章节正文
impressed him no more than the dried alligators and dried fish that
contributed to the festooning of Agno's dark abode.
Jerry found himself well cared for. No children nor wives cluttered
the devil devil doctor's house. Several old women, a fly-flapping
girl of eleven, and two young men who had graduated from the canoe
house of the youths and who were studying priestcraft under the
master, composed the household and waited upon Jerry. Food of the
choicest was his. After Agno had eaten first-cut of pig, Jerry was
served second. Even the two acolytes and the fly-flapping maid ate
after him, leaving the debris for the several old women. And,
unlike the mere bush dogs, who stole shelter from the rain under
overhanging eaves, Jerry was given a dry place under the roof where
the heads of bushmen and of forgotten sandalwood traders hung down
from above in the midst of a dusty confusion of dried viscera of
sharks, crocodile skulls, and skeletons of Solomons rats that
measured two-thirds of a yard in length from bone-tip of nose to
bone-tip of tail.
A number of times, all freedom being his, Jerry stole away across
the village to the house of Lumai. But never did he find Lamai,
who, since Skipper, was the only human he had met that had placed a
bid to his heart. Jerry never appeared openly, but from the thick
fern of the brookside observed the house and scented out its
occupants. No scent of Lamai did he ever obtain, and, after a time,
he gave up his vain visits and accepted the devil devil doctor's
house as his home and the devil devil doctor as his master.
But he bore no love for this master. Agno, who had ruled by fear so
long in his house of mystery, did not know love. Nor was affection
any part of him, nor was geniality. He had no sense of humour, and
was as frostily cruel as an icicle. Next to Bashti he stood in
power, and all his days had been embittered in that he was not first
in power. He had no softness for Jerry. Because he feared Bashti
he feared to harm Jerry.
The months passed, and Jerry got his firm, massive second teeth and
increased in weight and size. He came as near to being spoiled as
is possible for a dog. Himself taboo, he quickly learned to lord it
over the Somo folk and to have his way and will in all matters. No
one dared to dispute with him with stick or stone. Agno hated him--
he knew that; but also he gleaned the knowledge that Agno feared him
and would not dare to hurt him. But Agno was a chill-blooded
philosopher and bided his time, being different from Jerry in that
he possessed human prevision and could adjust his actions to remote
ends.
From the edge of the lagoon, into the waters of which, remembering
the crocodile taboo he had learned on Meringe, he never ventured,
Jerry ranged to the outlying bush villages of Bashti's domain. All
made way for him. All fed him when he desired food. For the taboo
was upon him, and he might unchidden invade their sleeping-mats or
food calabashes. He might bully as he pleased, and be arrogant
beyond decency, and there was no one to say him nay. Even had
Bashti's word gone forth that if Jerry were attacked by the full-
grown bush dogs, it was the duty of the Somo folk to take his part
and kick and stone and beat the bush dogs. And thus his own four-
legged cousins came painfully to know that he was taboo.
And Jerry prospered. Fat to stupidity he might well have become,
had it not been for his high-strung nerves and his insatiable, eager
curiosity. With the freedom of all Somo his, he was ever a-foot
over it, learning its metes and bounds and the ways of the wild
creatures that inhabited its swamps and forests and that did not
acknowledge his taboo.
Many were his adventures. He fought two battles with the wood-rats
that were almost of his size, and that, being mature and wild and
cornered, fought him as he had never been fought before. The first
he had killed, unaware that it was an old and feeble rat. The
second, in prime of vigour, had so punished him that he crawled
back, weak and sick to the devil devil doctor's house, where, for a
week, under the dried emblems of death, he licked his wounds and
slowly came back to life and health.
He stole upon the dugong and joyed to stampede that silly timid
creature by sudden ferocious onslaughts which he knew himself to be
all sound and fury, but which tickled him and made him laugh with
the consciousness of playing a successful joke. He chased the
unmigratory tropi-ducks from their shrewd-hidden nests, walked
circumspectly among the crocodiles hauled out of water for slumber,
and crept under the jungle-roof and spied upon the snow-white saucy
cockatoos, the fierce ospreys, the heavy-flighted buzzards, the
lories and kingfishers, and the absurdly garrulous little pygmy
parrots.
Thrice, beyond the boundaries of Somo, he encountered the little
black bushmen who were more like ghosts than men, so noiseless and
unperceivable were they, and who, guarding the wild-pig runways of
the jungle, missed spearing him on the three memorable occasions.
