How by himself insensibly betrayed!
In our own strength unhappily secure,
Too little cautious of the adverse2 power,
On pleasure’s flowery brink3 we idly stray,
Masters as yet of our returning way:
Till the strong gusts4 of raging passion rise,
Till the dire5 Tempest mingles6 earth and skies,
And swift into the boundless8 Ocean borne,
Our foolish confidence too late we mourn:
Round our devoted10 heads the billows beat,
And from our troubled view the lessening11 lands retreat.
Prior.
All this while, Ambrosio was unconscious of the dreadful scenes which were passing so near. The execution of his designs upon Antonia employed his every thought. Hitherto, He was satisfied with the success of his plans. Antonia had drank the opiate, was buried in the vaults14 of St. Clare, and absolutely in his disposal. Matilda, who was well acquainted with the nature and effects of the soporific medicine, had computed15 that it would not cease to operate till one in the Morning. For that hour He waited with impatience16. The Festival of St. Clare presented him with a favourable17 opportunity of consummating18 his crime. He was certain that the Friars and Nuns20 would be engaged in the Procession, and that He had no cause to dread12 an interruption: From appearing himself at the head of his Monks22, He had desired to be excused. He doubted not, that being beyond the reach of help, cut off from all the world, and totally in his power, Antonia would comply with his desires. The affection which She had ever exprest for him, warranted this persuasion23: But He resolved that should She prove obstinate24, no consideration whatever should prevent him from enjoying her. Secure from a discovery, He shuddered27 not at the idea of employing force: If He felt any repugnance28, it arose not from a principle of shame or compassion29, but from his feeling for Antonia the most sincere and ardent30 affection, and wishing to owe her favours to no one but herself.
The Monks quitted the Abbey at midnight. Matilda was among the Choristers, and led the chaunt. Ambrosio was left by himself, and at liberty to pursue his own inclinations31. Convinced that no one remained behind to watch his motions, or disturb his pleasures, He now hastened to the Western Aisles32. His heart beating with hope not unmingled with anxiety, He crossed the Garden, unlocked the door which admitted him into the Cemetery33, and in a few minutes He stood before the Vaults. Here He paused.
He looked round him with suspicion, conscious that his business was unfit for any other eye. As He stood in hesitation34, He heard the melancholy35 shriek36 of the screech-Owl: The wind rattled37 loudly against the windows of the adjacent Convent, and as the current swept by him, bore with it the faint notes of the chaunt of Choristers. He opened the door cautiously, as if fearing to be overheard: He entered; and closed it again after him. Guided by his Lamp, He threaded the long passages, in whose windings38 Matilda had instructed him, and reached the private Vault13 which contained his sleeping Mistress.
Its entrance was by no means easy to discover: But this was no obstacle to Ambrosio, who at the time of Antonia’s Funeral had observed it too carefully to be deceived. He found the door, which was unfastened, pushed it open, and descended40 into the dungeon41. He approached the humble42 Tomb in which Antonia reposed44. He had provided himself with an iron crow and a pick-axe; But this precaution was unnecessary. The Grate was slightly fastened on the outside: He raised it, and placing the Lamp upon its ridge45, bent46 silently over the Tomb. By the side of three putrid47 half-corrupted48 Bodies lay the sleeping Beauty. A lively red, the forerunner49 of returning animation50, had already spread itself over her cheek; and as wrapped in her shroud51 She reclined upon her funeral Bier, She seemed to smile at the Images of Death around her. While He gazed upon their rotting bones and disgusting figures, who perhaps were once as sweet and lovely, Ambrosio thought upon Elvira, by him reduced to the same state. As the memory of that horrid52 act glanced upon his mind, it was clouded with a gloomy horror. Yet it served but to strengthen his resolution to destroy Antonia’s honour.
‘For your sake, Fatal Beauty!’ murmured the Monk21, while gazing on his devoted prey53; ‘For your sake, have I committed this murder, and sold myself to eternal tortures. Now you are in my power: The produce of my guilt54 will at least be mine. Hope not that your prayers breathed in tones of unequalled melody, your bright eyes filled with tears, and your hands lifted in supplication55, as when seeking in penitence56 the Virgin’s pardon; Hope not that your moving innocence57, your beauteous grief, or all your suppliant58 arts shall ransom59 you from my embraces. Before the break of day, mine you must, and mine you shall be!’
He lifted her still motionless from the Tomb: He seated himself upon a bank of Stone, and supporting her in his arms, watched impatiently for the symptoms of returning animation. Scarcely could He command his passions sufficiently60, to restrain himself from enjoying her while yet insensible. His natural lust61 was increased in ardour by the difficulties which had opposed his satisfying it: As also by his long abstinence from Woman, since from the moment of resigning her claim to his love, Matilda had exiled him from her arms for ever.
‘I am no Prostitute, Ambrosio;’ Had She told him, when in the fullness of his lust He demanded her favours with more than usual earnestness; ‘I am now no more than your Friend, and will not be your Mistress. Cease then to solicit62 my complying with desires, which insult me. While your heart was mine, I gloried in your embraces: Those happy times are past: My person is become indifferent to you, and ’tis necessity, not love, which makes you seek my enjoyment63. I cannot yield to a request so humiliating to my pride.’
Suddenly deprived of pleasures, the use of which had made them an absolute want, the Monk felt this restraint severely64. Naturally addicted65 to the gratification of the senses, in the full vigour66 of manhood, and heat of blood, He had suffered his temperament67 to acquire such ascendency that his lust was become madness. Of his fondness for Antonia, none but the grosser particles remained: He longed for the possession of her person; and even the gloom of the vault, the surrounding silence, and the resistance which He expected from her, seemed to give a fresh edge to his fierce and unbridled desires.
Gradually He felt the bosom69 which rested against his, glow with returning warmth. Her heart throbbed70 again; Her blood flowed swifter, and her lips moved. At length She opened her eyes, but still opprest and bewildered by the effects of the strong opiate, She closed them again immediately. Ambrosio watched her narrowly, nor permitted a movement to escape him. Perceiving that She was fully39 restored to existence, He caught her in rapture71 to his bosom, and closely pressed his lips to hers. The suddenness of his action sufficed to dissipate the fumes72 which obscured Antonia’s reason. She hastily raised herself, and cast a wild look round her. The strange Images which presented themselves on every side contributed to confuse her. She put her hand to her head, as if to settle her disordered imagination. At length She took it away, and threw her eyes through the dungeon a second time. They fixed74 upon the Abbot’s face.
‘Where am I?’ She said abruptly75. ‘How came I here? Where is my Mother? Methought, I saw her! Oh! a dream, a dreadful dreadful dream told me . . . . . . But where am I? Let me go! I cannot stay here!’
She attempted to rise, but the Monk prevented her.
‘Be calm, lovely Antonia!’ He replied; ‘No danger is near you: Confide9 in my protection. Why do you gaze on me so earnestly? Do you not know me? Not know your Friend? Ambrosio?’
‘Ambrosio? My Friend? Oh! yes, yes; I remember . . . . . . But why am I here? Who has brought me? Why are you with me? Oh! Flora78 bad me beware . . . . .! Here are nothing but Graves, and Tombs, and Skeletons! This place frightens me! Good Ambrosio take me away from it, for it recalls my fearful dream! Methought I was dead, and laid in my grave! Good Ambrosio, take me from hence. Will you not? Oh! will you not? Do not look on me thus!
Your flaming eyes terrify me! Spare me, Father! Oh! spare me for God’s sake!’
‘Why these terrors, Antonia?’ rejoined the Abbot, folding her in his arms, and covering her bosom with kisses which She in vain struggled to avoid: ‘What fear you from me, from one who adores you? What matters it where you are? This Sepulchre seems to me Love’s bower79; This gloom is the friendly night of mystery which He spreads over our delights! Such do I think it, and such must my Antonia. Yes, my sweet Girl! Yes! Your veins80 shall glow with fire which circles in mine, and my transports shall be doubled by your sharing them!’
While He spoke81 thus, He repeated his embraces, and permitted himself the most indecent liberties. Even Antonia’s ignorance was not proof against the freedom of his behaviour. She was sensible of her danger, forced herself from his arms, and her shroud being her only garment, She wrapped it closely round her.
‘Unhand me, Father!’ She cried, her honest indignation tempered by alarm at her unprotected position; ‘Why have you brought me to this place? Its appearance freezes me with horror! Convey me from hence, if you have the least sense of pity and humanity! Let me return to the House which I have quitted I know not how; But stay here one moment longer, I neither will, or ought.’
Though the Monk was somewhat startled by the resolute82 tone in which this speech was delivered, it produced upon him no other effect than surprize. He caught her hand, forced her upon his knee, and gazing upon her with gloting eyes, He thus replied to her.
‘Compose yourself, Antonia. Resistance is unavailing, and I need disavow my passion for you no longer. You are imagined dead: Society is for ever lost to you. I possess you here alone; You are absolutely in my power, and I burn with desires which I must either gratify or die: But I would owe my happiness to yourself. My lovely Girl! My adorable Antonia! Let me instruct you in joys to which you are still a Stranger, and teach you to feel those pleasures in my arms which I must soon enjoy in yours. Nay83, this struggling is childish,’ He continued, seeing her repell his caresses84, and endeavour to escape from his grasp; ‘No aid is near: Neither heaven or earth shall save you from my embraces. Yet why reject pleasures so sweet, so rapturous? No one observes us: Our loves will be a secret to all the world: Love and opportunity invite your giving loose to your passions. Yield to them, my Antonia! Yield to them, my lovely Girl! Throw your arms thus fondly round me; Join your lips thus closely to mine! Amidst all her gifts, has Nature denied her most precious, the sensibility of Pleasure? Oh! impossible! Every feature, look, and motion declares you formed to bless, and to be blessed yourself! Turn not on me those supplicating85 eyes: Consult your own charms; They will tell you that I am proof against entreaty86. Can I relinquish87 these limbs so white, so soft, so delicate; These swelling88 breasts, round, full, and elastic90! These lips fraught91 with such inexhaustible sweetness? Can I relinquish these treasures, and leave them to another’s enjoyment? No, Antonia; never, never! I swear it by this kiss, and this! and this!’
With every moment the Friar’s passion became more ardent, and Antonia’s terror more intense. She struggled to disengage herself from his arms: Her exertions92 were unsuccessful; and finding that Ambrosio’s conduct became still freer, She shrieked93 for assistance with all her strength. The aspect of the Vault, the pale glimmering94 of the Lamp, the surrounding obscurity, the sight of the Tomb, and the objects of mortality which met her eyes on either side, were ill-calculated to inspire her with those emotions by which the Friar was agitated95. Even his caresses terrified her from their fury, and created no other sentiment than fear. On the contrary, her alarm, her evident disgust, and incessant96 opposition97, seemed only to inflame98 the Monk’s desires, and supply his brutality99 with additional strength. Antonia’s shrieks100 were unheard: Yet She continued them, nor abandoned her endeavours to escape, till exhausted101 and out of breath She sank from his arms upon her knees, and once more had recourse to prayers and supplications. This attempt had no better success than the former. On the contrary, taking advantage of her situation, the Ravisher threw himself by her side: He clasped her to his bosom almost lifeless with terror, and faint with struggling. He stifled102 her cries with kisses, treated her with the rudeness of an unprincipled Barbarian103, proceeded from freedom to freedom, and in the violence of his lustful104 delirium105, wounded and bruised106 her tender limbs. Heedless of her tears, cries and entreaties107, He gradually made himself Master of her person, and desisted not from his prey, till He had accomplished108 his crime and the dishonour109 of Antonia.
