章节正文
vision of life. All tidings the west wind blew from distance and
age he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found them
mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and in
the softening felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a better
man.
While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full,
teaching him a man's part, the days passed, the purple clouds
changed to white, and the storms were over for that summer.
"I must go now," he said.
"When?" she asked.
"At once--to-night."
"I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go--for you'll
come back the sooner."
Late in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame in
the ragged notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Venters
along the eastern terrace, up the long, weathered slope, under
the great stone bridge. They entered the narrow gorge to climb
around the fence long before built there by Venters. Farther than
this she had never been. Twilight had already fallen in the
gorge. It brightened to waning shadow in the wider ascent. He
showed her Balancing Rock, of which he had often told her, and
explained its sinister leaning over the outlet. Shuddering, she
looked down the long, pale incline with its closed-in, toppling
walls.
"What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?"
"I did, surely," replied he.
"It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I'd
ride anywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn't. But
there's something fearful here. I feel as--as if the place was
watching me."
"Look at this rock. It's balanced here--balanced perfectly. You
know I told you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. But
they're gone and the rock waits. Can't you see--feel how it waits
here? I moved it once, and I'll never dare again. A strong heave
would start it. Then it would fall and bang, and smash that crag,
and jar the walls, and close forever the outlet to Deception
Pass!"
"Ah! When you come back I'll steal up here and push and push with
all my might to roll the rock and close forever the outlet to the
Pass!" She said it lightly, but in the undercurrent of her voice
was a heavier note, a ring deeper than any ever given mere play
of words.
"Bess!...You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies--
then roll the stone."
"I--was--in--fun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you must
be free to go when you will. Go now...this place presses on
me--stifles me."
"I'm going--but you had something to tell me?"
"Yes....Will you--come back?"
"I'll come if I live."
"But--but you mightn't come?"
"That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. A
man couldn't have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, I've
guns, and I'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry."
"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only--
because you mightn't come--I must tell you--"
She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest
eyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The
dog whined, breaking the silence.
"I must tell you--because you mightn't come back," she whispered.
"You must know what--what I think of your goodness--of you.
Always I've been tongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was
deep in my heart. Even now--if I were other than I am--I couldn't
tell you. But I'm nothing--only a rustler's
girl--nameless--infamous. You've saved me-- and I'm--I'm yours to
do with as you like....With all my heart and soul--I love you!"
CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE
In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened
down the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the
shadows gathering and closing in around her life.
Mrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no known
relative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of
a darkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childishworship. And
Jane at last found full expression for the mother-longing in her
heart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtle
reaction. Before, he had often, without explanation, advised Jane
to send Fay back to any Gentile family that would take her in.
Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refused
even to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised it
again, grew sadder and quieter in his contemplation of the child,
and infinitely more gentle and loving. Sometimes Jane had a cold,
inexplicable sensation of dread when she saw Lassiter watching
Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he, day by
day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in prophetic
assurance of something to be?
No doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power
of foresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening
shadows that were soon to crowd and gloom over him and her and
little Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the long-deferred breaking
of the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had come to
her in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear,
subservient to her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights and
tortured days. Love remained. All that she had loved she now
loved the more. She seemed to feel that she was defiantly
flinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and of
hate. No day passed but she prayed for all--and most fervently
for her enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never
gained, the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason and
wisdom and decision were locked in a chamber of her brain,
awaiting a key. Power to think of some things was taken from her.
Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to
deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the
intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her
heart.
On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court
for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came
from the grove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in
alarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the
cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom of
Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay.
Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of
the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from different
parts of the grove--spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter from a
cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom
used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called
to mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken
to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was
probable--it was likely. And she did not share his cool
assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a
Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, his
singularreluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was
famed-- both now plain to all Mormons--laid him open to
inevitable assassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aim
and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was
not charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of
impending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever avail
against secret attack.
That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then
the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured
step, and Lassiter walked into the court.