As the wood-rats had taught him discretion, so did these two-legged
lurkers in the jungletwilight. He had not fought with them,
although they tried to spear him. He quickly came to know that
these were other folk than Somo folk, that his taboo did not extend
to them, and that, even of a sort, they were two-legged gods who
carried flying death in their hands that reached farther than their
hands and bridged distance.
As he ran the jungle, so Jerry ran the village. No place was sacred
to him. In the devil devil houses, where, before the face of
mystery men and women crawled in fear and trembling, he walked
stiff-legged and bristling; for fresh heads were suspended there--
heads his eyes and keen nostrils identified as those of once living
blacks he had known on board the Arangi. In the biggest devil devil
house he encountered the head of Borckman, and snarled at it,
without receiving response, in recollection of the fight he had
fought with the schnapps-addled mate on the deck of the Arangi.
Once, however, in Bashti's house, he chanced upon all that remained
on earth of Skipper. Bashti had lived very long, had lived most
wisely and thought much, and was thoroughly aware that, having lived
far beyond the span of man his own span was very short. And he was
curious about it all--the meaning and purpose of life. He loved the
world and life, into which he had been fortunately born, both as to
constitution and to place, which latter, for him, had been the high
place over hie priests and people. He was not afraid to die, but he
wondered if he might live again. He discounted the silly views of
the tricky priests, and he was very much alone in the chaos of the
confusing problem.
For he had lived so long, and so luckily, that he had watched the
waning to extinction of all the vigorous appetites and desires. He
had known wives and children, and the keen-edge of youthfulhunger.
He had seen his children grow to manhood and womanhood and become
fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers. But having
known woman, and love, and fatherhood, and the belly-delights of
eating, he had passed on beyond. Food? Scarcely did he know its
meaning, so little did he eat. Hunger, that bit him like a spur
when he was young and lusty, had long since ceased to stir and prod
him. He ate out of a sense of necessity and duty, and cared little
for what he ate, save for one thing: the eggs of the megapodes that
were, in season, laid in his private, personal, strictly tabooed
megapode laying-yard. Here was left to him his last lingering flesh
thrill. As for the rest, he lived in his intellect, ruling his
people, seeking out data from which to induce laws that would make
his people stronger and rivet his people's clinch upon life.
But he realized clearly the difference between that abstract thing,
the tribe, and that most concrete of things, the individual. The
tribe persisted. Its members passed. The tribe was a memory of the
history and habits of all previous members, which the living members
carried on until they passed and became history and memory in the
intangible sum that was the tribe. He, as a member, soon or late,
and late was very near, must pass. But pass to what? There was the
rub. And so it was, on occasion, that he ordered all forth from his
big grass house, and, alone with his problem, lowered from the roof-
beams the matting-wrapped parcels of heads of men he had once seen
live and who had passed into the mysterious nothingness of death.
Not as a miser had he collected these heads, and not as a miser
counting his secret hoard did he ponder these heads, unwrapped, held
in his two hands or lying on his knees. He wanted to know. He
wanted to know what he guessed they might know, now that they had
long since gone into the darkness that rounds the end of life.
Various were the heads Bashti thus interrogated--in his hands, on
his knees, in his dim-lighted grasshouse, while the overhead sun
blazed down and the fading south-east sighed through the palm-fronds
and breadfruit branches. There was the head of a Japanese--the only
one he had ever seen or heard of. Before he was born it had been
taken by his father. Ill-cured it was, and battered and marred with
ancientness and rough usage. Yet he studied its features, decided
that it had once had two lips as live as his own and a mouth as
vocal and hungry as his had often been in the past. Two eyes and a
nose it had, a thatched crown of roof, and a pair of ears like to
his own. Two legs and a body it must once have had, and desires and
lusts. Heats of wrath and of love, so he decided, had also been its
once on a time when it never thought to die.
A head that amazed him much, whose history went back before his
father's and grandfather's time, was the head of a Frenchman,
although Bashti knew it not. Nor did he know it was the head of La
Perouse, the doughty old navigator, who had left his bones, the
bones of his crews, and the bones of his two frigates, the Astrolabe
and the Boussole, on the shores of the cannibal Solomons. Another
head--for Bashti was a confirmed head-collector--went back two
centuries before La Perouse to Alvaro de Mendana, the Spaniard. It
was the head of one of Mendana's armourers, lost in a beach
scrimmage to one of Bashti's remote ancestors.