Scarcely had He succeeded in his design than He shuddered at himself and the means by which it was effected. The very excess of his former eagerness to possess Antonia now contributed to inspire him with disgust; and a secret impulse made him feel how base and unmanly was the crime which He had just committed. He started hastily from her arms. She, who so lately had been the object of his adoration110, now raised no other sentiment in his heart than aversion and rage. He turned away from her; or if his eyes rested upon her figure involuntarily, it was only to dart111 upon her looks of hate. The Unfortunate had fainted ere the completion of her disgrace: She only recovered life to be sensible of her misfortune. She remained stretched upon the earth in silent despair: The tears chased each other slowly down her cheeks, and her bosom heaved with frequent sobs112. Oppressed with grief, She continued for some time in this state of torpidity113. At length She rose with difficulty, and dragging her feeble steps towards the door, prepared to quit the dungeon.
The sound of her footsteps rouzed the Monk from his sullen114 apathy115. Starting from the Tomb against which He reclined, while his eyes wandered over the images of corruption116 contained in it, He pursued the Victim of his brutality, and soon overtook her. He seized her by the arm, and violently forced her back into the dungeon.
‘Whither go you?’ He cried in a stern voice; ‘Return this instant!’
Antonia trembled at the fury of his countenance117.
‘What, would you more?’ She said with timidity: ‘Is not my ruin compleated? Am I not undone118, undone for ever? Is not your cruelty contented119, or have I yet more to suffer? Let me depart. Let me return to my home, and weep unrestrained my shame and my affliction!’
‘Return to your home?’ repeated the Monk, with bitter and contemptuous mockery; Then suddenly his eyes flaming with passion, ‘What? That you may denounce me to the world? That you may proclaim me an Hypocrite, a Ravisher, a Betrayer, a Monster of cruelty, lust, and ingratitude121? No, no, no! I know well the whole weight of my offences; Well that your complaints would be too just, and my crimes too notorious! You shall not from hence to tell Madrid that I am a Villain124; that my conscience is loaded with sins which make me despair of Heaven’s pardon. Wretched Girl, you must stay here with me! Here amidst these lonely Tombs, these images of Death, these rotting loathsome126 corrupted bodies! Here shall you stay, and witness my sufferings; witness what it is to die in the horrors of despondency, and breathe the last groan127 in blasphemy128 and curses! And who am I to thank for this? What seduced129 me into crimes, whose bare remembrance makes me shudder26? Fatal Witch! was it not thy beauty? Have you not plunged130 my soul into infamy131? Have you not made me a perjured132 Hypocrite, a Ravisher, an Assassin! Nay, at this moment, does not that angel look bid me despair of God’s forgiveness? Oh! when I stand before his judgment-throne, that look will suffice to damn me! You will tell my Judge that you were happy, till I saw you; that you were innocent, till I polluted you! You will come with those tearful eyes, those cheeks pale and ghastly, those hands lifted in supplication, as when you sought from me that mercy which I gave not! Then will my perdition be certain! Then will come your Mother’s Ghost, and hurl133 me down into the dwellings134 of Fiends, and flames, and Furies, and everlasting136 torments138! And ’tis you, who will accuse me! ’Tis you, who will cause my eternal anguish139! You, wretched Girl! You! You!’
As He thundered out these words, He violently grasped Antonia’s arm, and spurned140 the earth with delirious141 fury.
Supposing his brain to be turned, Antonia sank in terror upon her knees: She lifted up her hands, and her voice almost died away, ere She could give it utterance142.
‘Spare me! Spare me!’ She murmured with difficulty.
‘Silence!’ cried the Friar madly, and dashed her upon the ground ——
He quitted her, and paced the dungeon with a wild and disordered air. His eyes rolled fearfully: Antonia trembled whenever She met their gaze. He seemed to meditate143 on something horrible, and She gave up all hopes of escaping from the Sepulchre with life. Yet in harbouring this idea, She did him injustice144. Amidst the horror and disgust to which his soul was a prey, pity for his Victim still held a place in it. The storm of passion once over, He would have given worlds had He possest them, to have restored to her that innocence of which his unbridled lust had deprived her. Of the desires which had urged him to the crime, no trace was left in his bosom: The wealth of India would not have tempted77 him to a second enjoyment of her person. His nature seemed to revolt at the very idea, and fain would He have wiped from his memory the scene which had just past. As his gloomy rage abated145, in proportion did his compassion augment146 for Antonia. He stopped, and would have spoken to her words of comfort; But He knew not from whence to draw them, and remained gazing upon her with mournful wildness. Her situation seemed so hopeless, so woebegone, as to baffle mortal power to relieve her. What could He do for her? Her peace of mind was lost, her honour irreparably ruined. She was cut off for ever from society, nor dared He give her back to it. He was conscious that were She to appear in the world again, his guilt would be revealed, and his punishment inevitable148. To one so laden149 with crimes, Death came armed with double terrors. Yet should He restore Antonia to light, and stand the chance of her betraying him, how miserable150 a prospect151 would present itself before her. She could never hope to be creditably established; She would be marked with infamy, and condemned152 to sorrow and solitude153 for the remainder of her existence. What was the alternative? A resolution far more terrible for Antonia, but which at least would insure the Abbot’s safety. He determined154 to leave the world persuaded of her death, and to retain her a captive in this gloomy prison: There He proposed to visit her every night, to bring her food, to profess155 his penitence, and mingle7 his tears with hers. The Monk felt that this resolution was unjust and cruel; but it was his only means to prevent Antonia from publishing his guilt and her own infamy. Should He release her, He could not depend upon her silence: His offence was too flagrant to permit his hoping for her forgiveness. Besides, her reappearing would excite universal curiosity, and the violence of her affliction would prevent her from concealing157 its cause. He determined therefore, that Antonia should remain a Prisoner in the dungeon.
He approached her with confusion painted on his countenance. He raised her from the ground. Her hand trembled, as He took it, and He dropped it again as if He had touched a Serpent. Nature seemed to recoil158 at the touch. He felt himself at once repulsed159 from and attracted towards her, yet could account for neither sentiment. There was something in her look which penetrated160 him with horror; and though his understanding was still ignorant of it, Conscience pointed161 out to him the whole extent of his crime. In hurried accents yet the gentlest He could find, while his eye was averted162, and his voice scarcely audible, He strove to console her under a misfortune which now could not be avoided. He declared himself sincerely penitent163, and that He would gladly shed a drop of his blood, for every tear which his barbarity had forced from her. Wretched and hopeless, Antonia listened to him in silent grief: But when He announced her confinement164 in the Sepulchre, that dreadful doom165 to which even death seemed preferable roused her from her insensibility at once. To linger out a life of misery166 in a narrow loathsome Cell, known to exist by no human Being save her Ravisher, surrounded by mouldering167 Corses, breathing the pestilential air of corruption, never more to behold168 the light, or drink the pure gale169 of heaven, the idea was more terrible than She could support. It conquered even her abhorrence170 of the Friar. Again She sank upon her knees: She besought171 his compassion in terms the most pathetic and urgent. She promised, would He but restore her to liberty, to conceal156 her injuries from the world; to assign any reason for her reappearance which He might judge proper; and in order to prevent the least suspicion from falling upon him, She offered to quit Madrid immediately. Her entreaties were so urgent as to make a considerable impression upon the Monk. He reflected that as her person no longer excited his desires, He had no interest in keeping her concealed172 as He had at first intended; that He was adding a fresh injury to those which She had already suffered; and that if She adhered to her promises, whether She was confined or at liberty, his life and reputation were equally secure. On the other hand, He trembled lest in her affliction Antonia should unintentionally break her engagement; or that her excessive simplicity173 and ignorance of deceit should permit some one more artful to surprize her secret. However well-founded were these apprehensions174, compassion, and a sincere wish to repair his fault as much as possible solicited175 his complying with the prayers of his Suppliant. The difficulty of colouring Antonia’s unexpected return to life, after her supposed death and public interment, was the only point which kept him irresolute176. He was still pondering on the means of removing this obstacle, when He heard the sound of feet approaching with precipitation. The door of the Vault was thrown open, and Matilda rushed in, evidently much confused and terrified.
On seeing a Stranger enter, Antonia uttered a cry of joy: But her hopes of receiving succour from him were soon dissipated. The supposed Novice177, without expressing the least surprize at finding a Woman alone with the Monk, in so strange a place, and at so late an hour, addressed him thus without losing a moment.
‘What is to be done, Ambrosio? We are lost, unless some speedy means is found of dispelling179 the Rioters. Ambrosio, the Convent of St. Clare is on fire; The Prioress has fallen a victim to the fury of the Mob. Already is the Abbey menaced with a similar fate. Alarmed at the threats of the People, the Monks seek for you everywhere. They imagine that your authority alone will suffice to calm this disturbance180. No one knows what is become of you, and your absence creates universal astonishment181 and despair. I profited by the confusion, and fled hither to warn you of the danger.’
‘This will soon be remedied,’ answered the Abbot; ‘I will hasten back to my Cell: a trivial reason will account for my having been missed.’
‘Impossible!’ rejoined Matilda: ‘The Sepulchre is filled with Archers182. Lorenzo de Medina, with several Officers of the Inquisition, searches through the Vaults, and pervades183 every passage. You will be intercepted184 in your flight; Your reasons for being at this late hour in the Sepulchre will be examined; Antonia will be found, and then you are undone for ever!’
‘Lorenzo de Medina? Officers of the Inquisition? What brings them here? Seek they for me? Am I then suspected? Oh! speak, Matilda! Answer me, in pity!’
‘As yet they do not think of you, but I fear that they will ere long. Your only chance of escaping their notice rests upon the difficulty of exploring this Vault. The door is artfully hidden:
Haply it may not be observed, and we may remain concealed till the search is over.’
‘But Antonia . . . . . Should the Inquisitors draw near, and her cries be heard . . . .’
‘Thus I remove that danger!’ interrupted Matilda.
At the same time drawing a poignard, She rushed upon her devoted prey.
‘Hold! Hold!’ cried Ambrosio, seizing her hand, and wresting185 from it the already lifted weapon. ‘What would you do, cruel Woman? The Unfortunate has already suffered but too much, thanks to your pernicious consels! Would to God that I had never followed them!