"Jane, there's a fellow out there with a long gun," he said, and,
removing his sombrero, showed his head bound in a bloody scarf.
"I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me see--you
can't be badly injured?"
"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!...I'll sit here
in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove." He untied
the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above
his left temple.
"It's only a cut," said Jane. "But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf
over it just a moment till I come back."
She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she
bathed and dressed the wound Lassiter talked.
"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have
flinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw him
run through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' that
kind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closer
hid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky when
they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hit
me."
"Won't you go away--leave Cottonwoods as I've begged you
to--before some one does happen to hit you?" she appealed to him.
"I reckon I'll stay."
"But, oh, Lassiter--your blood will be on my hands!"
"See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren't they
fine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter's
blood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if
you could only see deeper you'd find a redder color of blood.
Heart color, Jane!"
"Oh!...My friend!"
"No, Jane, I'm not one to quit when the game grows hot, no more
than you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know the
moves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet."
"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you--to find
him--and-- and kill him?"
"Well, I reckon I haven't any great hankerin' for that."
"Oh, the wonder of it!...I knew--I prayed--I trusted. Lassiter, I
almost gave--all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, and
thank you, my friend....But, selfish woman that ] am, this is no
great test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards to
such a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who--I
think of your life's implacable purpose. Can it
be--"
"Wait!...Listen!" he whispered. "I hear a hoss."
He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he
pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his
gun-sheaths round in front, he stepped into the alcove.
"It s a hoss--comin' fast," he added.
Jane's listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat of
hoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was
at a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then
came a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from the
sage trail to the hard-packed ground of the grove. It became a
ringing run--swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular in
longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse.
"It's Wrangle!...It's Wrangle!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I'd know
him from a million horses!"
Excitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane
Withersteen s calm. A tight band closed round her breast as she
saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the
openings in the green. Then he was pounding down the
lane--thundering into the court--crashing his great iron-shod
hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and
wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his
flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped
off, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round
Wrangle's head and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried to
recognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her in
the lofty stature in the sweep of powerful shoulders. But this
bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patched
with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and
feet--this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be
age he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found them
mysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and in
the softening felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a better
man.
While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full,
teaching him a man's part, the days passed, the purple clouds
changed to white, and the storms were over for that summer.
"I must go now," he said.
"When?" she asked.
"At once--to-night."
"I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go--for you'll
come back the sooner."
Late in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame in
the ragged notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Venters
along the eastern terrace, up the long, weathered slope, under
the great stone bridge. They entered the narrow gorge to climb
around the fence long before built there by Venters. Farther than
this she had never been. Twilight had already fallen in the
gorge. It brightened to waning shadow in the wider ascent. He
showed her Balancing Rock, of which he had often told her, and
explained its sinister leaning over the outlet. Shuddering, she
looked down the long, pale incline with its closed-in, toppling
walls.
"What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?"
"I did, surely," replied he.
"It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I'd
ride anywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn't. But
there's something fearful here. I feel as--as if the place was
watching me."
"Look at this rock. It's balanced here--balanced perfectly. You
know I told you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. But
they're gone and the rock waits. Can't you see--feel how it waits
here? I moved it once, and I'll never dare again. A strong heave
would start it. Then it would fall and bang, and smash that crag,
and jar the walls, and close forever the outlet to Deception
Pass!"
"Ah! When you come back I'll steal up here and push and push with
all my might to roll the rock and close forever the outlet to the
Pass!" She said it lightly, but in the undercurrent of her voice
was a heavier note, a ring deeper than any ever given mere play
of words.
"Bess!...You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies--
then roll the stone."
"I--was--in--fun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you must
be free to go when you will. Go now...this place presses on
me--stifles me."
"I'm going--but you had something to tell me?"
"Yes....Will you--come back?"
"I'll come if I live."
"But--but you mightn't come?"
"That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. A
man couldn't have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, I've
guns, and I'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry."
"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only--
because you mightn't come--I must tell you--"
She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnest
eyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. The
dog whined, breaking the silence.
