she took me in her arms and told
me truly why she cried."
She ceased speaking, but looked at me with a strange new light
coming into her eyes.
"Why did she cry, my love?"
"Oh, Abel, can you understand--now--at last!" And putting her
lips close to my ear, she began to murmur soft, melodious sounds
that told me nothing. Then drawing back her head, she looked
again at me, her eyes glistening with tears, her lips half parted
with a smile, tender and wistful.
Ah, poor child! in spite of all that had been said, all that had
happened, she had returned to the old delusion that I must
understand her speech. I could only return her look, sorrowfully
and in silence.
Her face became clouded with disappointment, then she spoke again
with something of pleading in her tone. "Look, we are not now
apart, I hiding in the wood, you seeking, but together, saying
the same things. In your language--yours and now mine. But
before you came I knew nothing, nothing, for there was only
grandfather to talk to. A few words each day, the same words.
If yours is mine, mine must be yours. Oh, do you not know that
mine is better?"
"Yes, better; but alas! Rima, I can never hope to understand
your sweet speech, much less to speak it. The bird that only
chirps and twitters can never sing like the organ-bird."
Crying, she hid her face against my neck, murmuring sadly between
her sobs: "Never--never!"
How strange it seemed, in that moment of joy, such a passion of
tears, such despondent words!
For some minutes I preserved a sorrowful silence, realizing for
the first time, so far as it was possible to realize- such a
thing, what my inability to understand her secret language meant
to her--that finer language in which alone her swift thoughts and
vivid emotions could be expressed. Easily and well as she seemed
able to declare herself in my tongue, I could well imagine that
to her it would seem like the merest stammering. As she had said
to me once when I asked her to speak in Spanish, "That is not
speaking." And so long as she could not commune with me in that
better language, which reflected her mind, there would not be
that perfect union of soul she so passionately desired.
By and by, as she grew calmer, I sought to say something that
would be consoling to both of us. "Sweetest Rima," I spoke, "it
is so sad that I can never hope to talk with you in your way; but
a greater love than this that is ours we could never feel, and
love will make us happy, unutterably happy, in spite of that one
sadness. And perhaps, after a while, you will be able to say all
you wish in my language, which is also yours, as you said some
time ago. When we are back again in the beloved wood, and talk
- savage [´sævidʒ]
a.野蛮的 n.蛮人 (初中英语单词) - indian [´indiən] a.印度的 n.印度人 (初中英语单词)
- belief [bi´li:f] n.相信；信仰，信条 (初中英语单词)
- overcome [,əuvə´kʌm] vt.战胜，克服 (初中英语单词)
- aspect [´æspekt] n.面貌；神色；方向 (初中英语单词)
- endure [in´djuə] vt.忍耐，忍受；坚持 (初中英语单词)
- eternal [i´tə:nəl] a.永远的；永恒的 (初中英语单词)
- distinct [di´stiŋkt] a.清楚的；独特的 (初中英语单词)
- crystal [´kristəl] n.水晶 a.水晶的 (初中英语单词)
- slightly [´slaitli] ad.轻微地；细长的 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- suspicion [sə´spiʃən] n.怀(猜)疑；嫌疑 (初中英语单词)
- sensible [´sensəbəl] a.感觉得到的 (初中英语单词)
- lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- conscious [´kɔnʃəs] a.意识的；自觉的 (初中英语单词)
- plainly [´pleinli] ad.平坦地；简单地 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- miracle [´mirəkl] n.奇迹；令人惊奇的 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- whenever [wen´evə] conj.&ad.无论何时 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- disappointment [,disə´pɔintmənt] n.失望；挫折 (初中英语单词)
- passion [´pæʃən] n.激情；激怒；恋爱 (初中英语单词)
- beloved [bi´lʌvd] a.为....所爱的 n.爱人 (初中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- superstition [,su:pə´stiʃən, ,sju:-] n.迷信(行为) (高中英语单词)
- concerning [kən´sə:niŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- motion [´məuʃən] n.手势 vt.打手势 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- sweetness [´swi:tnis] n.甜蜜；芳香；亲切 (高中英语单词)
- caress [kə´res] n.&vt.爱抚；接吻 (高中英语单词)
- shrink [ʃriŋk] v.收缩；退缩；畏缩 (高中英语单词)
- hesitation [,hezi´teiʃən] n.犹豫，踌躇 (高中英语单词)
- anguish [´æŋgwiʃ] n.(极度的)痛苦；苦恼 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- infinite [´infinit] a.无限的，无穷的 (高中英语单词)
- loneliness [´ləunliniz] n.孤独，寂寞 (高中英语单词)
- melody [´melədi] n.悦耳的音调；乐曲 (高中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- swerve [swə:v] v.&n.(使)突然转向 (英语四级单词)
- blooming [´blu:miŋ] a.正开花的；妙龄的 (英语四级单词)
- loveliness [´lʌvlinis] n.美丽，可爱 (英语四级单词)
- immortality [,imɔ:´tæliti] n.不死，不朽，永生，来生 (英语四级单词)
- touching [´tʌtʃiŋ] a.动人的 prep.提到 (英语四级单词)
- superfluous [su:´pə:fluəs, sju:-] a.过剩的，多余的 (英语四级单词)
- cruelly [´kruəli] ad.残酷地；极，非常 (英语四级单词)
- drawing [´drɔ:iŋ] n.画图；制图；图样 (英语四级单词)
- sorrowful [´sɔrəuful] a.悲伤的，使人伤心的 (英语四级单词)
- commune [´kɔmju:n] n.公社 (英语四级单词)
- passionately [´pæʃənitli] ad.多情地；热烈地 (英语四级单词)
- disappearance [,disə´piərəns] n.消失；失踪 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- shrank [ʃræŋk] shrink的过去式 (英语六级单词)
- delusion [di´lu:ʒən] n.欺骗；幻觉；迷惑 (英语六级单词)
- inability [,inə´biliti] n.无能，无力 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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