Would to God that I had never seen your face!’
Matilda darted186 upon him a look of scorn.
‘Absurd!’ She exclaimed with an air of passion and majesty187 which impressed the Monk with awe188. ‘After robbing her of all that made it dear, can you fear to deprive her of a life so miserable? But ’tis well! Let her live to convince you of your folly189. I abandon you to your evil destiny! I disclaim190 your alliance! Who trembles to commit so insignificant191 a crime, deserves not my protection. Hark! Hark! Ambrosio; Hear you not the Archers? They come, and your destruction is inevitable!’
At this moment the Abbot heard the sound of distant voices. He flew to close the door on whose concealment192 his safety depended, and which Matilda had neglected to fasten. Ere He could reach it, He saw Antonia glide193 suddenly by him, rush through the door, and fly towards the noise with the swiftness of an arrow. She had listened attentively194 to Matilda: She heard Lorenzo’s name mentioned, and resolved to risque every thing to throw herself under his protection. The door was open. The sounds convinced her that the Archers could be at no great distance. She mustered195 up her little remaining strength, rushed by the Monk ere He perceived her design, and bent her course rapidly towards the voices. As soon as He recovered from his first surprize, the Abbot failed not to pursue her. In vain did Antonia redouble her speed, and stretch every nerve to the utmost. Her Enemy gained upon her every moment: She heard his steps close after her, and felt the heat of his breath glow upon her neck. He overtook her; He twisted his hand in the ringlets of her streaming hair, and attempted to drag her back with him to the dungeon. Antonia resisted with all her strength: She folded her arms round a Pillar which supported the roof, and shrieked loudly for assistance. In vain did the Monk strive to threaten her to silence.
‘Help!’ She continued to exclaim; ‘Help! Help! for God’s sake!’
Quickened by her cries, the sound of footsteps was heard approaching. The Abbot expected every moment to see the Inquisitors arrive. Antonia still resisted, and He now enforced her silence by means the most horrible and inhuman196. He still grasped Matilda’s dagger197: Without allowing himself a moment’s reflection, He raised it, and plunged it twice in the bosom of Antonia! She shrieked, and sank upon the ground. The Monk endeavoured to bear her away with him, but She still embraced the Pillar firmly. At that instant the light of approaching Torches flashed upon the Walls. Dreading198 a discovery, Ambrosio was compelled to abandon his Victim, and hastily fled back to the Vault, where He had left Matilda.
He fled not unobserved. Don Ramirez happening to arrive the first, perceived a Female bleeding upon the ground, and a Man flying from the spot, whose confusion betrayed him for the Murderer. He instantly pursued the Fugitive199 with some part of the Archers, while the Others remained with Lorenzo to protect the wounded Stranger. They raised her, and supported her in their arms. She had fainted from excess of pain, but soon gave signs of returning life. She opened her eyes, and on lifting up her head, the quantity of fair hair fell back which till then had obscured her features.
‘God Almighty200! It is Antonia!’
Such was Lorenzo’s exclamation201, while He snatched her from the Attendant’s arms, and clasped her in his own.
Though aimed by an uncertain hand, the poignard had answered but too well the purpose of its Employer. The wounds were mortal, and Antonia was conscious that She never could recover. Yet the few moments which remained for her were moments of happiness. The concern exprest upon Lorenzo’s countenance, the frantic202 fondness of his complaints, and his earnest enquiries respecting her wounds, convinced her beyond a doubt that his affections were her own. She would not be removed from the Vaults, fearing lest motion should only hasten her death; and She was unwilling203 to lose those moments which She past in receiving proofs of Lorenzo’s love, and assuring him of her own. She told him that had She still been undefiled She might have lamented204 the loss of life; But that deprived of honour and branded with shame, Death was to her a blessing205: She could not have been his Wife, and that hope being denied her, She resigned herself to the Grave without one sigh of regret. She bad him take courage, conjured206 him not to abandon himself to fruitless sorrow, and declared that She mourned to leave nothing in the whole world but him. While every sweet accent increased rather than lightened Lorenzo’s grief, She continued to converse207 with him till the moment of dissolution. Her voice grew faint and scarcely audible; A thick cloud spread itself over her eyes; Her heart beat slow and irregular, and every instant seemed to announce that her fate was near at hand.
She lay, her head reclining upon Lorenzo’s bosom, and her lips still murmuring to him words of comfort. She was interrupted by the Convent Bell, as tolling208 at a distance, it struck the hour. Suddenly Antonia’s eyes sparkled with celestial209 brightness: Her frame seemed to have received new strength and animation. She started from her Lover’s arms.
‘Three o’clock!’ She cried; ‘Mother, I come!’
She clasped her hands, and sank lifeless upon the ground. Lorenzo in agony threw himself beside her: He tore his hair, beat his breast, and refused to be separated from the Corse. At length his force being exhausted, He suffered himself to be led from the Vault, and was conveyed to the Palace de Medina scarcely more alive than the unfortunate Antonia.
In the meanwhile, though closely pursued, Ambrosio succeeded in regaining210 the Vault. The Door was already fastened when Don Ramirez arrived, and much time elapsed, ere the Fugitive’s retreat was discovered. But nothing can resist perseverance212. Though so artfully concealed, the Door could not escape the vigilance of the Archers. They forced it open, and entered the Vault to the infinite dismay of Ambrosio and his Companion. The Monk’s confusion, his attempt to hide himself, his rapid flight, and the blood sprinkled upon his cloaths, left no room to doubt his being Antonia’s Murderer. But when He was recognized for the immaculate Ambrosio, ‘The Man of Holiness,’ the Idol213 of Madrid, the faculties214 of the Spectators were chained up in surprize, and scarcely could they persuade themselves that what they saw was no vision. The Abbot strove not to vindicate215 himself, but preserved a sullen silence. He was secured and bound. The same precaution was taken with Matilda: Her Cowl being removed, the delicacy216 of her features and profusion217 of her golden hair betrayed her sex, and this incident created fresh amazement218. The dagger was also found in the Tomb, where the Monk had thrown it; and the dungeon having undergone a thorough search, the two Culprits were conveyed to the prisons of the Inquisition.
Don Ramirez took care that the populace should remain ignorant both of the crimes and profession of the Captives. He feared a repetition of the riots which had followed the apprehending219 the Prioress of St. Clare. He contented himself with stating to the Capuchins the guilt of their Superior. To avoid the shame of a public accusation220, and dreading the popular fury from which they had already saved their Abbey with much difficulty, the Monks readily permitted the Inquisitors to search their Mansion221 without noise. No fresh discoveries were made. The effects found in the Abbot’s and Matilda’s Cells were seized, and carried to the Inquisition to be produced in evidence. Every thing else remained in its former position, and order and tranquillity222 once more prevailed through Madrid.
St. Clare’s Convent was completely ruined by the united ravages223 of the Mob and conflagration224. Nothing remained of it but the principal Walls, whose thickness and solidity had preserved them from the flames. The Nuns who had belonged to it were obliged in consequence to disperse225 themselves into other Societies: But the prejudice against them ran high, and the Superiors were very unwilling to admit them. However, most of them being related to Families the most distinguished226 for their riches birth and power, the several Convents were compelled to receive them, though they did it with a very ill grace. This prejudice was extremely false and unjustifiable: After a close investigation227, it was proved that All in the Convent were persuaded of the death of Agnes, except the four Nuns whom St. Ursula had pointed out. These had fallen Victims to the popular fury; as had also several who were perfectly228 innocent and unconscious of the whole affair. Blinded by resentment229, the Mob had sacrificed every Nun19 who fell into their hands: They who escaped were entirely230 indebted to the Duke de Medina’s prudence231 and moderation. Of this they were conscious, and felt for that Nobleman a proper sense of gratitude122.
Virginia was not the most sparing of her thanks: She wished equally to make a proper return for his attentions, and to obtain the good graces of Lorenzo’s Uncle. In this She easily succeeded.
The Duke beheld232 her beauty with wonder and admiration233; and while his eyes were enchanted234 with her Form, the sweetness of her manners and her tender concern for the suffering Nun prepossessed his heart in her favour. This Virginia had discernment enough to perceive, and She redoubled her attention to the Invalid235. When He parted from her at the door of her Father’s Palace, the Duke entreated236 permission to enquire237 occasionally after her health. His request was readily granted: Virginia assured him that the Marquis de Villa123–Franca would be proud of an opportunity to thank him in person for the protection afforded to her. They now separated, He enchanted with her beauty and gentleness, and She much pleased with him and more with his Nephew.
On entering the Palace, Virginia’s first care was to summon the family Physician, and take care of her unknown charge. Her Mother hastened to share with her the charitable office. Alarmed by the riots, and trembling for his Daughter’s safety, who was his only child, the Marquis had flown to St. Clare’s Convent, and was still employed in seeking her. Messengers were now dispatched on all sides to inform him that He would find her safe at his Hotel, and desire him to hasten thither238 immediately. His absence gave Virginia liberty to bestow239 her whole attention upon her Patient; and though much disordered herself by the adventures of the night, no persuasion could induce her to quit the bedside of the Sufferer. Her constitution being much enfeebled by want and sorrow, it was some time before the Stranger was restored to her senses. She found great difficulty in swallowing the medicines prescribed to her: But this obstacle being removed, She easily conquered her disease which proceeded from nothing but weakness. The attention which was paid her, the wholesome240 food to which She had been long a Stranger, and her joy at being restored to liberty, to society, and, as She dared to hope, to Love, all this combined to her speedy re-establishment.
From the first moment of knowing her, her melancholy situation, her sufferings almost unparalleled had engaged the affections of her amiable241 Hostess: Virginia felt for her the most lively interest; But how was She delighted, when her Guest being sufficiently recovered to relate her History, She recognized in the captive Nun the Sister of Lorenzo!
This victim of monastic cruelty was indeed no other than the unfortunate Agnes. During her abode242 in the Convent, She had been well known to Virginia: But her emaciated243 form, her features altered by affliction, her death universally credited, and her overgrown and matted hair which hung over her face and bosom in disorder73 at first had prevented her being recollected244. The Prioress had put every artifice245 in practice to induce Virginia to take the veil; for the Heiress of Villa–Franca would have been no despicable acquisition. Her seeming kindness and unremitted attention so far succeeded that her young Relation began to think seriously upon compliance246. Better instructed in the disgust and ennui247 of a monastic life, Agnes had penetrated the designs of the Domina: She trembled for the innocent Girl, and endeavoured to make her sensible of her error. She painted in their true colours the numerous inconveniencies attached to a Convent, the continued restraint, the low jealousies248, the petty intrigues249, the servile court and gross flattery expected by the Superior. She then bad Virginia reflect on the brilliant prospect which presented itself before her: The Idol of her Parents, the admiration of Madrid, endowed by nature and education with every perfection of person and mind, She might look forward to an establishment the most fortunate. Her riches furnished her with the means of exercising in their fullest extent, charity and benevolence250, those virtues251 so dear to her; and her stay in the world would enable her discovering Objects worthy253 her protection, which could not be done in the seclusion254 of a Convent.