Still another head, the history of which was vague, was a white
woman's head. What wife of what navigator there was no telling.
But earrings of gold and emerald still clung to the withered ears,
and the hair, two-thirds of a fathom long, a shimmering silk of
golden floss, flowed from the scalp that covered what had once been
the wit and will of her that Bashti reasoned had in her ancient time
been quick with love in the arms of man.
Ordinary heads, of bushmen and salt-water men, and even of schnapps-
drinking white men like Borckman, he relegated to the canoe houses
and devil devil houses. For he was a connoisseur in the matter of
heads. There was a strange head of a German that lured him much.
Red-bearded it was, and red-haired, but even in dried death there
was an ironness of feature and a massive brow that hinted to him of
mastery of secrets beyond his ken. No more than did he know it once
had been a German, did he know it was a German professor's head, an
astronomer's head, a head that in its time had carried within its
content profound knowledge of the stars in the vasty heavens, of the
way of star-directed ships upon the sea, and of the way of the earth
on its starry course through space that was a myriad million times
beyond the slight concept of space that he possessed.
Last of all, sharpest of bite in his thought, was the head of Van
Horn. And it was the head of Van Horn that lay on his knees under
his contemplation when Jerry, who possessed the freedom of Somo,
trotted into Bashti's grass house, scented and identified the mortal
remnant of Skipper, wailed first in woe over it, then bristled into
rage.
Bashti did not notice at first, for he was deep in interrogation of
Van Horn's head. Only short months before this head had been alive,
he pondered, quick with wit, attached to a two-legged body that
stood erect and that swaggered about, a loincloth and a belted
automatic around its middle, more powerful, therefrom, than Bashti,
but with less wit, for had not he, Bashti, with an ancient pistol,
put darkness inside that skull where wit resided, and removed that
skull from the soddenly relaxed framework of flesh and bone on which
it had been supported to tread the earth and the deck of the Arangi?
What had become of that wit? Had that wit been all of the arrogant,
upstanding Van Horn, and had it gone out as the flickering flame of
a splinter of wood goes out when it is quite burnt to a powder-fluff
contributed to the festooning of Agno's dark abode.
Jerry found himself well cared for. No children nor wives cluttered
the devil devil doctor's house. Several old women, a fly-flapping
girl of eleven, and two young men who had graduated from the canoe
house of the youths and who were studying priestcraft under the
master, composed the household and waited upon Jerry. Food of the
choicest was his. After Agno had eaten first-cut of pig, Jerry was
served second. Even the two acolytes and the fly-flapping maid ate
after him, leaving the debris for the several old women. And,
unlike the mere bush dogs, who stole shelter from the rain under
overhanging eaves, Jerry was given a dry place under the roof where
the heads of bushmen and of forgotten sandalwood traders hung down
from above in the midst of a dusty confusion of dried viscera of
sharks, crocodile skulls, and skeletons of Solomons rats that
measured two-thirds of a yard in length from bone-tip of nose to
bone-tip of tail.
A number of times, all freedom being his, Jerry stole away across
the village to the house of Lumai. But never did he find Lamai,
who, since Skipper, was the only human he had met that had placed a
bid to his heart. Jerry never appeared openly, but from the thick
fern of the brookside observed the house and scented out its
occupants. No scent of Lamai did he ever obtain, and, after a time,
he gave up his vain visits and accepted the devil devil doctor's
house as his home and the devil devil doctor as his master.
But he bore no love for this master. Agno, who had ruled by fear so
long in his house of mystery, did not know love. Nor was affection
any part of him, nor was geniality. He had no sense of humour, and
was as frostily cruel as an icicle. Next to Bashti he stood in
power, and all his days had been embittered in that he was not first
in power. He had no softness for Jerry. Because he feared Bashti
he feared to harm Jerry.
The months passed, and Jerry got his firm, massive second teeth and
increased in weight and size. He came as near to being spoiled as
is possible for a dog. Himself taboo, he quickly learned to lord it
over the Somo folk and to have his way and will in all matters. No
one dared to dispute with him with stick or stone. Agno hated him--
he knew that; but also he gleaned the knowledge that Agno feared him
and would not dare to hurt him. But Agno was a chill-blooded
philosopher and bided his time, being different from Jerry in that
he possessed human prevision and could adjust his actions to remote
ends.
