Pere Merlier’s mill was pleasing to look upon. It stood exactly in the center of Rocreuse, where the highway made an elbow. The village had but one street, with two rows of huts, a row on each side of the road; but at the elbow meadows spread out, and huge trees which lined the banks of the Morelle covered the extremity2 of the valley with lordly shade. There was not, in all Lorraine, a corner of nature more adorable. To the right and to the left thick woods, centenarian forests, towered up from gentle slopes, filling the horizon with a sea of verdure, while toward the south the plain stretched away, of marvelous fertility, displaying as far as the eye could reach patches of ground divided by green hedges. But what constituted the special charm of Rocreuse was the coolness of that cut of verdure in the most sultry days of July and August. The Morelle descended3 from the forests of Gagny and seemed to have gathered the cold from the foliage4 beneath which it flowed for leagues; it brought with it the murmuring sounds, the icy and concentrated shade of the woods. And it was not the sole source of coolness: all sorts of flowing streams gurgled through the forest; at each step springs bubbled up; one felt, on following the narrow pathways, that there must exist subterranean6 lakes which pierced through beneath the moss7 and availed themselves of the smallest crevices8 at the feet of trees or between the rocks to burst forth9 in crystalline fountains. The whispering voices of these brooks10 were so numerous and so loud that they drowned the song of the bullfinches. It was like some enchanted11 park with cascades12 falling from every portion.
Below the meadows were damp. Gigantic chestnut13 trees cast dark shadows. On the borders of the meadows long hedges of poplars exhibited in lines their rustling14 branches. Two avenues of enormous plane trees stretched across the fields toward the ancient Chateau15 de Gagny, then a mass of ruins. In this constantly watered district the grass grew to an extraordinary height. It resembled a garden between two wooded hills, a natural garden, of which the meadows were the lawns, the giant trees marking the colossal16 flower beds. When the sun’s rays at noon poured straight downward the shadows assumed a bluish tint17; scorched18 grass slept in the heat, while an icy shiver passed beneath the foliage.
And there it was that Pere Merlier’s mill enlivened with its ticktack a corner of wild verdure. The structure, built of plaster and planks19, seemed as old as the world. It dipped partially20 in the Morelle, which rounded at that point into a transparent21 basin. A sluice22 had been made, and the water fell from a height of several meters upon the mill wheel, which cracked as it turned, with the asthmatic cough of a faithful servant grown old in the house. When Pere Merlier was advised to change it he shook his head, saying that a new wheel would be lazier and would not so well understand the work, and he mended the old one with whatever he could put his hands on: cask staves, rusty23 iron, zinc24 and lead. The wheel appeared gayer than ever for it, with its profile grown odd, all plumed25 with grass and moss. When the water beat upon it with its silvery flood it was covered with pearls; its strange carcass wore a sparkling attire26 of necklaces of mother-of-pearl.
The part of the mill which dipped in the Morelle had the air of a barbaric arch stranded27 there. A full half of the structure was built on piles. The water flowed beneath the floor, and deep places were there, renowned28 throughout the district for the enormous eels29 and crayfish caught in them. Below the fall the basin was as clear as a mirror, and when the wheel did not cover it with foam30 schools of huge fish could be seen swimming with the slowness of a squadron. Broken steps led down to the river near a stake to which a boat was moored31. A wooden gallery passed above the wheel. Windows opened, pierced irregularly. It was a pell-mell of corners, of little walls, of constructions added too late, of beams and of roofs, which gave the mill the aspect of an old, dismantled32 citadel33. But ivy34 had grown; all sorts of clinging plants stopped the too-wide chinks and threw a green cloak over the ancient building. The young ladies who passed by sketched35 Pere Merlier’s mill in their albums.
On the side facing the highway the structure was more solid. A stone gateway36 opened upon the wide courtyard, which was bordered to the right and to the left by sheds and stables. Beside a well an immense elm covered half the courtyard with its shadow. In the background the building displayed the four windows of its second story, surmounted37 by a pigeon house. Pere Merlier’s sole vanity was to have this front plastered every ten years. It had just received a new coating and dazzled the village when the sun shone on it at noon.
For twenty years Pere Merlier had been mayor of Rocreuse. He was esteemed38 for the fortune he had acquired. His wealth was estimated at something like eighty thousand francs, amassed39 sou by sou. When he married Madeleine Guillard, who brought him the mill as her dowry, he possessed40 only his two arms. But Madeleine never repented41 of her choice, so briskly did he manage the business. Now his wife was dead, and he remained a widower42 with his daughter Francoise. Certainly he might have rested, allowed the mill wheel to slumber43 in the moss, but that would have been too dull for him, and in his eyes the building would have seemed dead. He toiled44 on for pleasure.