Her persuasions255 induced Virginia to lay aside all thoughts of the Veil: But another argument, not used by Agnes, had more weight with her than all the others put together. She had seen Lorenzo, when He visited his Sister at the Grate. His Person pleased her, and her conversations with Agnes generally used to terminate in some question about her Brother. She, who doted upon Lorenzo, wished for no better than an opportunity to trumpet256 out his praise. She spoke of him in terms of rapture; and to convince her Auditor257 how just were his sentiments, how cultivated his mind, and elegant his expressions, She showed her at different times the letters which She received from him. She soon perceived that from these communications the heart of her young Friend had imbibed258 impressions, which She was far from intending to give, but was truly happy to discover. She could not have wished her Brother a more desirable union: Heiress of Villa–Franca, virtuous259, affectionate, beautiful, and accomplished, Virginia seemed calculated to make him happy. She sounded her Brother upon the subject, though without mentioning names or circumstances. He assured her in his answers that his heart and hand were totally disengaged, and She thought that upon these grounds She might proceed without danger. She in consequence endeavoured to strengthen the dawning passion of her Friend. Lorenzo was made the constant topic of her discourse260; and the avidity with which her Auditor listened, the sighs which frequently escaped from her bosom, and the eagerness with which upon any digression She brought back the conversation to the subject whence it had wandered, sufficed to convince Agnes that her Brother’s addresses would be far from disagreeable. She at length ventured to mention her wishes to the Duke: Though a Stranger to the Lady herself, He knew enough of her situation to think her worthy his Nephew’s hand. It was agreed between him and his Niece, that She should insinuate261 the idea to Lorenzo, and She only waited his return to Madrid to propose her Friend to him as his Bride. The unfortunate events which took place in the interim262, prevented her from executing her design. Virginia wept her loss sincerely, both as a Companion, and as the only Person to whom She could speak of Lorenzo. Her passion continued to prey upon her heart in secret, and She had almost determined to confess her sentiments to her Mother, when accident once more threw their object in her way. The sight of him so near her, his politeness, his compassion, his intrepidity263, had combined to give new ardour to her affection. When She now found her Friend and Advocate restored to her, She looked upon her as a Gift from Heaven; She ventured to cherish the hope of being united to Lorenzo, and resolved to use with him his Sister’s influence.
Supposing that before her death Agnes might possibly have made the proposal, the Duke had placed all his Nephew’s hints of marriage to Virginia’s account: Consequently, He gave them the most favourable reception. On returning to his Hotel, the relation given him of Antonia’s death, and Lorenzo’s behaviour on the occasion, made evident his mistake. He lamented the circumstances; But the unhappy Girl being effectually out of the way, He trusted that his designs would yet be executed. ’Tis true that Lorenzo’s situation just then ill-suited him for a Bridegroom. His hopes disappointed at the moment when He expected to realize them, and the dreadful and sudden death of his Mistress had affected264 him very severely. The Duke found him upon the Bed of sickness. His Attendants expressed serious apprehensions for his life; But the Uncle entertained not the same fears. He was of opinion, and not unwisely, that ‘Men have died, and worms have eat them; but not for Love!’ He therefore flattered himself that however deep might be the impression made upon his Nephew’s heart, Time and Virginia would be able to efface265 it. He now hastened to the afflicted266 Youth, and endeavoured to console him: He sympathised in his distress267, but encouraged him to resist the encroachments of despair. He allowed that He could not but feel shocked at an event so terrible, nor could He blame his sensibility; But He besought him not to torment137 himself with vain regrets, and rather to struggle with affliction, and preserve his life, if not for his own sake, at least for the sake of those who were fondly attached to him. While He laboured thus to make Lorenzo forget Antonia’s loss, the Duke paid his court assiduously to Virginia, and seized every opportunity to advance his Nephew’s interest in her heart.
It may easily be expected that Agnes was not long without enquiring268 after Don Raymond. She was shocked to hear the wretched situation to which grief had reduced him; Yet She could not help exulting269 secretly, when She reflected, that his illness proved the sincerity270 of his love. The Duke undertook the office himself, of announcing to the Invalid the happiness which awaited him. Though He omitted no precaution to prepare him for such an event, at this sudden change from despair to happiness Raymond’s transports were so violent, as nearly to have proved fatal to him. These once passed, the tranquillity of his mind, the assurance of felicity, and above all the presence of Agnes, (Who was no sooner reestablished by the care of Virginia and the Marchioness, than She hastened to attend her Lover) soon enabled him to overcome the effects of his late dreadful malady271. The calm of his soul communicated itself to his body, and He recovered with such rapidity as to create universal surprize.
No so Lorenzo. Antonia’s death accompanied with such terrible circumstances weighed upon his mind heavily. He was worn down to a shadow. Nothing could give him pleasure. He was persuaded with difficulty to swallow nourishment272 sufficient for the support of life, and a consumption was apprehended273. The society of Agnes formed his only comfort. Though accident had never permitted their being much together, He entertained for her a sincere friendship and attachment274. Perceiving how necessary She was to him, She seldom quitted his chamber275. She listened to his complaints with unwearied attention, and soothed276 him by the gentleness of her manners, and by sympathising with his distress. She still inhabited the Palace de Villa–Franca, the Possessors of which treated her with marked affection. The Duke had intimated to the Marquis his wishes respecting Virginia. The match was unexceptionable: Lorenzo was Heir to his Uncle’s immense property, and was distinguished in Madrid for his agreeable person, extensive knowledge, and propriety277 of conduct: Add to this, that the Marchioness had discovered how strong was her Daughter’s prepossession in his favour.
In consequence the Duke’s proposal was accepted without hesitation: Every precaution was taken to induce Lorenzo’s seeing the Lady with those sentiments which She so well merited to excite. In her visits to her Brother Agnes was frequently accompanied by the Marchioness; and as soon as He was able to move into his Antichamber, Virginia under her mother’s protection was sometimes permitted to express her wishes for his recovery. This She did with such delicacy, the manner in which She mentioned Antonia was so tender and soothing278, and when She lamented her Rival’s melancholy fate, her bright eyes shone so beautiful through her tears, that Lorenzo could not behold, or listen to her without emotion. His Relations, as well as the Lady, perceived that with every day her society seemed to give him fresh pleasure, and that He spoke of her in terms of stronger admiration. However, they prudently279 kept their observations to themselves. No word was dropped which might lead him to suspect their designs. They continued their former conduct and attention, and left Time to ripen280 into a warmer sentiment the friendship which He already felt for Virginia.
In the mean while, her visits became more frequent; and latterly there was scarce a day, of which She did not pass some part by the side of Lorenzo’s Couch. He gradually regained281 his strength, but the progress of his recovery was slow and doubtful. One evening He seemed to be in better spirits than usual: Agnes and her Lover, the Duke, Virginia, and her Parents were sitting round him. He now for the first time entreated his Sister to inform him how She had escaped the effects of the poison which St. Ursula had seen her swallow. Fearful of recalling those scenes to his mind in which Antonia had perished, She had hitherto concealed from him the history of her sufferings. As He now started the subject himself, and thinking that perhaps the narrative282 of her sorrows might draw him from the contemplation of those on which He dwelt too constantly, She immediately complied with his request. The rest of the company had already heard her story; But the interest which all present felt for its Heroine made them anxious to hear it repeated. The whole society seconding Lorenzo’s entreaties, Agnes obeyed. She first recounted the discovery which had taken place in the Abbey Chapel283, the Domina’s resentment, and the midnight scene of which St. Ursula had been a concealed witness. Though the Nun had already described this latter event, Agnes now related it more circumstantially and at large: After which She proceeded in her narrative as follows.
Conclusion of the History of Agnes de Medina
My supposed death was attended with the greatest agonies. Those moments which I believed my last, were embittered284 by the Domina’s assurances that I could not escape perdition; and as my eyes closed, I heard her rage exhale286 itself in curses on my offence. The horror of this situation, of a death-bed from which hope was banished287, of a sleep from which I was only to wake to find myself the prey of flames and Furies, was more dreadful than I can describe. When animation revived in me, my soul was still impressed with these terrible ideas: I looked round with fear, expecting to behold the Ministers of divine vengeance288. For the first hour, my senses were so bewildered, and my brain so dizzy, that I strove in vain to arrange the strange images which floated in wild confusion before me. If I endeavoured to raise myself from the ground, the wandering of my head deceived me. Every thing around me seemed to rock, and I sank once more upon the earth. My weak and dazzled eyes were unable to bear a nearer approach to a gleam of light which I saw trembling above me. I was compelled to close them again, and remain motionless in the same posture289.
A full hour elapsed, before I was sufficiently myself to examine the surrounding Objects. When I did examine them, what terror filled my bosom I found myself extended upon a sort of wicker Couch: It had six handles to it, which doubtless had served the Nuns to convey me to my grave. I was covered with a linen290 cloth:
Several faded flowers were strown over me: On one side lay a small wooden Crucifix; On the other, a Rosary of large Beads291. Four low narrow walls confined me. The top was also covered, and in it was practised a small grated Door: Through this was admitted the little air which circulated in this miserable place. A faint glimmering of light which streamed through the Bars, permitted me to distinguish the surrounding horrors. I was opprest by a noisome292 suffocating293 smell; and perceiving that the grated door was unfastened, I thought that I might possibly effect my escape. As I raised myself with this design, my hand rested upon something soft: I grasped it, and advanced it towards the light. Almighty God! What was my disgust, my consternation294! In spite of its putridity295, and the worms which preyed296 upon it, I perceived a corrupted human head, and recognised the features of a Nun who had died some months before!
I threw it from me, and sank almost lifeless upon my Bier.
When my strength returned, this circumstance, and the consciousness of being surrounded by the loathsome and mouldering Bodies of my Companions, increased my desire to escape from my fearful prison. I again moved towards the light. The grated door was within my reach: I lifted it without difficulty; Probably it had been left unclosed to facilitate my quitting the dungeon. Aiding myself by the irregularity of the Walls some of whose stones projected beyond the rest, I contrived297 to ascend68 them, and drag myself out of my prison. I now found Myself in a Vault tolerably spacious298. Several Tombs, similar in appearance to that whence I had just escaped, were ranged along the sides in order, and seemed to be considerably299 sunk within the earth. A sepulchral300 Lamp was suspended from the roof by an iron chain, and shed a gloomy light through the dungeon. Emblems301 of Death were seen on every side: Skulls303, shoulder-blades, thigh-bones, and other leavings of Mortality were scattered304 upon the dewy ground. Each Tomb was ornamented305 with a large Crucifix, and in one corner stood a wooden Statue of St. Clare. To these objects I at first paid no attention: A Door, the only outlet306 from the Vault, had attracted my eyes. I hastened towards it, having wrapped my winding-sheet closely round me. I pushed against the door, and to my inexpressible terror found that it was fastened on the outside.