From the edge of the lagoon, into the waters of which, remembering
the crocodile taboo he had learned on Meringe, he never ventured,
Jerry ranged to the outlying bush villages of Bashti's domain. All
made way for him. All fed him when he desired food. For the taboo
was upon him, and he might unchidden invade their sleeping-mats or
food calabashes. He might bully as he pleased, and be arrogant
beyond decency, and there was no one to say him nay. Even had
Bashti's word gone forth that if Jerry were attacked by the full-
grown bush dogs, it was the duty of the Somo folk to take his part
and kick and stone and beat the bush dogs. And thus his own four-
legged cousins came painfully to know that he was taboo.
And Jerry prospered. Fat to stupidity he might well have become,
had it not been for his high-strung nerves and his insatiable, eager
curiosity. With the freedom of all Somo his, he was ever a-foot
over it, learning its metes and bounds and the ways of the wild
creatures that inhabited its swamps and forests and that did not
acknowledge his taboo.
Many were his adventures. He fought two battles with the wood-rats
that were almost of his size, and that, being mature and wild and
cornered, fought him as he had never been fought before. The first
he had killed, unaware that it was an old and feeble rat. The
second, in prime of vigour, had so punished him that he crawled
back, weak and sick to the devil devil doctor's house, where, for a
week, under the dried emblems of death, he licked his wounds and
slowly came back to life and health.
He stole upon the dugong and joyed to stampede that silly timid
creature by sudden ferocious onslaughts which he knew himself to be
all sound and fury, but which tickled him and made him laugh with
the consciousness of playing a successful joke. He chased the
unmigratory tropi-ducks from their shrewd-hidden nests, walked
circumspectly among the crocodiles hauled out of water for slumber,
and crept under the jungle-roof and spied upon the snow-white saucy
cockatoos, the fierce ospreys, the heavy-flighted buzzards, the
lories and kingfishers, and the absurdly garrulous little pygmy
parrots.
Thrice, beyond the boundaries of Somo, he encountered the little
black bushmen who were more like ghosts than men, so noiseless and
unperceivable were they, and who, guarding the wild-pig runways of
the jungle, missed spearing him on the three memorable occasions.
As the wood-rats had taught him discretion, so did these two-legged
lurkers in the jungletwilight. He had not fought with them,
although they tried to spear him. He quickly came to know that
these were other folk than Somo folk, that his taboo did not extend
to them, and that, even of a sort, they were two-legged gods who
carried flying death in their hands that reached farther than their
hands and bridged distance.
As he ran the jungle, so Jerry ran the village. No place was sacred
to him. In the devil devil houses, where, before the face of
mystery men and women crawled in fear and trembling, he walked
stiff-legged and bristling; for fresh heads were suspended there--
heads his eyes and keen nostrils identified as those of once living
blacks he had known on board the Arangi. In the biggest devil devil
house he encountered the head of Borckman, and snarled at it,
without receiving response, in recollection of the fight he had
fought with the schnapps-addled mate on the deck of the Arangi.
Once, however, in Bashti's house, he chanced upon all that remained
on earth of Skipper. Bashti had lived very long, had lived most
wisely and thought much, and was thoroughly aware that, having lived
far beyond the span of man his own span was very short. And he was
curious about it all--the meaning and purpose of life. He loved the
world and life, into which he had been fortunately born, both as to
constitution and to place, which latter, for him, had been the high
place over hie priests and people. He was not afraid to die, but he
wondered if he might live again. He discounted the silly views of
the tricky priests, and he was very much alone in the chaos of the
confusing problem.
For he had lived so long, and so luckily, that he had watched the
waning to extinction of all the vigorous appetites and desires. He
had known wives and children, and the keen-edge of youthfulhunger.
He had seen his children grow to manhood and womanhood and become
fathers and grandfathers, mothers and grandmothers. But having
known woman, and love, and fatherhood, and the belly-delights of
eating, he had passed on beyond. Food? Scarcely did he know its
meaning, so little did he eat. Hunger, that bit him like a spur
when he was young and lusty, had long since ceased to stir and prod
him. He ate out of a sense of necessity and duty, and cared little
for what he ate, save for one thing: the eggs of the megapodes that
were, in season, laid in his private, personal, strictly tabooed
megapode laying-yard. Here was left to him his last lingering flesh
thrill. As for the rest, he lived in his intellect, ruling his
people, seeking out data from which to induce laws that would make
his people stronger and rivet his people's clinch upon life.