Pere Merlier was a tall old man with a long, still face, who never laughed but who possessed, notwithstanding, a very gay heart. He had been chosen mayor because of his money and also on account of the imposing45 air he could assume during a marriage ceremony.
Francoise Merlier was just eighteen. She did not pass for one of the handsome girls of the district, as she was not robust46. Up to her fifteenth year she had been even ugly.
The Rocreuse people had not been able to understand why the daughter of Pere and Mere47 Merlier, both of whom had always enjoyed excellent health, grew ill and with an air of regret. But at fifteen, though yet delicate, her little face became one of the prettiest in the world. She had black hair, black eyes, and was as rosy48 as a peach; her lips constantly wore a smile; there were dimples in her cheeks, and her fair forehead seemed crowned with sunlight. Although not considered robust in the district, she was far from thin; the idea was simply that she could not lift a sack of grain, but she would become plump as she grew older — she would eventually be as round and dainty as a quail49. Her father’s long periods of silence had made her thoughtful very young. If she smiled constantly it was to please others. By nature she was serious.
Of course all the young men of the district paid court to her, more on account of her ecus than her pretty ways. At last she made a choice which scandalized the community.
On the opposite bank of the Morelle lived a tall youth named Dominique Penquer. He did not belong to Rocreuse. Ten years before he had arrived from Belgium as the heir of his uncle, who had left him a small property upon the very border of the forest of Gagny, just opposite the mill, a few gunshots distant. He had come to sell this property, he said, and return home. But the district charmed him, it appeared, for he did not quit it. He was seen cultivating his little field, gathering50 a few vegetables upon which he subsisted51. He fished and hunted; many times the forest guards nearly caught him and were on the point of drawing up proces-verbaux against him. This free existence, the resources of which the peasants could not clearly discover, at length gave him a bad reputation. He was vaguely52 styled a poacher. At any rate, he was lazy, for he was often found asleep on the grass when he should have been at work. The hut he inhabited beneath the last trees on the edge of the forest did not seem at all like the dwelling53 of an honest young fellow. If he had had dealings with the wolves of the ruins of Gagny the old women would not have been the least bit surprised. Nevertheless, the young girls sometimes risked defending him, for this doubtful man was superb; supple54 and tall as a poplar, he had a very white skin, with flaxen hair and beard which gleamed like gold in the sun.
One fine morning Francoise declared to Pere Merlier that she loved Dominique and would never wed5 any other man.
It may well be imagined what a blow this was to Pere Merlier. He said nothing, according to his custom, but his face grew thoughtful and his internal gaiety no longer sparkled in his eyes. He looked gruff for a week. Francoise also was exceedingly grave. What tormented55 Pere Merlier was to find out how this rogue56 of a poacher had managed to fascinate his daughter. Dominique had never visited the mill. The miller57 watched and saw the gallant58 on the other side of the Morelle, stretched out upon the grass and feigning59 to be asleep. Francoise could see him from her chamber60 window. Everything was plain: they had fallen in love by casting sheep’s eyes at each other over the mill wheel.
Another week went by. Francoise became more and more grave. Pere Merlier still said nothing. Then one evening he himself silently brought in Dominique. Francoise at that moment was setting the table. She did not seem astonished; she contented61 herself with putting on an additional plate, knife and fork, but the little dimples were again seen in her cheeks, and her smile reappeared. That morning Pere Merlier had sought out Dominique in his hut on the border of the wood.
There the two men had talked for three hours with doors and windows closed. What was the purport62 of their conversation no one ever knew. Certain it was, however, that Pere Merlier, on taking his departure, already called Dominique his son-in-law. Without doubt the old man had found the youth he had gone to seek a worthy63 youth in the lazy fellow who stretched himself out upon the grass to make the girls fall in love with him.
All Rocreuse clamored. The women at the doors had plenty to say on the subject of the folly64 of Pere Merlier, who had thus introduced a reprobate65 into his house. The miller let people talk on. Perhaps he remembered his own marriage. He was without a sou when he wedded66 Madeleine and her mill; this, however, had not prevented him from making a good husband. Besides, Dominique cut short the gossip by going so vigorously to work that all the district was amazed. The miller’s assistant had just been drawn67 to serve as a soldier, and Dominique would not suffer another to be engaged. He carried the sacks, drove the cart, fought with the old mill wheel when it refused to turn, and all this with such good will that people came to see him out of curiosity. Pere Merlier had his silent laugh. He was excessively proud of having formed a correct estimate of this youth. There is nothing like love to give courage to young folks. Amid all these heavy labors68 Francoise and Dominique adored each other. They did not indulge in lovers’ talks, but there was a smiling gentleness in their glances.
Up to that time Pere Merlier had not spoken a single word on the subject of marriage, and they respected this silence, awaiting the old man’s will. Finally one day toward the middle of July he caused three tables to be placed in the courtyard, beneath the great elm, and invited his friends of Rocreuse to come in the evening and drink a glass of wine with him.