I guessed immediately that the Prioress, mistaking the nature of the liquor which She had compelled me to drink, instead of poison had administered a strong Opiate. From this I concluded that being to all appearance dead I had received the rites307 of burial; and that deprived of the power of making my existence known, it would be my fate to expire of hunger. This idea penetrated me with horror, not merely for my own sake, but that of the innocent Creature, who still lived within my bosom. I again endeavoured to open the door, but it resisted all my efforts. I stretched my voice to the extent of its compass, and shrieked for aid: I was remote from the hearing of every one: No friendly voice replied to mine. A profound and melancholy silence prevailed through the Vault, and I despaired of liberty. My long abstinence from food now began to torment me. The tortures which hunger inflicted308 on me, were the most painful and insupportable: Yet they seemed to increase with every hour which past over my head. Sometimes I threw myself upon the ground, and rolled upon it wild and desperate: Sometimes starting up, I returned to the door, again strove to force it open, and repeated my fruitless cries for succour. Often was I on the point of striking my temple against the sharp corner of some Monument, dashing out my brains, and thus terminating my woes309 at once; But still the remembrance of my Baby vanquished310 my resolution: I trembled at a deed which equally endangered my Child’s existence and my own. Then would I vent25 my anguish in loud exclamations311 and passionate312 complaints; and then again my strength failing me, silent and hopeless I would sit me down upon the base of St. Clare’s Statue, fold my arms, and abandon myself to sullen despair. Thus passed several wretched hours. Death advanced towards me with rapid strides, and I expected that every succeeding moment would be that of my dissolution. Suddenly a neighbouring Tomb caught my eye: A Basket stood upon it, which till then I had not observed. I started from my seat: I made towards it as swiftly as my exhausted frame would permit. How eagerly did I seize the Basket, on finding it to contain a loaf of coarse bread and a small bottle of water.
I threw myself with avidity upon these humble aliments. They had to all appearance been placed in the Vault for several days; The bread was hard, and the water tainted313; Yet never did I taste food to me so delicious. When the cravings of appetite were satisfied, I busied myself with conjectures314 upon this new circumstance: I debated whether the Basket had been placed there with a view to my necessity. Hope answered my doubts in the affirmative. Yet who could guess me to be in need of such assistance? If my existence was known, why was I detained in this gloomy Vault? If I was kept a Prisoner, what meant the ceremony of committing me to the Tomb? Or if I was doomed315 to perish with hunger, to whose pity was I indebted for provisions placed within my reach? A Friend would not have kept my dreadful punishment a secret; Neither did it seem probable that an Enemy would have taken pains to supply me with the means of existence. Upon the whole I was inclined to think that the Domina’s designs upon my life had been discovered by some one of my Partizans in the Convent, who had found means to substitute an opiate for poison: That She had furnished me with food to support me, till She could effect my delivery: And that She was then employed in giving intelligence to my Relations of my danger, and pointing out a way to release me from captivity316. Yet why then was the quality of my provisions so coarse? How could my Friend have entered the Vault without the Domina’s knowledge? And if She had entered, why was the Door fastened so carefully? These reflections staggered me: Yet still this idea was the most favourable to my hopes, and I dwelt upon it in preference.
My meditations317 were interrupted by the sound of distant footsteps. They approached, but slowly. Rays of light now darted through the crevices318 of the Door. Uncertain whether the Persons who advanced came to relieve me, or were conducted by some other motive319 to the Vault, I failed not to attract their notice by loud cries for help. Still the sounds drew near: The light grew stronger: At length with inexpressible pleasure I heard the Key turning in the Lock. Persuaded that my deliverance was at hand, I flew towards the Door with a shriek of joy. It opened: But all my hopes of escape died away, when the Prioress appeared followed by the same four Nuns, who had been witnesses of my supposed death. They bore torches in their hands, and gazed upon me in fearful silence.
I started back in terror. The Domina descended into the Vault, as did also her Companions. She bent upon me a stern resentful eye, but expressed no surprize at finding me still living. She took the seat which I had just quitted: The door was again closed, and the Nuns ranged themselves behind their Superior, while the glare of their torches, dimmed by the vapours and dampness of the Vault, gilded320 with cold beams the surrounding Monuments. For some moments all preserved a dead and solemn silence. I stood at some distance from the Prioress. At length She beckoned321 me to advance. Trembling at the severity of her aspect my strength scarce sufficed me to obey her. I drew near, but my limbs were unable to support their burthen. I sank upon my knees; I clasped my hands, and lifted them up to her for mercy, but had no power to articulate a syllable322.
She gazed upon me with angry eyes.
‘Do I see a Penitent, or a Criminal?’ She said at length; ‘Are those hands raised in contrition323 for your crimes, or in fear of meeting their punishment? Do those tears acknowledge the justice of your doom, or only solicit mitigation of your sufferings? I fear me, ’tis the latter!’
She paused, but kept her eye still fixt upon mine.
‘Take courage;’ She continued: ‘I wish not for your death, but your repentance325. The draught326 which I administered, was no poison, but an opiate. My intention in deceiving you was to make you feel the agonies of a guilty conscience, had Death overtaken you suddenly while your crimes were still unrepented. You have suffered those agonies: I have brought you to be familiar with the sharpness of death, and I trust that your momentary327 anguish will prove to you an eternal benefit. It is not my design to destroy your immortal328 soul; or bid you seek the grave, burthened with the weight of sins unexpiated. No, Daughter, far from it: I will purify you with wholesome chastisement330, and furnish you with full leisure for contrition and remorse331. Hear then my sentence; The ill-judged zeal332 of your Friends delayed its execution, but cannot now prevent it. All Madrid believes you to be no more; Your Relations are thoroughly333 persuaded of your death, and the Nuns your Partizans have assisted at your funeral. Your existence can never be suspected; I have taken such precautions, as must render it an impenetrable mystery. Then abandon all thoughts of a World from which you are eternally separated, and employ the few hours which are allowed you, in preparing for the next.’
This exordium led me to expect something terrible. I trembled, and would have spoken to deprecate her wrath334: but a motion of the Domina commanded me to be silent. She proceeded.
‘Though of late years unjustly neglected, and now opposed by many of our misguided Sisters, (whom Heaven convert!) it is my intention to revive the laws of our order in their full force. That against incontinence is severe, but no more than so monstrous335 an offence demands: Submit to it, Daughter, without resistance; You will find the benefit of patience and resignation in a better life than this. Listen then to the sentence of St. Clare. Beneath these Vaults there exist Prisons, intended to receive such criminals as yourself: Artfully is their entrance concealed, and She who enters them, must resign all hopes of liberty. Thither must you now be conveyed. Food shall be supplied you, but not sufficient for the indulgence of appetite: You shall have just enough to keep together body and soul, and its quality shall be the simplest and coarsest. Weep, Daughter, weep, and moisten your bread with your tears: God knows that you have ample cause for sorrow! Chained down in one of these secret dungeons336, shut out from the world and light for ever, with no comfort but religion, no society but repentance, thus must you groan away the remainder of your days. Such are St. Clare’s orders; Submit to them without repining. Follow me!’
Thunderstruck at this barbarous decree, my little remaining strength abandoned me. I answered only by falling at her feet, and bathing them with tears. The Domina, unmoved by my affliction, rose from her seat with a stately air. She repeated her commands in an absolute tone: But my excessive faintness made me unable to obey her. Mariana and Alix raised me from the ground, and carried me forwards in their arms. The Prioress moved on, leaning upon Violante, and Camilla preceded her with a Torch. Thus passed our sad procession along the passages, in silence only broken by my sighs and groans337. We stopped before the principal shrine338 of St. Clare. The Statue was removed from its Pedestal, though how I knew not. The Nuns afterwards raised an iron grate till then concealed by the Image, and let it fall on the other side with a loud crash. The awful sound, repeated by the vaults above, and Caverns340 below me, rouzed me from the despondent341 apathy in which I had been plunged. I looked before me: An abyss presented itself to my affrighted eyes, and a steep and narrow Staircase, whither my Conductors were leading me. I shrieked, and started back. I implored342 compassion, rent the air with my cries, and summoned both heaven and earth to my assistance. In vain! I was hurried down the Staircase, and forced into one of the Cells which lined the Cavern339’s sides.
My blood ran cold, as I gazed upon this melancholy abode. The cold vapours hovering343 in the air, the walls green with damp, the bed of Straw so forlorn and comfortless, the Chain destined344 to bind345 me for ever to my prison, and the Reptiles346 of every description which as the torches advanced towards them, I descried348 hurrying to their retreats, struck my heart with terrors almost too exquisite349 for nature to bear. Driven by despair to madness, I burst suddenly from the Nuns who held me: I threw myself upon my knees before the Prioress, and besought her mercy in the most passionate and frantic terms.
‘If not on me,’ said I, ‘look at least with pity on that innocent Being, whose life is attached to mine! Great is my crime, but let not my Child suffer for it! My Baby has committed no fault: Oh! spare me for the sake of my unborn Offspring, whom ere it tastes life your severity dooms350 to destruction!’
The Prioress drew back haughtily351: She forced her habit from my grasp, as if my touch had been contagious352.
‘What?’ She exclaimed with an exasperated353 air; ‘What? Dare you plead for the produce of your shame? Shall a Creature be permitted to live, conceived in guilt so monstrous? Abandoned Woman, speak for him no more! Better that the Wretch125 should perish than live: Begotten354 in perjury355, incontinence, and pollution, It cannot fail to prove a Prodigy356 of vice178. Hear me, thou Guilty! Expect no mercy from me either for yourself, or Brat357. Rather pray that Death may seize you before you produce it; Or if it must see the light, that its eyes may immediately be closed again for ever! No aid shall be given you in your labour; Bring your Offspring into the world yourself, Feed it yourself, Nurse it yourself, Bury it yourself: God grant that the latter may happen soon, lest you receive comfort from the fruit of your iniquity358!’
This inhuman speech, the threats which it contained, the dreadful sufferings foretold359 to me by the Domina, and her prayers for my Infant’s death, on whom though unborn I already doated, were more than my exhausted frame could support. Uttering a deep groan, I fell senseless at the feet of my unrelenting Enemy. I know not how long I remained in this situation; But I imagine that some time must have elapsed before my recovery, since it sufficed the Prioress and her Nuns to quit the Cavern. When my senses returned, I found myself in silence and solitude. I heard not even the retiring footsteps of my Persecutors. All was hushed, and all was dreadful! I had been thrown upon the bed of Straw: The heavy Chain which I had already eyed with terror, was wound around my waist, and fastened me to the Wall. A Lamp glimmering with dull, melancholy rays through my dungeon, permitted my distinguishing all its horrors: It was separated from the Cavern by a low and irregular Wall of Stone: A large Chasm360 was left open in it which formed the entrance, for door there was none. A leaden Crucifix was in front of my straw Couch. A tattered361 rug lay near me, as did also a Chaplet of Beads; and not far from me stood a pitcher362 of water, and a wicker Basket containing a small loaf, and a bottle of oil to supply my Lamp.