"I must tell you--because you mightn't come back," she whispered.
"You must know what--what I think of your goodness--of you.
Always I've been tongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It was
deep in my heart. Even now--if I were other than I am--I couldn't
tell you. But I'm nothing--only a rustler's
girl--nameless--infamous. You've saved me-- and I'm--I'm yours to
do with as you like....With all my heart and soul--I love you!"
CHAPTER XV. SHADOWS ON THE SAGE-SLOPE
In the cloudy, threatening, waning summer days shadows lengthened
down the sage-slope, and Jane Withersteen likened them to the
shadows gathering and closing in around her life.
Mrs. Larkin died, and little Fay was left an orphan with no known
relative. Jane's love redoubled. It was the saving brightness of
a darkening hour. Fay turned now to Jane in childishworship. And
Jane at last found full expression for the mother-longing in her
heart. Upon Lassiter, too, Mrs. Larkin's death had some subtle
reaction. Before, he had often, without explanation, advised Jane
to send Fay back to any Gentile family that would take her in.
Passionately and reproachfully and wonderingly Jane had refused
even to entertain such an idea. And now Lassiter never advised it
again, grew sadder and quieter in his contemplation of the child,
and infinitely more gentle and loving. Sometimes Jane had a cold,
inexplicable sensation of dread when she saw Lassiter watching
Fay. What did the rider see in the future? Why did he, day by
day, grow more silent, calmer, cooler, yet sadder in prophetic
assurance of something to be?
No doubt, Jane thought, the rider, in his almost superhuman power
of foresight, saw behind the horizon the dark, lengthening
shadows that were soon to crowd and gloom over him and her and
little Fay. Jane Withersteen awaited the long-deferred breaking
of the storm with a courage and embittered calm that had come to
her in her extremity. Hope had not died. Doubt and fear,
subservient to her will, no longer gave her sleepless nights and
tortured days. Love remained. All that she had loved she now
loved the more. She seemed to feel that she was defiantly
flinging the wealth of her love in the face of misfortune and of
hate. No day passed but she prayed for all--and most fervently
for her enemies. It troubled her that she had lost, or had never
gained, the whole control of her mind. In some measure reason and
wisdom and decision were locked in a chamber of her brain,
awaiting a key. Power to think of some things was taken from her.
Meanwhile, abiding a day of judgment, she fought ceaselessly to
deny the bitter drops in her cup, to tear back the slow, the
intangibly slow growth of a hot, corrosive lichen eating into her
heart.
On the morning of August 10th, Jane, while waiting in the court
for Lassiter, heard a clear, ringing report of a rifle. It came
from the grove, somewhere toward the corrals. Jane glanced out in
alarm. The day was dull, windless, soundless. The leaves of the
cottonwoods drooped, as if they had foretold the doom of
Withersteen House and were now ready to die and drop and decay.
Never had Jane seen such shade. She pondered on the meaning of
the report. Revolver shots had of late cracked from different
parts of the grove--spies taking snap-shots at Lassiter from a
cowardly distance! But a rifle report meant more. Riders seldom
used rifles. Judkins and Venters were the exceptions she called
to mind. Had the men who hounded her hidden in her grove, taken
to the rifle to rid her of Lassiter, her last friend? It was
probable--it was likely. And she did not share his cool
assumption that his death would never come at the hands of a
Mormon. Long had she expected it. His constancy to her, his
singularreluctance to use the fatal skill for which he was
famed-- both now plain to all Mormons--laid him open to
inevitable assassination. Yet what charm against ambush and aim
and enemy he seemed to bear about him! No, Jane reflected, it was
not charm; only a wonderful training of eye and ear, and sense of
impending peril. Nevertheless that could not forever avail
against secret attack.
That moment a rustling of leaves attracted her attention; then
the familiar clinking accompaniment of a slow, soft, measured
step, and Lassiter walked into the court.
"Jane, there's a fellow out there with a long gun," he said, and,
removing his sombrero, showed his head bound in a bloody scarf.
