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打了几盘魂图~目前发现只有遗迹打不过！要死嗑药，那个虚祖皇家强体秘药是哪里弄的啊？不然遗迹打不过！！擦擦) Q! N9 q& Q* v&&J- c
break、down苏6
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从未被制裁 但也从未当次托
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之前活动送的& &&&
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早餐，中餐，晚餐，睡觉。。。。
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毒奶粉复仇 发表于
打了几盘魂图~目前发现只有遗迹打不过！要死嗑药，那个虚祖皇家强体秘药是哪里弄的啊？不然遗迹打不过！！ ...% g6 P" C; D; b1 @: V3 }+ F; z4 K
虚祖皇家不都是商城药？
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唯爱灬凄美灬 发表于
15:04 $ Z&&i& K5 s5 y$ _0 w&&m
之前活动送的
现在还有吗
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120体力免疫药水是干啥使的，派啥用场的，一直都放在仓库。前几天嫌占地方扔商店了，我到现在都不知道这药有啥用？体力免疫是啥意思？俺读书少没文化别蒙我
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商城一大堆啊&&
十六夜月华
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混口饭容易嘛 发表于
120体力免疫药水是干啥使的，派啥用场的，一直都放在仓库。前几天嫌占地方扔商店了，我到现在都 ...
以前貌似加1000体力，金身用碉堡了
或许平淡，或许疯狂.
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天正一 发表于
以前貌似加1000体力，金身用碉堡了
加这么多体力有毛用？还是不明白
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难道楼主是金身& && && &
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混口饭容易嘛 发表于
加这么多体力有毛用？还是不明白
体力加防御加血
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震翅残蝶 发表于
难道楼主是金身
差不多~四叔
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毒奶粉复仇 发表于
体力加防御加血
玩的都是布甲职业，脆的一逼。加再多也白搭
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在大灾变更新之前 给过一个24小时CD的礼盒&&可以开出来商场的消耗品
按礼盒上写的截止日期 大灾变更新就该删除掉的
可我的奶爸身上 还有&&现在也是24小时开一次&&你们有遇到么
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混口饭容易嘛 发表于
120体力免疫药水是干啥使的，派啥用场的，一直都放在仓库。前几天嫌占地方扔商店了，我到现在都 ...3 q' D, z2 o: N/ O4 s" H
提升1000体力、
+体力的同时+物防、) h+ @. k& Q$ V) L2 H
比如打遗迹火守护、# \+ e4 X/ X5 G; t$ V8 f
吃霸体吃HP上限药吃体力药硬顶、
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Megatron00xx 发表于
16:18 ' j1 M# k) K9 y* n: m: A
提升1000体力、2 O+ ~, \+ H8 h&&@) s
+体力的同时+物防、
比如打遗迹火守护、) I8 g3 }6 N" ?. s( b
打遗迹都是一路碾压一路秒，根本不知道打这个还要吃药
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手机盒子客户端点击或扫描下载qqt中大中小三种体力药水除了任务，购买，怎么可以得到？？_百度知道
qqt中大中小三种体力药水除了任务，购买，怎么可以得到？？
我有更好的答案
按默认排序
1.书是用来学习合成道具的。你到道具商场，有个背包，点一下，可以看见书，用右键点击书，弹出个框框来，按同意，就学习完毕了。2.然后关闭背包，按合成，左测有什么药水，陷阱等等，根据你学习的书的类型，你按那些药水什么的（假如你的书是用来合成小体力药水的，你就按药水，至于怎么知道书是用来学习合成什么的，很简单，在合成之前把鼠标移蕺纤层剿卮济拆汐抄搂动到书上，停留一会，就会出现说明）然后按那个药水下面的，假如是小体力药水，然后你看药水下面写着小体力药水旁边的括号里括着的数字，就代表你的材料可以合成多少个小体力药水（假如你见到：（25）的字样，就代表可以合成25个）然后看最下面，有个合成，你按，它就会给你合成一个小体力药水。 我是以小体力药水作例子的，还会有用来学合成别的的书，不过书的长相是一样的哦！
你可以通过玩游戏去收集材料合成道具,要是没有道具合成书就得先得到相应的合成书并学习等你收集完足够/符合的材料,就可以去合成啦
可以自己合成也可以去交易中心用酷币宝石买谢谢
去玩探险，打的材料可以免费合成，很简单的。
玩探险，获得道具然后合成
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出门在外也不愁彩虹岛低级体力大药水_百度知道
彩虹岛低级体力大药水
没有,,解决了加分,Ｊ遣皇且兑┳约鹤,沙漠里面的那个拉尔希的修炼任务,苦恼,在线等,Ｎ衣虿坏,我看过了,哪里买啊,
!不是普通,是大药水,
提问者采纳