With a despondent eye did I examine this scene of suffering: When I reflected that I was doomed to pass in it the remainder of my days, my heart was rent with bitter anguish. I had once been taught to look forward to a lot so different! At one time my prospects363 had appeared so bright, so flattering! Now all was lost to me. Friends, comfort, society, happiness, in one moment I was deprived of all! Dead to the world, Dead to pleasure, I lived to nothing but the sense of misery. How fair did that world seem to me, from which I was for ever excluded! How many loved objects did it contain, whom I never should behold again! As I threw a look of terror round my prison, as I shrunk from the cutting wind which howled through my subterraneous dwelling135, the change seemed so striking, so abrupt76, that I doubted its reality.
That the Duke de Medina’s Niece, that the destined Bride of the Marquis de las Cisternas, One bred up in affluence364, related to the noblest families in Spain, and rich in a multitude of affectionate Friends, that She should in one moment become a Captive, separated from the world for ever, weighed down with chains, and reduced to support life with the coarsest aliments, appeared a change so sudden and incredible, that I believed myself the sport of some frightful365 vision. Its continuance convinced me of my mistake with but too much certainty. Every morning my hopes were disappointed. At length I abandoned all idea of escaping: I resigned myself to my fate, and only expected Liberty when She came the Companion of Death.
My mental anguish, and the dreadful scenes in which I had been an Actress, advanced the period of my labour. In solitude and misery, abandoned by all, unassisted by Art, uncomforted by Friendship, with pangs366 which if witnessed would have touched the hardest heart, was I delivered of my wretched burthen. It came alive into the world; But I knew not how to treat it, or by what means to preserve its existence. I could only bathe it with tears, warm it in my bosom, and offer up prayers for its safety. I was soon deprived of this mournful employment: The want of proper attendance, my ignorance how to nurse it, the bitter cold of the dungeon, and the unwholesome air which inflated367 its lungs, terminated my sweet Babe’s short and painful existence. It expired in a few hours after its birth, and I witnessed its death with agonies which beggar all description.
But my grief was unavailing. My Infant was no more; nor could all my sighs impart to its little tender frame the breath of a moment. I rent my winding-sheet, and wrapped in it my lovely Child. I placed it on my bosom, its soft arm folded round my neck, and its pale cold cheek resting upon mine. Thus did its lifeless limbs repose43, while I covered it with kisses, talked to it, wept, and moaned over it without remission, day or night. Camilla entered my prison regularly once every twenty-four hours, to bring me food. In spite of her flinty nature, She could not behold this spectacle unmoved. She feared that grief so excessive would at length turn my brain, and in truth I was not always in my proper senses. From a principle of compassion She urged me to permit the Corse to be buried: But to this I never would consent. I vowed368 not to part with it while I had life: Its presence was my only comfort, and no persuasion could induce me to give it up. It soon became a mass of putridity, and to every eye was a loathsome and disgusting Object; To every eye but a Mother’s. In vain did human feelings bid me recoil from this emblem302 of mortality with repugnance: I withstood, and vanquished that repugnance. I persisted in holding my Infant to my bosom, in lamenting369 it, loving it, adoring it! Hour after hour have I passed upon my sorry Couch, contemplating370 what had once been my Child: I endeavoured to retrace371 its features through the livid corruption, with which they were overspread: During my confinement this sad occupation was my only delight; and at that time Worlds should not have bribed372 me to give it up. Even when released from my prison, I brought away my Child in my arms. The representations of my two kind Friends,” — (Here She took the hands of the Marchioness and Virginia, and pressed them alternately to her lips) — “at length persuaded me to resign my unhappy Infant to the Grave. Yet I parted from it with reluctance373: However, reason at length prevailed; I suffered it to be taken from me, and it now reposes374 in consecrated375 ground.
I before mentioned that regularly once a day Camilla brought me food. She sought not to embitter285 my sorrows with reproach: She bad me, ’tis true, resign all hopes of liberty and worldly happiness; But She encouraged me to bear with patience my temporary distress, and advised me to draw comfort from religion.
My situation evidently affected her more than She ventured to express: But She believed that to extenuate376 my fault would make me less anxious to repent324 it. Often while her lips painted the enormity of my guilt in glaring colours, her eyes betrayed, how sensible She was to my sufferings. In fact I am certain that none of my Tormentors, (for the three other Nuns entered my prison occasionally) were so much actuated by the spirit of oppressive cruelty as by the idea that to afflict120 my body was the only way to preserve my soul. Nay, even this persuasion might not have had such weight with them, and they might have thought my punishment too severe, had not their good dispositions378 been represt by blind obedience379 to their Superior. Her resentment existed in full force. My project of elopement having been discovered by the Abbot of the Capuchins, She supposed herself lowered in his opinion by my disgrace, and in consequence her hate was inveterate380. She told the Nuns to whose custody381 I was committed that my fault was of the most heinous382 nature, that no sufferings could equal the offence, and that nothing could save me from eternal perdition but punishing my guilt with the utmost severity. The Superior’s word is an oracle383 to but too many of a Convent’s Inhabitants. The Nuns believed whatever the Prioress chose to assert: Though contradicted by reason and charity, they hesitated not to admit the truth of her arguments. They followed her injunctions to the very letter, and were fully persuaded that to treat me with lenity, or to show the least pity for my woes, would be a direct means to destroy my chance for salvation384.
Camilla, being most employed about me, was particularly charged by the Prioress to treat me with harshness. In compliance with these orders, She frequently strove to convince me, how just was my punishment, and how enormous was my crime: She bad me think myself too happy in saving my soul by mortifying385 my body, and even threatened me sometimes with eternal perdition. Yet as I before observed, She always concluded by words of encouragement and comfort; and though uttered by Camilla’s lips, I easily recognised the Domina’s expressions. Once, and once only, the Prioress visited me in my dungeon. She then treated me with the most unrelenting cruelty: She loaded me with reproaches, taunted386 me with my frailty387, and when I implored her mercy, told me to ask it of heaven, since I deserved none on earth. She even gazed upon my lifeless Infant without emotion; and when She left me, I heard her charge Camilla to increase the hardships of my Captivity. Unfeeling Woman! But let me check my resentment: She has expiated329 her errors by her sad and unexpected death. Peace be with her; and may her crimes be forgiven in heaven, as I forgive her my sufferings on earth!
Thus did I drag on a miserable existence. Far from growing familiar with my prison, I beheld it every moment with new horror. The cold seemed more piercing and bitter, the air more thick and pestilential. My frame became weak, feverish388, and emaciated. I was unable to rise from the bed of Straw, and exercise my limbs in the narrow limits, to which the length of my chain permitted me to move. Though exhausted, faint, and weary, I trembled to profit by the approach of Sleep: My slumbers389 were constantly interrupted by some obnoxious390 Insect crawling over me.
Sometimes I felt the bloated Toad391, hideous392 and pampered393 with the poisonous vapours of the dungeon, dragging his loathsome length along my bosom: Sometimes the quick cold Lizard394 rouzed me leaving his slimy track upon my face, and entangling395 itself in the tresses of my wild and matted hair: Often have I at waking found my fingers ringed with the long worms which bred in the corrupted flesh of my Infant. At such times I shrieked with terror and disgust, and while I shook off the reptile347, trembled with all a Woman’s weakness.
Such was my situation, when Camilla was suddenly taken ill. A dangerous fever, supposed to be infectious, confined her to her bed. Every one except the Lay–Sister appointed to nurse her, avoided her with caution, and feared to catch the disease. She was perfectly delirious, and by no means capable of attending to me. The Domina and the Nuns admitted to the mystery, had latterly given me over entirely to Camilla’s care: In consequence, they busied themselves no more about me; and occupied by preparing for the approaching Festival, it is more than probable that I never once entered into their thoughts. Of the reason of Camilla’s negligence396, I have been informed since my release by the Mother St. Ursula; At that time I was very far from suspecting its cause. On the contrary, I waited for my Gaoler’s appearance at first with impatience, and afterwards with despair. One day passed away; Another followed it; The Third arrived. Still no Camilla! Still no food! I knew the lapse211 of time by the wasting of my Lamp, to supply which fortunately a week’s supply of Oil had been left me. I supposed, either that the Nuns had forgotten me, or that the Domina had ordered them to let me perish. The latter idea seemed the most probable; Yet so natural is the love of life, that I trembled to find it true. Though embittered by every species of misery, my existence was still dear to me, and I dreaded397 to lose it. Every succeeding minute proved to me that I must abandon all hopes of relief. I was become an absolute skeleton: My eyes already failed me, and my limbs were beginning to stiffen398. I could only express my anguish, and the pangs of that hunger which gnawed399 my heart-strings, by frequent groans, whose melancholy sound the vaulted400 roof of the dungeon re-echoed. I resigned myself to my fate: I already expected the moment of dissolution, when my Guardian401 Angel, when my beloved Brother arrived in time to save me. My sight grown dim and feeble at first refused to recognize him; and when I did distinguish his features, the sudden burst of rapture was too much for me to bear. I was overpowered by the swell89 of joy at once more beholding402 a Friend, and that a Friend so dear to me. Nature could not support my emotions, and took her refuge in insensibility.
You already know, what are my obligations to the Family of Villa–Franca: But what you cannot know is the extent of my gratitude, boundless as the excellence403 of my Benefactors404. Lorenzo! Raymond! Names so dear to me! Teach me to bear with fortitude405 this sudden transition from misery to bliss406. So lately a Captive, opprest with chains, perishing with hunger, suffering every in convenience of cold and want, hidden from the light, excluded from society, hopeless, neglected, and as I feared, forgotten; Now restored to life and liberty, enjoying all the comforts of affluence and ease, surrounded by those who are most loved by me, and on the point of becoming his Bride who has long been wedded407 to my heart, my happiness is so exquisite, so perfect, that scarcely can my brain sustain the weight. One only wish remains408 ungratified: It is to see my Brother in his former health, and to know that Antonia’s memory is buried in her grave.
Granted this prayer, I have nothing more to desire. I trust, that my past sufferings have purchased from heaven the pardon of my momentary weakness. That I have offended, offended greatly and grievously, I am fully conscious; But let not my Husband, because He once conquered my virtue252, doubt the propriety of my future conduct. I have been frail and full of error: But I yielded not to the warmth of constitution; Raymond, affection for you betrayed me. I was too confident of my strength; But I depended no less on your honour than my own. I had vowed never to see you more: Had it not been for the consequences of that unguarded moment, my resolution had been kept. Fate willed it otherwise, and I cannot but rejoice at its decree. Still my conduct has been highly blameable, and while I attempt to justify409 myself, I blush at recollecting410 my imprudence. Let me then dismiss the ungrateful subject; First assuring you, Raymond, that you shall have no cause to repent our union, and that the more culpable411 have been the errors of your Mistress, the more exemplary shall be the conduct of your Wife.