When the courtyard was full and all had their glasses in their hands, Pere Merlier raised his very high and said:
“I have the pleasure to announce to you that Francoise will wed this young fellow here in a month, on Saint Louis’s Day.”
Then they drank noisily. Everybody smiled. But Pere Merlier, again lifting his voice, exclaimed:
“Dominique, embrace your fiancee. It is your right.”
They embraced, blushing to the tips of their ears, while all the guests laughed joyously70. It was a genuine fete. They emptied a small cask of wine. Then when all were gone but intimate friends the conversation was carried on without noise. The night had fallen, a starry71 and cloudless night. Dominique and Francoise, seated side by side on a bench, said nothing.
An old peasant spoke69 of the war the emperor had declared against Prussia. All the village lads had already departed. On the preceding day troops had again passed through the place. There was going to be hard fighting.
“Bah!” said Pere Merlier with the selfishness of a happy man. “Dominique is a foreigner; he will not go to the war. And if the Prussians come here he will be on hand to defend his wife!”
The idea that the Prussians might come there seemed a good joke. They were going to receive a sound whipping, and the affair would soon be over.
“I have afready seen them; I have already seen them,” repeated the old peasant in a hollow voice.
There was silence. Then they drank again. Francoise and Dominique had heard nothing; they had gently taken each other by the hand behind the bench, so that nobody could see them, and it seemed so delightful72 that they remained where they were, their eyes plunged73 into the depths of the shadows.
What a warm and superb night it was! The village slumbered74 on both edges of the white highway in infantile quietude. From time to time was heard the crowing of some chanticleer aroused too soon. From the huge wood near by came long breaths, which passed over the roofs like caresses75. The meadows, with their dark shadows, assumed a mysterious and dreamy majesty76, while all the springs, all the flowing waters which gurgled in the darkness, seemed to be the cool and rhythmical77 respiration78 of the sleeping country. Occasionally the ancient mill wheel, lost in a doze79, appeared to dream like those old watchdogs that bark while snoring; it cracked; it talked to itself, rocked by the fall of the Morelle, the surface of which gave forth the musical and continuous sound of an organ pipe. Never had more profound peace descended upon a happier corner of nature.
点击收听单词发音
1 betrothed | |
n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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2 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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3 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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4 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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5 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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6 subterranean | |
adj.地下的,地表下的 | |
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7 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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8 crevices | |
n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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9 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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10 brooks | |
n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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11 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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12 cascades | |
倾泻( cascade的名词复数 ); 小瀑布(尤指一连串瀑布中的一支); 瀑布状物; 倾泻(或涌出)的东西 | |
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13 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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14 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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15 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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16 colossal | |
adj.异常的,庞大的 | |
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17 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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18 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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19 planks | |
(厚)木板( plank的名词复数 ); 政纲条目,政策要点 | |
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20 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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21 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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22 sluice | |
n.水闸 | |
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23 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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24 zinc | |
n.锌;vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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25 plumed | |
饰有羽毛的 | |
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26 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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27 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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28 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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29 eels | |
abbr. 电子发射器定位系统(=electronic emitter location system) | |
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30 foam | |
v./n.泡沫,起泡沫 | |
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31 moored | |
adj. 系泊的 动词moor的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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32 dismantled | |
拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 ); 拆卸; 废除; 取消 | |
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33 citadel | |
n.城堡;堡垒;避难所 | |
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34 ivy | |
n.常青藤,常春藤 | |
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35 sketched | |
v.草拟(sketch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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36 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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37 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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38 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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39 amassed | |
v.积累,积聚( amass的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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41 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 widower | |
n.鳏夫 | |
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43 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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44 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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45 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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46 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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47 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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48 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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49 quail | |
n.鹌鹑;vi.畏惧,颤抖 | |
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50 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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51 subsisted | |
v.(靠很少的钱或食物)维持生活,生存下去( subsist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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53 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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54 supple | |
adj.柔软的,易弯的,逢迎的,顺从的,灵活的;vt.使柔软,使柔顺,使顺从;vi.变柔软,变柔顺 | |
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55 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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56 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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57 miller | |
n.磨坊主 | |
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58 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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59 feigning | |
假装,伪装( feign的现在分词 ); 捏造(借口、理由等) | |
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60 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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61 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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62 purport | |
n.意义,要旨,大要;v.意味著,做为...要旨,要领是... | |
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63 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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64 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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65 reprobate | |
n.无赖汉;堕落的人 | |
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66 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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68 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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69 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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70 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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71 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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72 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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73 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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74 slumbered | |
微睡,睡眠(slumber的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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75 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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76 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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77 rhythmical | |
adj.有节奏的,有韵律的 | |
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78 respiration | |
n.呼吸作用;一次呼吸;植物光合作用 | |
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79 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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