去大艾看看,那里都是60级到70级的药,应该有得买,
提问者评价
谢谢谢谢,是啊是啊
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其他1条回答
好象贝斯有吧,低级体力,
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出门在外也不愁您好，欢迎来到新东方
&&英语小说
北回归线 Tropic Of Cancer
我被人从这个世界上驱赶出来，像枪膛里的子弹一样呼啸而出。浓雾业已散去，地球上布满了冰冻的油污。我可以感觉到这个城市在跳动，如同从一具还有热气的尸体上取下的心脏一样颤动。我住的旅馆的窗子在溃烂，散发出化学药品燃烧时的浓郁辛辣的臭气。瞧瞧塞纳河，我看到了河里的烂泥和颓败景象，街灯射出半死不活的亮光，男男女女差一点便窒息而死，河上的桥躲在房屋的阴影里&那都是爱情的屠宰常一个男人肚子上挂着一只手风琴靠墙站着，他的双手在手腕处被砍断了，然而手风琴像一袋子蛇似的在两截断肢间扭来扭去。宇宙已经缩小，它只有一个街区长，没有星星，没有树木，没有河流。生活在这儿的人全是死人，他们替别人造梦中坐的椅子。这条街的中心有一个轮子，轮子中央装着一部绞架，早已死去的入狂热地试图登上绞架，可是轮子在飞速旋转&&
I have been ejected from the world like a cartridge. A deep fog has settled down, the earth is smeared with frozen grease. I can feel the city palpitating, as if it were a heart just removed from a warm body. The windows of my hotel are festering and there is a thick, acrid stench as of chemicals burning. Looking into the Seine I see mud and desolation, street lamps drowning, men and women choking to death, the bridges covered with houses, slaughterhouses of love. A man is standing against a wall with an accordion s his hands are cut off at the wrists, but the accordion writhes between his stumps like a sack of snakes. The u it is only a block long and there are no stars, no trees, no rivers. The people wh they make chairs which other people sit on in their dreams. In the middle of the street is a wheel and in the hub of the wheel a gallows is fixed. People already dead are trying frantically to mount the gallows, but the wheel is turning too fast&
需要有某种东西帮助我恢复常态，昨天晚上我发现了它：帕皮尼。我不在乎他是沙文主义者，是小小的虔诚教徒，还是近视眼的书呆子。作为一个失败者他是绝妙的&&
Something was needed to put me right with myself. Last night I discovered it: Papini. It doesn't matter to me whether he's a chauvinist, a little Christer, or a nearsighted pedant. As a failure he's marvelous&
听听他读过的书吧&只有十八岁！不仅读过荷马、但盯歌德、柏拉图、埃庇克泰德，不仅读过拉伯雷、塞万提斯、斯威夫特民不仅读过瓦尔特?惠特曼、埃德加?艾伦?坡、波德莱尔、维荣、卡尔杜齐、曼佐尼、洛卡?德?维加，也不仅读过尼采、叔本华、康德、黑格尔、达尔文、斯宾塞、赫胥黎&他不仅读过这些人的著述，还读过夹在这些大人物之间的所有小人物的作品。这是他在第十八页写到的。然而，到第二百三十二页他便松口了，吐露了真情。他承认，&我什么都不懂，只知道那些书名。我编过参考书目，我写过评论文章，我也曾低毁、中伤过&&我可以演说五分钟或五天，然后我就无话可讲了，干瘪了。&
The books he read & at eighteen! Not only Homer, Dante, Goethe, not only Aristotle, Plato, Epictetus, not only Rabelais, Cervantes, Swift, not only Walt Whitman, Edgar Allan Poe, Baudelaire, Villon, Carducci, Manzoni, Lope de Vega, not only Nietzsche, Schopenhauer, Kant, Hegel, Darwin, Spencer, Huxley & not only these but all the small fry in between. This on page 18. Alors, on page 232 he breaks down and confesses. I know nothing, he admits. I know the titles, I have compiled bibliographies, I have written critical essays, I have maligned and defamed& I can talk for five minutes or for five days, but then I give out, I am squeezed dry.