Here Agnes ceased, and the Marquis replied to her address in terms equally sincere and affectionate. Lorenzo expressed his satisfaction at the prospect of being so closely connected with a Man for whom He had ever entertained the highest esteem412. The Pope’s Bull had fully and effectually released Agnes from her religious engagements: The marriage was therefore celebrated413 as soon as the needful preparations had been made, for the Marquis wished to have the ceremony performed with all possible splendour and publicity414. This being over, and the Bride having received the compliments of Madrid, She departed with Don Raymond for his Castle in Andalusia: Lorenzo accompanied them, as did also the Marchioness de Villa–Franca and her lovely Daughter. It is needless to say that Theodore was of the party, and would be impossible to describe his joy at his Master’s marriage. Previous to his departure, the Marquis, to atone415 in some measure for his past neglect, made some enquiries relative to Elvira. Finding that She as well as her Daughter had received many services from Leonella and Jacintha, He showed his respect to the memory of his Sister-inlaw by making the two Women handsome presents. Lorenzo followed his example — Leonella was highly flattered by the attentions of Noblemen so distinguished, and Jacintha blessed the hour on which her House was bewitched.
On her side, Agnes failed not to reward her Convent Friends. The worthy Mother St. Ursula, to whom She owed her liberty, was named at her request Superintendent416 of ‘The Ladies of Charity:’ This was one of the best and most opulent Societies throughout Spain. Bertha and Cornelia not choosing to quit their Friend, were appointed to principal charges in the same establishment. As to the Nuns who had aided the Domina in persecuting417 Agnes, Camilla being confined by illness to her bed, had perished in the flames which consumed St. Clare’s Convent. Mariana, Alix, and Violante, as well as two more, had fallen victims to the popular rage. The three Others who in Council had supported the Domina’s sentence, were severely reprimanded, and banished to religious Houses in obscure and distant Provinces: Here they languished418 away a few years, ashamed of their former weakness, and shunned419 by their Companions with aversion and contempt.
Nor was the fidelity420 of Flora permitted to go unrewarded. Her wishes being consulted, She declared herself impatient to revisit her native land. In consequence, a passage was procured421 for her to Cuba, where She arrived in safety, loaded with the presents of Raymond and Lorenzo.
The debts of gratitude discharged, Agnes was at liberty to pursue her favourite plan. Lodged422 in the same House, Lorenzo and Virginia were eternally together. The more He saw of her, the more was He convinced of her merit. On her part, She laid herself out to please, and not to succeed was for her impossible.
Lorenzo witnessed with admiration her beautiful person, elegant manners, innumerable talents, and sweet disposition377: He was also much flattered by her prejudice in his favour, which She had not sufficient art to conceal. However, his sentiments partook not of that ardent character which had marked his affection for Antonia. The image of that lovely and unfortunate Girl still lived in his heart, and baffled all Virginia’s efforts to displace it. Still when the Duke proposed to him the match, which He wished to earnestly to take place, his Nephew did not reject the offer. The urgent supplications of his Friends, and the Lady’s merit conquered his repugnance to entering into new engagements. He proposed himself to the Marquis de Villa — Franca, and was accepted with joy and gratitude. Virginia became his Wife, nor did She ever give him cause to repent his choice. His esteem increased for her daily. Her unremitted endeavours to please him could not but succeed. His affection assumed stronger and warmer colours. Antonia’s image was gradually effaced423 from his bosom; and Virginia became sole Mistress of that heart, which She well deserved to possess without a Partner.
The remaining years of Raymond and Agnes, of Lorenzo and Virginia, were happy as can be those allotted424 to Mortals, born to be the prey of grief, and sport of disappointment. The exquisite sorrows with which they had been afflicted, made them think lightly of every succeeding woe147. They had felt the sharpest darts425 in misfortune’s quiver; Those which remained appeared blunt in comparison. Having weathered Fate’s heaviest Storms, they looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they felt Affliction’s casual gales426, they seemed to them gentle as Zephyrs427 which breathe over summer-seas.
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1
frail
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adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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adverse
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adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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brink
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n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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gusts
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一阵强风( gust的名词复数 ); (怒、笑等的)爆发; (感情的)迸发; 发作 | |
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dire
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adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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mingles
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混合,混入( mingle的第三人称单数 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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mingle
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vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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boundless
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adj.无限的;无边无际的;巨大的 | |
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confide
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v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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devoted
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adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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lessening
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减轻,减少,变小 | |
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12
dread
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vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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vault
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n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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vaults
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n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 );地下室;撑物跳高;墓穴 | |
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computed
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adj.[医]计算的,使用计算机的v.计算,估算( compute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impatience
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n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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17
favourable
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adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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consummating
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v.使结束( consummate的现在分词 );使完美;完婚;(婚礼后的)圆房 | |
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nun
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n.修女,尼姑 | |
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nuns
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n.(通常指基督教的)修女, (佛教的)尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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monk
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n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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monks
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n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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23
persuasion
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n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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obstinate
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adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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vent
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n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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shudder
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v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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shuddered
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v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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28
repugnance
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n.嫌恶 | |
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compassion
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n.同情,怜悯 | |
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ardent
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adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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inclinations
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倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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aisles
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n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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cemetery
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n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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hesitation
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n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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melancholy
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n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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shriek
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v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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rattled
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慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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windings
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(道路、河流等)蜿蜒的,弯曲的( winding的名词复数 ); 缠绕( wind的现在分词 ); 卷绕; 转动(把手) | |
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fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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descended
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a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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dungeon
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n.地牢,土牢 | |
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humble
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adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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reposed
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v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ridge
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n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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putrid
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adj.腐臭的;有毒的;已腐烂的;卑劣的 | |
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corrupted
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(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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49
forerunner
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n.前身,先驱(者),预兆,祖先 | |
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50
animation
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n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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51
shroud
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n.裹尸布,寿衣;罩,幕;vt.覆盖,隐藏 | |
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horrid
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adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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prey
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n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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54
guilt
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n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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supplication
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n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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penitence
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n.忏悔,赎罪;悔过 | |
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57
innocence
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n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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58
suppliant
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adj.哀恳的;n.恳求者,哀求者 | |
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59
ransom
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n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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61
lust
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n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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62
solicit
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vi.勾引;乞求;vt.请求,乞求;招揽(生意) | |
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63
enjoyment
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n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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64
severely
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adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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addicted
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adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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vigour
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(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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temperament
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n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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ascend
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vi.渐渐上升,升高;vt.攀登,登上 | |
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bosom
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n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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throbbed
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抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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rapture
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n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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72
fumes
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n.(强烈而刺激的)气味,气体 | |
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73
disorder
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n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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74
fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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75
abruptly
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adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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76
abrupt
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adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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77
tempted
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v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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78
flora
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n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
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79
bower
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n.凉亭,树荫下凉快之处;闺房;v.荫蔽 | |
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80
veins
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n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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81
spoke
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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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82
resolute
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adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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83
nay
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adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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84
caresses
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爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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85
supplicating
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v.祈求,哀求,恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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86
entreaty
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n.恳求,哀求 | |
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87
relinquish
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v.放弃,撤回,让与,放手 | |
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88
swelling
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n.肿胀 | |
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89
swell
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vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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90
elastic
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n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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91
fraught
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adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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92
exertions
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n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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93
shrieked
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v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
glimmering
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n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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95
agitated
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adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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96
incessant
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adj.不停的,连续的 | |
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97
opposition
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n.反对,敌对 | |
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98
inflame
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v.使燃烧;使极度激动;使发炎 | |
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99
brutality
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n.野蛮的行为,残忍,野蛮 | |
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100
shrieks
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n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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101
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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102
stifled
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(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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103
barbarian
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n.野蛮人;adj.野蛮(人)的;未开化的 | |
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104
lustful
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a.贪婪的;渴望的 | |
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105
delirium
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n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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106
bruised
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[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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107
entreaties
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n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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108
accomplished
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adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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109
dishonour
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n./vt.拒付(支票、汇票、票据等);vt.凌辱,使丢脸;n.不名誉,耻辱,不光彩 | |
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110
adoration
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n.爱慕,崇拜 | |
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111
dart
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v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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112
sobs
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啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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113
torpidity
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n.麻痹 | |
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114
sullen
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adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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115
apathy
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n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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116
corruption
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n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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117
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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118
undone
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a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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119
contented
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adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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120
afflict
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vt.使身体或精神受痛苦,折磨 | |
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121
ingratitude
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n.忘恩负义 | |
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122
gratitude
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adj.感激,感谢 | |
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123
villa
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n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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124
villain
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n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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125
wretch
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n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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126
loathsome
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adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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127
groan
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vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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128
blasphemy
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n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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129
seduced
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诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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130
plunged
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v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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131
infamy
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n.声名狼藉,出丑,恶行 | |
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132
perjured
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adj.伪证的,犯伪证罪的v.发假誓,作伪证( perjure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133
hurl
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vt.猛投,力掷,声叫骂 | |
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134
dwellings
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n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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135
dwelling
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n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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136
everlasting
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adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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137
torment
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n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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138
torments
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(肉体或精神上的)折磨,痛苦( torment的名词复数 ); 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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139
anguish
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n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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140
spurned
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v.一脚踢开,拒绝接受( spurn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
delirious
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adj.不省人事的,神智昏迷的 | |
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142
utterance
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n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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143
meditate
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v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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144
injustice
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n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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145
abated
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减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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146
augment
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vt.(使)增大,增加,增长,扩张 | |
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147
woe
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n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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148
inevitable
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adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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149
laden
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adj.装满了的;充满了的;负了重担的;苦恼的 | |
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150
miserable
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adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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151
prospect
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n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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152
condemned
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adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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153
solitude
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n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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154
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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155
profess
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v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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156
conceal
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v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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157
concealing
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v.隐藏,隐瞒,遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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158
recoil
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vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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159
repulsed
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v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 );驳斥;拒绝 | |
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160
penetrated
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adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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161
pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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162
averted
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防止,避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 ); 转移 | |
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163
penitent
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adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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164
confinement
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n.幽禁,拘留,监禁;分娩;限制,局限 | |
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165
doom
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n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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166
misery
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n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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167
mouldering
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v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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168
behold
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v.看,注视,看到 | |
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169
gale
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n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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170
abhorrence
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n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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171
besought
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v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的过去式和过去分词 );(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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172
concealed
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a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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173
simplicity
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n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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174
apprehensions
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疑惧 | |
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175
solicited
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v.恳求( solicit的过去式和过去分词 );(指娼妇)拉客;索求;征求 | |
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176
irresolute
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adj.无决断的,优柔寡断的,踌躇不定的 | |
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177
novice
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adj.新手的,生手的 | |
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178
vice
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n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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179
dispelling
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v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的现在分词 ) | |
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180
disturbance
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n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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181
astonishment
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n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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182
archers
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n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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183
pervades
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v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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184
intercepted
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拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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185
wresting
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动词wrest的现在进行式 | |
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186
darted
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v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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187
majesty
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n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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188
awe
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n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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189
folly
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n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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190
disclaim
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v.放弃权利,拒绝承认 | |
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191
insignificant
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adj.无关紧要的,可忽略的,无意义的 | |
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192
concealment
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n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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193
glide
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n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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194
attentively
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adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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195
mustered
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v.集合,召集,集结(尤指部队)( muster的过去式和过去分词 );(自他人处)搜集某事物;聚集;激发 | |
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196
inhuman
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adj.残忍的,不人道的,无人性的 | |
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197
dagger
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n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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198
dreading
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v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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199
fugitive
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adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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200
almighty
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adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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201
exclamation
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n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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202
frantic
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adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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203