But he realized clearly the difference between that abstract thing,
the tribe, and that most concrete of things, the individual. The
tribe persisted. Its members passed. The tribe was a memory of the
history and habits of all previous members, which the living members
carried on until they passed and became history and memory in the
intangible sum that was the tribe. He, as a member, soon or late,
and late was very near, must pass. But pass to what? There was the
rub. And so it was, on occasion, that he ordered all forth from his
big grass house, and, alone with his problem, lowered from the roof-
beams the matting-wrapped parcels of heads of men he had once seen
live and who had passed into the mysterious nothingness of death.
Not as a miser had he collected these heads, and not as a miser
counting his secret hoard did he ponder these heads, unwrapped, held
in his two hands or lying on his knees. He wanted to know. He
wanted to know what he guessed they might know, now that they had
long since gone into the darkness that rounds the end of life.
Various were the heads Bashti thus interrogated--in his hands, on
his knees, in his dim-lighted grasshouse, while the overhead sun
blazed down and the fading south-east sighed through the palm-fronds
and breadfruit branches. There was the head of a Japanese--the only
one he had ever seen or heard of. Before he was born it had been
taken by his father. Ill-cured it was, and battered and marred with
ancientness and rough usage. Yet he studied its features, decided
that it had once had two lips as live as his own and a mouth as
vocal and hungry as his had often been in the past. Two eyes and a
nose it had, a thatched crown of roof, and a pair of ears like to
his own. Two legs and a body it must once have had, and desires and
lusts. Heats of wrath and of love, so he decided, had also been its
once on a time when it never thought to die.
A head that amazed him much, whose history went back before his
father's and grandfather's time, was the head of a Frenchman,
although Bashti knew it not. Nor did he know it was the head of La
Perouse, the doughty old navigator, who had left his bones, the
bones of his crews, and the bones of his two frigates, the Astrolabe
and the Boussole, on the shores of the cannibal Solomons. Another
head--for Bashti was a confirmed head-collector--went back two
centuries before La Perouse to Alvaro de Mendana, the Spaniard. It
was the head of one of Mendana's armourers, lost in a beach
scrimmage to one of Bashti's remote ancestors.
Still another head, the history of which was vague, was a white
woman's head. What wife of what navigator there was no telling.
But earrings of gold and emerald still clung to the withered ears,
and the hair, two-thirds of a fathom long, a shimmering silk of
golden floss, flowed from the scalp that covered what had once been
the wit and will of her that Bashti reasoned had in her ancient time
been quick with love in the arms of man.
Ordinary heads, of bushmen and salt-water men, and even of schnapps-
drinking white men like Borckman, he relegated to the canoe houses
and devil devil houses. For he was a connoisseur in the matter of
heads. There was a strange head of a German that lured him much.
Red-bearded it was, and red-haired, but even in dried death there
was an ironness of feature and a massive brow that hinted to him of
mastery of secrets beyond his ken. No more than did he know it once
had been a German, did he know it was a German professor's head, an
astronomer's head, a head that in its time had carried within its
content profound knowledge of the stars in the vasty heavens, of the
way of star-directed ships upon the sea, and of the way of the earth
on its starry course through space that was a myriad million times
beyond the slight concept of space that he possessed.
Last of all, sharpest of bite in his thought, was the head of Van
Horn. And it was the head of Van Horn that lay on his knees under
his contemplation when Jerry, who possessed the freedom of Somo,
trotted into Bashti's grass house, scented and identified the mortal
remnant of Skipper, wailed first in woe over it, then bristled into
rage.
Bashti did not notice at first, for he was deep in interrogation of
Van Horn's head. Only short months before this head had been alive,
he pondered, quick with wit, attached to a two-legged body that
stood erect and that swaggered about, a loincloth and a belted
automatic around its middle, more powerful, therefrom, than Bashti,
but with less wit, for had not he, Bashti, with an ancient pistol,
put darkness inside that skull where wit resided, and removed that
skull from the soddenly relaxed framework of flesh and bone on which
it had been supported to tread the earth and the deck of the Arangi?