　　接着他又写道，&每个人都想看看我，每个人都想同我谈话。 人们不断打扰我，也互相打扰，打听我正在做什么。我怎么样？ 全好了吗？还在乡间散步吗？在工作？书写完了？不久就开始写另一本？ &
Follows this: &Everybody wants to see me. Everybody insists on talking to me. People pester me and they pester others with inquiries about what I am doing. How am I? Am I quite well again? Do I still go for my walks in the country? Am I working? Have I finished my book? Will I begin another soon?
&一个瘦猴似的德国人想叫我翻译他的书，一个凶狠的俄国姑娘要我写一本自传，一位美国太太想知道有关我的最新情况，还有一位美国绅士要派他的马车来接我去吃饭，你知道，也就是无拘无束地谈谈心。又有一位我十年前的老同学、老室友要我把我写的都念给他听，写得有多快就念多快。有一位相识的画家朋友希望我摆好姿势让他画，按小时付钱。又有一位记者想要我现在的住址。又有一个相识，是一位神秘主义者，想了解我灵魂的状况。另一位更实际些，他想了解我的存款状况。我的俱乐部主席问我肯不肯为孩子们做一次讲演。一位笃信宗教的女士希望我一有空就到她家去喝茶，她想听听我对耶稣基督的看法，还有&我认为那种新式绘画法怎样？&&&
&A skinny monkey of a German wants me to translate his works. A wild eyed Russian girl wants me to write an account of my life for her. An American lady wants the very latest news about me. An American gentleman will send his carriage to take me to dinner & just an intimate, confidential talk, you know. An old schoolmate and chum of mine, of ten years ago, wants me to read him all that I write as fast as I write it. A painter friend I know expects me to pose for him by the hour. A newspaperman wants my present address. An acquaintance, a mystic, inquires about
another, more practical, about the state of my pocketbook. The president of my club wonders if I will make a speech for the boys! A lady, spiritually inclined, hopes I will come to her house for tea as often as possible. She wants to have my opinion of Jesus Christ, and & what do I think of that new medium? &
&老天爷？我变成什么了？你们这些人有什么权利把我的生活搅得一团糟？偷走我的时间，窥探我的心灵，汲取我的思想，叫我给你们做伴、做知己、做问讯处？你们把我当成什么人了？难道我是一个靠逗人开心领取薪俸的人，每天晚上都得在你们的蠢鼻子底下演一出聪明机智的闹剧？难道我是你们花钱买来雇来的奴仆，要在你们这些无所事事的懒汉面前爬行，将我所做所知的一切献给你们？难道我是妓院里的婊子，一听到头一个来嫖妓的、穿着考究的男人来了便纷纷赶忙撩起裙子，脱下衬衣？
&Great God! what have I turned into? What right have you people to clutter up my life, steal my time, probe my soul, suckle my thoughts, have me for your companion, confidant, and information bureau? What do you take me for? Am I an entertainer on salary, required every morning to play an intellectual farce under your stupid noses? Am I a slave, bought and paid for, to crawl on my belly in front of you idlers and lay at your feet all that I do and all that I know? Am I a wench in a brothel who is called upon to lift her skirts or take off her chemise at the bidding of the first snan in a tailored suit who comes along?
　　&我是一个矢志要做一番英雄业绩、使这个世界在自己眼里变得更加易于接受的男子汉。假如在软弱的、松懈的、不得已的一刹那间我发脾气了---些在言语表达中冷却下来的狂怒情感---个捆在幻想之中、充满激情的梦&好吧，听不听得进去都由你们&&只是别打扰我！
&I am a man who would live an heroic life and make the world more endurable in his own sight. If, in some moment of weakness, of relaxation, of need, I blow off steam & a bit of red hot rage cooled off in words & a passionate dream, wrapped and tied in imagery & well, take it or leave it & but don't bother me!
　　&我是一个自由的人，我需要自由。我需要独自一个人呆着，我需要独自仔细想想我的耻辱、我的失意，我需要阳光和街上的铺路石&不过不要人陪伴，不要同人交谈，只是独自一人呆着，由自己心中的乐曲陪伴，你们要我的什么？每当我有话要说，我便把它印出来。每当我要给予什么，我便把它拿出来。
&I am a free man & and I need my freedom. I need to be alone. I need to ponder my shame and my
I need the sunshine and the paving stones of the streets without companions, without conversation, face to face with myself, with only the music of my heart for company. What do you want of me? When I have something to say, I put it in print. When I have something to give, I give it.