"I heard the shot; I knew it was meant for you. Let me see--you
can't be badly injured?"
"I reckon not. But mebbe it wasn't a close call!...I'll sit here
in this corner where nobody can see me from the grove." He untied
the scarf and removed it to show a long, bleeding furrow above
his left temple.
"It's only a cut," said Jane. "But how it bleeds! Hold your scarf
over it just a moment till I come back."
She ran into the house and returned with bandages; and while she
bathed and dressed the wound Lassiter talked.
"That fellow had a good chance to get me. But he must have
flinched when he pulled the trigger. As I dodged down I saw him
run through the trees. He had a rifle. I've been expectin' that
kind of gun play. I reckon now I'll have to keep a little closer
hid myself. These fellers all seem to get chilly or shaky when
they draw a bead on me, but one of them might jest happen to hit
me."
"Won't you go away--leave Cottonwoods as I've begged you
to--before some one does happen to hit you?" she appealed to him.
"I reckon I'll stay."
"But, oh, Lassiter--your blood will be on my hands!"
"See here, lady, look at your hands now, right now. Aren't they
fine, firm, white hands? Aren't they bloody now? Lassiter's
blood! That's a queer thing to stain your beautiful hands. But if
you could only see deeper you'd find a redder color of blood.
Heart color, Jane!"
"Oh!...My friend!"
"No, Jane, I'm not one to quit when the game grows hot, no more
than you. This game, though, is new to me, an' I don't know the
moves yet, else I wouldn't have stepped in front of that bullet."
"Have you no desire to hunt the man who fired at you--to find
him--and-- and kill him?"
"Well, I reckon I haven't any great hankerin' for that."
"Oh, the wonder of it!...I knew--I prayed--I trusted. Lassiter, I
almost gave--all myself to soften you to Mormons. Thank God, and
thank you, my friend....But, selfish woman that ] am, this is no
great test. What's the life of one of those sneaking cowards to
such a man as you? I think of your great hate toward him who--I
think of your life's implacable purpose. Can it
be--"
"Wait!...Listen!" he whispered. "I hear a hoss."
He rose noiselessly, with his ear to the breeze. Suddenly he
pulled his sombrero down over his bandaged head and, swinging his
gun-sheaths round in front, he stepped into the alcove.
"It s a hoss--comin' fast," he added.
Jane's listening ear soon caught a faint, rapid, rhythmic beat of
hoofs. It came from the sage. It gave her a thrill that she was
at a loss to understand. The sound rose stronger, louder. Then
came a clear, sharp difference when the horse passed from the
sage trail to the hard-packed ground of the grove. It became a
ringing run--swift in its bell-like clatterings, yet singular in
longer pause than usual between the hoofbeats of a horse.
"It's Wrangle!...It's Wrangle!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I'd know
him from a million horses!"