What had become of that wit? Had that wit been all of the arrogant,
upstanding Van Horn, and had it gone out as the flickering flame of
a splinter of wood goes out when it is quite burnt to a powder-fluff
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən]
n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词) - obtain [əb´tein] v.获得；买到；得到承认 (初中英语单词)
- mystery [´mistəri] n.神秘；秘密；故弄玄虚 (初中英语单词)
- humour [´hju:mə] n.幽默，诙谐 (初中英语单词)
- dispute [di´spju:t] v.&n.争论，辩论；争吵 (初中英语单词)
- adjust [ə´dʒʌst] vt.调整；校准；使适应 (初中英语单词)
- invade [in´veid] vt.侵入；打扰；充满 (初中英语单词)
- learning [´lə:niŋ] n.学习；学问；知识 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- fierce [fiəs] a.残忍的；强烈的 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- thoroughly [´θʌrəli] ad.完全地，彻底地 (初中英语单词)
- youthful [´ju:θfəl] a.年轻的；青年的 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- previous [´pri:viəs] a.先，前，以前的 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- overhead [´əuvə,hed] ad.当头 a.在头上的 (初中英语单词)
- spaniard [´spænjəd] n.西班牙人 (初中英语单词)
- remote [ri´məut] a.遥远的；偏僻的 (初中英语单词)
- concept [´kɔnsept] n.概念；观念；思想 (初中英语单词)
- openly [´əupənli] ad.公开地；直率地 (高中英语单词)
- massive [´mæsiv] a.厚实的；魁伟的 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- mature [mə´tjuə] a.成熟的 v.(使)成熟 (高中英语单词)
- vigour [´vigə] (=vigor) n.活力；精力 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- jungle [´dʒʌŋgəl] n.丛林；杂乱的东西 (高中英语单词)
- memorable [´memərəbəl] a.难忘的；重大的 (高中英语单词)
- response [ri´spɔns] n.回答；响应 (高中英语单词)
- recollection [,rekə´lekʃən] n.回忆；追想；记忆力 (高中英语单词)
- fortunately [´fɔ:tʃənətli] ad.幸运地 (高中英语单词)
- vigorous [´vigərəs] a.精力旺盛的；健壮的 (高中英语单词)
- manhood [´mænhud] n.人格；男子气概 (高中英语单词)
- strictly [´striktli] ad.严格地 (高中英语单词)
- concrete [´kɔŋkri:t] a.具体的 n.混凝土 (高中英语单词)
- ponder [´pɔndə] v.沉思；考虑；估量 (高中英语单词)
- studied [´stʌdid] a.故意的；有计划的 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- profound [prə´faund] a.深奥的；渊博的 (高中英语单词)
- composed [kəm´pəuzd] a.镇静自若的 (英语四级单词)
- skipper [´skipə] n.&vi.(当)船长 (英语四级单词)
- domain [də´mein,dəu-] n.领土；版图；范围 (英语四级单词)
- painfully [´peinfuli] ad.痛苦地；费力地 (英语四级单词)
- unaware [,ʌnə´weə] a.不知道的；不觉察的 (英语四级单词)
- discretion [di´skreʃən] n.谨慎；判断(力) (英语四级单词)
- intellect [´intilekt] n.智力；有才智的人 (英语四级单词)
- abstract [´æbstrækt] a.抽象的 n.提要 (英语四级单词)
- navigator [´nævigeitə] n.航行者；航海员 (英语四级单词)
- emerald [´emərəld] n.纯绿宝石；翠绿色 (英语四级单词)
- fathom [´fæðəm] n.英寻 vt.推测，揣摩 (英语四级单词)
- starry [´stɑ:ri] a.星光照耀的，闪亮的 (英语四级单词)
- myriad [´miriəd] n.极大数量 a.无数的 (英语四级单词)
- contemplation [,kɔntem´pleiʃən] n.注视；冥想；打算 (英语四级单词)
- splinter [´splintə] n.碎片 v.成碎片；分裂 (英语四级单词)
- crocodile [´krɔkədail] n.鳄鱼；假慈悲的人 (英语六级单词)
- softness [´sɔftnis] n.柔软；柔和；温柔 (英语六级单词)
- lagoon [lə´gu:n] n.濒海湖，泻湖 (英语六级单词)
- decency [´di:sənsi] n.正派；体面 (英语六级单词)
- ferocious [fə´rəuʃəs] a.凶猛的；残忍的 (英语六级单词)
- clinch [klintʃ] n.&v.钉住；确定 (英语六级单词)
- cannibal [´kænibəl] n.吃同类动物的 (英语六级单词)
- framework [´freimwə:k] n.骨架；计划；机构 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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