　　你们无休止的好奇心令我恶心！你们的奉承话使我感到耻辱！你们的茶快把我毒死了！我谁的也不欠，我只对上帝负责&只要他存在！&
Your prying curiosity turns my stomach! Your compliments humiliate me! Your tea poisons me! I owe nothing to any one. I would be responsible to God alone & if He existed!&
　　据我看帕皮尼谈到独处的需要时忽略了一个细微之处。假如你穷困潦倒，独自一个人呆着并非难事。对了，一位艺术家需要的正是孤独。
It seems to me that Papini misses something by a hair's breadth when he talks of the need to be alone. It is not difficult to be alone if you are poor and a failure. An artist is always alone & if he is an artist. No, what the artist needs is loneliness.
　　我称自己为艺术家，但愿自己是一位艺术家吧。这天下午美美地睡了一会儿，这一觉在我的脊椎之间垫进了天鹅绒，产生了足够我想三天的想法。我精力十分充沛，却无处可以消耗。我决定去散步，走到街上却又改变了主意，要去看电影。可是我看不成电影&还差几个苏。那么还是去散步，走到每一家影院前我都要停下看看海报，再看看价目表。进这些下流场所真是够便宜的，可我还差几个苏。若不是天色已晚，我倒可以回去卖掉一个空酒瓶。
The artist, I call myself. So be it. A beautiful nap this afternoon that put velvet between my vertebrae. Generated enough ideas to last me three days. Chock full of energy and nothing to do about it. Decide to go for a walk. In the street I change my mind. Decide to go to the movies. Can't go to the movies & short a few sous. A walk then. At every movie house I stop and look at the bill boards, then at the price list. Cheap enough, these opium joints, but I'm short just a few sous. If it weren't so late I might go back and cash an empty bottle.
　　待来到阿梅利街，我早已忘掉了电影的事，这条街是我最喜欢的街道之一，也是市政当局有幸忘记铺垫的一条街。大块大块的鹅卵石从街道这一侧堆到另一侧，延伸了一个街区，呈细长的一条。标致旅馆就在这条街上，还有一座小教堂，活像是专为共和国总统和他一家人建造的。偶尔见到一座朴素的小教堂倒也不错，巴黎到处都是金碧辉煌的大教堂。
By the time I get to the Rue Am&lie I've forgotten all about the movies. The Rue Am&lie is one of my favorite streets. It is one of those streets which by good fortune the municipality has forgotten to pave. Huge cobblestones spreading convexly from one side of the street to the other. Only one block long and narrow. The H?tel Pretty is on this street. There is a little church, too, on the Rue Am&lie. It looks as though it were made especially for the President of the Republic and his private family. It's good occasionally to see a modest little church. Paris is full of pompous cathedrals.
　　亚历山大三世大桥。大桥附近有一大块被风吹净的空地，干枯的树木机械地仁立在铁门内，残废军人院的阴暗气氛由屋里逸出，弥漫到广场四周黑暗的街道上。这是充满诗意的陈尸所，他们现在将这位伟大的武士、欧洲最后一位伟人送到想送的地方去了。他在花岗岩床上熟睡，不必再担心他在坟墓中翻身，门都已闩好，棺材盖已关严。睡吧，拿破仑！他们需要的并非你的思想，而只是你的尸体呀！
Pont Alexandre III. A great windswept space approaching the bridge. Gaunt, bare trees mathematically fixed
the gloom of the Invalides welling out of the dome and overflowing the dark streets adjacent to the Square. The morgue of poetry. They have him where they want him now, the great warrior, the last big man of Europe. He sleeps soundly in his granite bed. No fear of him turning over in his grave. The doors are well bolted, the lid is on tight. Sleep, Napoleon! It was not your ideas they wanted, it was only your corpse!