Excitement and thrilling expectancy flooded out all Jane
Withersteen s calm. A tight band closed round her breast as she
saw the giant sorrel flit in reddish-brown flashes across the
openings in the green. Then he was pounding down the
lane--thundering into the court--crashing his great iron-shod
hoofs on the stone flags. Wrangle it was surely, but shaggy and
wild-eyed, and sage-streaked, with dust-caked lather staining his
flanks. He reared and crashed down and plunged. The rider leaped
off, threw the bridle, and held hard on a lasso looped round
Wrangle's head and neck. Janet's heart sank as she tried to
recognize Venters in the rider. Something familiar struck her in
the lofty stature in the sweep of powerful shoulders. But this
bearded, longhaired, unkempt man, who wore ragged clothes patched
with pieces of skin, and boots that showed bare legs and
feet--this dusty, dark, and wild rider could not possibly be
- vision [´viʒən]
n.视觉；想象力；幻影 (初中英语单词) - purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- incline [in´klain] v.(使)倾斜 n.斜坡 (初中英语单词)
- anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- fearful [´fiəfəl] a.可怕的；担心的 (初中英语单词)
- lightly [´laitli] ad.轻微地，稍微 (初中英语单词)
- grateful [´greitful] a.感谢的；令人愉快的 (初中英语单词)
- childish [´tʃaildiʃ] a.孩子的；幼稚的 (初中英语单词)
- worship [´wə:ʃip] n.&v.崇拜；敬仰 (初中英语单词)
- explanation [,eksplə´neiʃən] n.解释；说明；辩解 (初中英语单词)
- entertain [,entə´tein] vt.招待；娱乐；使高兴 (初中英语单词)
- sensation [sen´seiʃən] n.感觉；轰动；轰动一时 (初中英语单词)
- horizon [hə´raizən] n.地平线；范围；视野 (初中英语单词)
- wealth [welθ] n.财富，财产 (初中英语单词)
- measure [´meʒə] n.量度；范围 vt.测量 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- nevertheless [,nevəðə´les] conj.&ad.然而；不过 (初中英语单词)
- bloody [´blʌdi] a.(流)血的；血腥的 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- chilly [´tʃili] a.凉飕飕的 (初中英语单词)
- soften [´sɔfən] v.使(变)软(柔和) (初中英语单词)
- selfish [´selfiʃ] a.自私的，利己的 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- thrill [θril] v.震惊；激动；刺激 (初中英语单词)
- tidings [´taidiŋz] n.消息，音信 (高中英语单词)
- ragged [´rægid] a.衣服破烂的 (高中英语单词)
- terrace [´terəs] n.梯田 vt.使成梯田 (高中英语单词)
- ascent [ə´sent] n.上升；攀登；上坡路 (高中英语单词)
- outlet [´autlet] n.出口；出路；通风口 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- orphan [´ɔ:fən] n.&a.孤儿 vt.使成孤儿 (高中英语单词)
- brightness [´braitnis] n.光明；快乐 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- extremity [ik´stremiti] n.末端；危机 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- chamber [´tʃeimbə] n.房间；议院；会议室 (高中英语单词)
- singular [´siŋgjulə] a.单一的；非凡的 (高中英语单词)
- bridle [´braidl] n.(马)笼头；束缚 (高中英语单词)
- wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- sinister [´sinistə] a.阴险的；不吉的 (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- contemplation [,kɔntem´pleiʃən] n.注视；冥想；打算 (英语四级单词)
- infinitely [´infinitli] ad.无限地；无穷地 (英语四级单词)
- foresight [´fɔ:sait] n.先见，深谋远虑 (英语四级单词)
- lichen [´laikən] n.地衣，青苔 (英语四级单词)
- revolver [ri´vɔlvə] n.左轮手枪；旋转者 (英语四级单词)
- ambush [´æmbuʃ] n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵 (英语四级单词)
- accompaniment [ə´kʌmpənimənt] n.伴随物；伴奏(唱) (英语四级单词)
- furrow [´fʌrəu] n.沟 vt.犁；使起皱纹 (英语四级单词)
- noiselessly [´nɔizlisli] ad.静静地，轻轻地 (英语四级单词)
- shaggy [´ʃægi] a.蓬乱的；多粗毛的 (英语四级单词)
- stature [´stætʃə] n.身高；身材 (英语四级单词)
- sleepless [´sli:pləs] a.失眠的；寂静的 (英语六级单词)
- august [ɔ:´gʌst] a.尊严的；威严的 (英语六级单词)
- foretold [fɔ:´təuld] foretell过去式(分词) (英语六级单词)
- cracked [krækt] a.有裂缝的；碎的；粗哑 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- constancy [´kɔnstənsi] n.坚定；坚贞；坚久不变 (英语六级单词)
- reluctance [ri´lʌktəns] n.不愿；勉强 (英语六级单词)
- assassination [ə,sæsi´neiʃən] n.暗杀；暗杀事件 (英语六级单词)
- trigger [´trigə] n.扳机 vt.触发，启动 (英语六级单词)
- wrangle [´ræŋgəl] v.争论，口角，争吵 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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