unwilling
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adj.不情愿的 | |
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204
lamented
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adj.被哀悼的,令人遗憾的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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205
blessing
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n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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206
conjured
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用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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207
converse
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vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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208
tolling
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[财]来料加工 | |
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209
celestial
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adj.天体的;天上的 | |
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210
regaining
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复得( regain的现在分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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211
lapse
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n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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212
perseverance
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n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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213
idol
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n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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214
faculties
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n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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215
vindicate
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v.为…辩护或辩解,辩明;证明…正确 | |
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216
delicacy
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n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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217
profusion
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n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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218
amazement
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n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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219
apprehending
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逮捕,拘押( apprehend的现在分词 ); 理解 | |
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220
accusation
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n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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221
mansion
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n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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222
tranquillity
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n. 平静, 安静 | |
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223
ravages
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劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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224
conflagration
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n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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225
disperse
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vi.使分散;使消失;vt.分散;驱散 | |
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226
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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227
investigation
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n.调查,调查研究 | |
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228
perfectly
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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229
resentment
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n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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230
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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231
prudence
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n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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232
beheld
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v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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233
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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234
enchanted
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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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235
invalid
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n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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236
entreated
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恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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237
enquire
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v.打听,询问;调查,查问 | |
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238
thither
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adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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239
bestow
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v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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240
wholesome
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adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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241
amiable
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adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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242
abode
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n.住处,住所 | |
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243
emaciated
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adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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244
recollected
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adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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245
artifice
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n.妙计,高明的手段;狡诈,诡计 | |
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246
compliance
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n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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247
ennui
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n.怠倦,无聊 | |
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248
jealousies
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n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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249
intrigues
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n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 );神秘气氛;引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 );激起…的好奇心 | |
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250
benevolence
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n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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251
virtues
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美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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252
virtue
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n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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253
worthy
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adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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254
seclusion
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n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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255
persuasions
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n.劝说,说服(力)( persuasion的名词复数 );信仰 | |
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256
trumpet
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n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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257
auditor
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n.审计员,旁听着 | |
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258
imbibed
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v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 );喝;吸取;吸气 | |
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259
virtuous
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adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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260
discourse
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n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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261
insinuate
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vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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262
interim
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adj.暂时的,临时的;n.间歇,过渡期间 | |
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263
intrepidity
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n.大胆,刚勇;大胆的行为 | |
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264
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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265
efface
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v.擦掉,抹去 | |
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266
afflicted
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使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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267
distress
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n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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268
enquiring
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a.爱打听的,显得好奇的 | |
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269
exulting
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vi. 欢欣鼓舞,狂喜 | |
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270
sincerity
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n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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271
malady
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n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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272
nourishment
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n.食物,营养品;营养情况 | |
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273
apprehended
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逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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274
attachment
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n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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275
chamber
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n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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276
soothed
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v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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277
propriety
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n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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278
soothing
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adj.慰藉的;使人宽心的;镇静的 | |
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279
prudently
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adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
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280
ripen
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vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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281
regained
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复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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282
narrative
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n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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283
chapel
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n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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284
embittered
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v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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285
embitter
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v.使苦;激怒 | |
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286
exhale
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v.呼气,散出,吐出,蒸发 | |
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287
banished
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v.放逐,驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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288
vengeance
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n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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289
posture
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n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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290
linen
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n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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291
beads
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n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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292
noisome
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adj.有害的,可厌的 | |
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293
suffocating
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a.使人窒息的 | |
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294
consternation
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n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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295
putridity
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n.腐败 | |
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296
preyed
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v.掠食( prey的过去式和过去分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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297
contrived
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adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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298
spacious
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adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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299
considerably
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adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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300
sepulchral
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adj.坟墓的,阴深的 | |
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301
emblems
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n.象征,标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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302
emblem
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n.象征,标志;徽章 | |
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303
skulls
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颅骨( skull的名词复数 ); 脑袋; 脑子; 脑瓜 | |
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304
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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305
ornamented
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adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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306
outlet
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n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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307
rites
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仪式,典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
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308
inflicted
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把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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309
woes
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困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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310
vanquished
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v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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311
exclamations
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n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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312
passionate
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adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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313
tainted
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adj.腐坏的;污染的;沾污的;感染的v.使变质( taint的过去式和过去分词 );使污染;败坏;被污染,腐坏,败坏 | |
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314
conjectures
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推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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315
doomed
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命定的 | |
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316
captivity
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n.囚禁;被俘;束缚 | |
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317
meditations
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默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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318
crevices
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n.(尤指岩石的)裂缝,缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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319
motive
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n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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320
gilded
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a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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321
beckoned
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v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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322
syllable
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n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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323
contrition
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n.悔罪,痛悔 | |
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324
repent
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v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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325
repentance
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n.懊悔 | |
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326
draught
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n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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327
momentary
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adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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328
immortal
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adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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329
expiated
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v.为(所犯罪过)接受惩罚,赎(罪)( expiate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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330
chastisement
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n.惩罚 | |
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331
remorse
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n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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332
zeal
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n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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333
thoroughly
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adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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334
wrath
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n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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335
monstrous
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adj.巨大的;恐怖的;可耻的,丢脸的 | |
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336
dungeons
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n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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337
groans
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|
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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338
shrine
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n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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339
cavern
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n.洞穴,大山洞 | |
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340
caverns
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大山洞,大洞穴( cavern的名词复数 ) | |
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341
despondent
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adj.失望的,沮丧的,泄气的 | |
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342
implored
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|
恳求或乞求(某人)( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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343
hovering
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鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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344
destined
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adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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345
bind
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vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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346
reptiles
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n.爬行动物,爬虫( reptile的名词复数 ) | |
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347
reptile
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n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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348
descried
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|
adj.被注意到的,被发现的,被看到的 | |
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349
exquisite
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adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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350
dooms
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v.注定( doom的第三人称单数 );判定;使…的失败(或灭亡、毁灭、坏结局)成为必然;宣判 | |
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351
haughtily
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adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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352
contagious
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adj.传染性的,有感染力的 | |
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353
exasperated
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adj.恼怒的 | |
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354
begotten
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v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 );产生,引起 | |
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355
perjury
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n.伪证;伪证罪 | |
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356
prodigy
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n.惊人的事物,奇迹,神童,天才,预兆 | |
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357
brat
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n.孩子;顽童 | |
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358
iniquity
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n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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359
foretold
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v.预言,预示( foretell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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360
chasm
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n.深坑,断层,裂口,大分岐,利害冲突 | |
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361
tattered
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adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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362
pitcher
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n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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363
prospects
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n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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364
affluence
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n.充裕,富足 | |
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365
frightful
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adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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366
pangs
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突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 ); 悲痛 | |
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367
inflated
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adj.(价格)飞涨的;(通货)膨胀的;言过其实的;充了气的v.使充气(于轮胎、气球等)( inflate的过去式和过去分词 );(使)膨胀;(使)通货膨胀;物价上涨 | |
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368
vowed
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起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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369
lamenting
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adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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370
contemplating
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深思,细想,仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 ); 注视,凝视; 考虑接受(发生某事的可能性); 深思熟虑,沉思,苦思冥想 | |
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371
retrace
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v.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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372
bribed
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v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 );向(某人)行贿,贿赂 | |
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373
reluctance
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n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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374
reposes
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v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的第三人称单数 ) | |
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375
consecrated
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adj.神圣的,被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣,给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 );奉献 | |
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376
extenuate
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v.减轻,使人原谅 | |
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377
disposition
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n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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378
dispositions
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安排( disposition的名词复数 ); 倾向; (财产、金钱的)处置; 气质 | |
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379
obedience
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n.服从,顺从 | |
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380
inveterate
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adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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381
custody
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n.监护,照看,羁押,拘留 | |
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382
heinous
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adj.可憎的,十恶不赦的 | |
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383
oracle
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n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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384
salvation
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n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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385
mortifying
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adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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386
taunted
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嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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387
frailty
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n.脆弱;意志薄弱 | |
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388
feverish
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adj.发烧的,狂热的,兴奋的 | |
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389
slumbers
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睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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390
obnoxious
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adj.极恼人的,讨人厌的,可憎的 | |
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391
toad
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n.蟾蜍,癞蛤蟆 | |
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392
hideous
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adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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393
pampered
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adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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394
lizard
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n.蜥蜴,壁虎 | |
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395
entangling
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v.使某人(某物/自己)缠绕,纠缠于(某物中),使某人(自己)陷入(困难或复杂的环境中)( entangle的现在分词 ) | |
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396
negligence
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n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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397
dreaded
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adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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398
stiffen
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v.(使)硬,(使)变挺,(使)变僵硬 | |
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399
gnawed
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咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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400
vaulted
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adj.拱状的 | |
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401
guardian
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n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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402
beholding
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v.看,注视( behold的现在分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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403
excellence
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n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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404
benefactors
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n.捐助者,施主( benefactor的名词复数 );恩人 | |
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405
fortitude
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n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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406
bliss
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n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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407
wedded
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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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408
remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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409
justify
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vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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410
recollecting
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v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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411
culpable
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adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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412
esteem
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n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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413
celebrated
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adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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414
publicity
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n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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415
atone
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v.赎罪,补偿 | |
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416
superintendent
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n.监督人,主管,总监;(英国)警务长 | |
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417
persecuting
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(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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418
languished
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长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 ); 受折磨; 变得(越来越)衰弱; 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
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419
shunned
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v.避开,回避,避免( shun的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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420
fidelity
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n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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421
procured
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v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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422
lodged
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v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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423
effaced
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v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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424
allotted
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分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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425
darts
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n.掷飞镖游戏;飞镖( dart的名词复数 );急驰,飞奔v.投掷,投射( dart的第三人称单数 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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426
gales
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龙猫 | |
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427
zephyrs
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n.和风,微风( zephyr的名词复数 ) | |
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