　　塞纳河仍在泛滥，浑浊的河面被灯光分割成一条条的。我不明白看到这条黑色的湍急水流时会激起何种情感，不过一种欣喜若狂的心情总是使我不能自持，坚定了我永远不离开这片土地的眷恋之情。我还记得那天早上经过这儿到美国捷运公司去的路上发生的事，那天我早就估计到不会有我的邮件，没有支票，也没有电报，什么都没有。一辆从拉斐特艺术馆来的马车辘辘驶过大桥，雨已停了，太阳透过肥皂沫般的云朵，在发出光泽的屋顶瓦片上投下一道寒冷的红光。我回忆起那个车夫如何探出身来眺望帕西路那边的河面。这是多么纯真、质朴、赞许的一瞥！他仿佛在对自己说，&啊，春天快来了！&谁都知道，每当春天来到巴黎，最卑微的活着的生灵也一定会觉得他正居住在天堂里。还不止这个&他是以一种亲切的目光细看这番景致的，这是他的巴黎。一个人不一定非得有钱，也不一定非得是一个市民，他同样会对巴黎产生这种感情。巴黎充斥着穷人& 照我看，他们尽是一伙有史以来最傲慢、最肮脏的乞丐，然而他们摆出一副悠然自得的架势，正是这种派头把巴黎人同其他所有大城市的市民区分开了。
The river is still swollen, muddy, streaked with lights. I don't know what it is rushes up in me at the sight of this dark, swift moving current, but a great exultation lifts me up, affirms the deep wish that is in me never to leave this land. I remember passing this way the other morning on my way to the American Express, knowing in advance that there would be no mail for me, no check, no cable, nothing, nothing. A wagon from the Galeries Lafayette was rumbling over the bridge. The rain had stopped and the sun breaking through the soapy clouds touched the glistening rubble of roofs with a cold fire. I recall now how the driver leaned out and looked up the river toward Passy way. Such a healthy, simple, approving glance, as if he were saying to himself: &Ah, spring is coming!& And God knows, when spring comes to Paris the humblest mortal alive must feel that he dwells in paradise. But it was not only this & it was the intimacy with which his eye rested upon the scene. It was his Paris. A man does not need to be rich, nor even a citizen, to feel this way about Paris. Paris is filled with poor people & the proudest and filthiest lot of beggars that ever walked the earth, it seems to me. And yet they give the illusion of being at home. It is that which distinguishes the Parisian from all other metropolitan souls.
　　想到纽约，我的感情便全然不同了。在纽约即使一个有钱人也会觉得自己无足轻重，纽约是冷酷、灿烂、邪恶的。建筑物高耸入云，人们的活动都带一点狂乱的意味，动作的频率越快，精神也越颓丧。这是一场持续的骚动，不过它本来也可以在试管内酝酿成的。谁也不知道这究竟是怎么一回事，谁也无法引导人们发泄精力的方向。它壮观、怪诞，令人困惑不解，是一股巨大的反作用力，不过却是完全杂乱无章的。
When I think of New York I have a very different feeling. New York makes even a rich man feel his unimportance. New York is cold, glittering, malign. The buildings dominate. There is a sort of atomic frenzy to t the more furious the pace, the more diminished the spirit. A constant ferment, but it might just as well be going on in a test tube. Nobody knows what it's all about. Nobody directs the energy. Stupendous. Bizarre. Baffling. A tremendous reactive urge, but absolutely uncoordinated.
　　一想到我生于斯长于斯的城市，一想到惠特曼歌颂过的曼哈顿，我心中便产生一种盲目的狂怒心情。纽约！那些白色的监狱、挤满蛆的人行道、排队等候发救济食品的人们、修筑得像宫殿一般的下流去处，那儿有的是犹太人、麻风病人、杀人犯，而最多的是游手好闲的人。到处是千篇一律的面孔、街道、大腿、房屋、摩天大楼、饮食、海报、工作、罪行、爱情&&整个城市建筑在一个空空如也的坑上，没有意义，完全没有意义。还有第四十二大街，人们称它为世界之巅。那么世界之渊又在哪里？你可以伸出双手走路，抬头仰望这些美丽的白色监狱时都快要把脖子扭断了。他们像发了疯的鹅一样往前走，探照灯将星星点点的狂喜洒在他们空虚的脸上。
When I think of this city where I was born and raised, this Manhattan that Whitman sang of, a blind, white rage licks my guts. New York! The white prisons, the sidewalks swarming with maggots, the breadlines, the opium joints that are built like palaces, the kikes that are there, the lepers, the thugs, and above all, the ennui, the monotony of faces, streets, legs, houses, skyscrapers, meals, posters, jobs, crimes, loves& A whole city erected over a hollow pit of nothingness. Meaningless. Absolutely meaningless. And Forty second Street! The top of the world, they call it. Where's the bottom then? You can walk along with your hands out and they'll put cinders in your cap. Rich or poor, they walk along with head thrown back and they almost break their necks looking up at their beautiful white prisons. They walk along like blind geese and the searchlights spray their empty faces with flecks of ecstasy.