Chapter XXXVI
One afternoon of the autumn of 1876, toward dusk, a young man of pleasing appearance rang at the door of a small apartment on the third floor of an old Roman house. On its being opened he enquired1 for Madame Merle; whereupon the servant, a neat, plain woman, with a French face and a lady’s maid’s manner, ushered2 him into a diminutive3 drawing-room and requested the favour of his name. “Mr. Edward Rosier4,” said the young man, who sat down to wait till his hostess should appear.
The reader will perhaps not have forgotten that Mr. Rosier was an ornament5 of the American circle in Paris, but it may also be remembered that he sometimes vanished from its horizon. He had spent a portion of several winters at Pau, and as he was a gentleman of constituted habits he might have continued for years to pay his annual visit to this charming resort. In the summer of 1876, however, an incident befell him which changed the current not only of his thoughts, but of his customary sequences. He passed a month in the Upper Engadine and encountered at Saint Moritz a charming young girl. To this little person he began to pay, on the spot, particular attention: she struck him as exactly the household angel he had long been looking for. He was never precipitate6, he was nothing if not discreet7, so he forbore for the present to declare his passion; but it seemed to him when they parted — the young lady to go down into Italy and her admirer to proceed to Geneva, where he was under bonds to join other friends — that he should be romantically wretched if he were not to see her again. The simplest way to do so was to go in the autumn to Rome, where Miss Osmond was domiciled with her family. Mr. Rosier started on his pilgrimage to the Italian capital and reached it on the first of November. It was a pleasant thing to do, but for the young man there was a strain of the heroic in the enterprise. He might expose himself, unseasoned, to the poison of the Roman air, which in November lay, notoriously, much in wait. Fortune, however, favours the brave; and this adventurer, who took three grains of quinine a day, had at the end of a month no cause to deplore8 his temerity9. He had made to a certain extent good use of his time; he had devoted10 it in vain to finding a flaw in Pansy Osmond’s composition. She was admirably finished; she had had the last touch; she was really a consummate11 piece. He thought of her in amorous12 meditation13 a good deal as he might have thought of a Dresden-china shepherdess. Miss Osmond, indeed, in the bloom of her juvenility14, had a hint of the rococo15 which Rosier, whose taste was predominantly for that manner, could not fail to appreciate. That he esteemed17 the productions of comparatively frivolous18 periods would have been apparent from the attention he bestowed19 upon Madame Merle’s drawing-room, which, although furnished with specimens20 of every style, was especially rich in articles of the last two centuries. He had immediately put a glass into one eye and looked round; and then “By Jove, she has some jolly good things!” he had yearningly21 murmured. The room was small and densely22 filled with furniture; it gave an impression of faded silk and little statuettes which might totter23 if one moved. Rosier got up and wandered about with his careful tread, bending over the tables charged with knick-knacks and the cushions embossed with princely arms. When Madame Merle came in she found him standing24 before the fireplace with his nose very close to the great lace flounce attached to the damask cover of the mantel. He had lifted it delicately, as if he were smelling it.
“It’s old Venetian,” she said; “it’s rather good.”
“It’s too good for this; you ought to wear it.”
“They tell me you have some better in Paris, in the same situation.”
“Ah, but I can’t wear mine,” smiled the visitor.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t! I’ve better lace than that to wear.”
His eyes wandered, lingeringly, round the room again. “You’ve some very good things.”
“Yes, but I hate them.”
“Do you want to get rid of them?” the young man quickly asked.
“No, it’s good to have something to hate: one works it off!”
“I love my things,” said Mr. Rosier as he sat there flushed with all his recognitions. “But it’s not about them, nor about yours, that I came to talk to you.” He paused a moment and then, with greater softness: “I care more for Miss Osmond than for all the bibelots in Europe!”
Madame Merle opened wide eyes. “Did you come to tell me that?”
“I came to ask your advice.”
She looked at him with a friendly frown, stroking her chin with her large white hand. “A man in love, you know, doesn’t ask advice.”
“Why not, if he’s in a difficult position? That’s often the case with a man in love. I’ve been in love before, and I know. But never so much as this time — really never so much. I should like particularly to know what you think of my prospects26. I’m afraid that for Mr. Osmond I’m not — well, a real collector’s piece.”
“Do you wish me to intercede27?” Madame Merle asked with her fine arms folded and her handsome mouth drawn28 up to the left.
“If you could say a good word for me I should be greatly obliged. There will be no use in my troubling Miss Osmond unless I have good reason to believe her father will consent.”
“You’re very considerate; that’s in your favour. But you assume in rather an off-hand way that I think you a prize.”
“You’ve been very kind to me,” said the young man. “That’s why I came.”
“I’m always kind to people who have good Louis Quatorze. It’s very rare now, and there’s no telling what one may get by it.” With which the left-hand corner of Madame Merle’s mouth gave expression to the joke.
But he looked, in spite of it, literally29 apprehensive30 and consistently strenuous31. “Ah, I thought you liked me for myself!”
“I like you very much; but, if you please, we won’t analyse. Pardon me if I seem patronising, but I think you a perfect little gentleman. I must tell you, however, that I’ve not the marrying of Pansy Osmond.”
“I didn’t suppose that. But you’ve seemed to me intimate with her family, and I thought you might have influence.”
Madame Merle considered. “Whom do you call her family?”
“Why, her father; and — how do you say it in English? — her belle-mere.”
“Mr. Osmond’s her father, certainly; but his wife can scarcely be termed a member of her family. Mrs. Osmond has nothing to do with marrying her.”
“I’m sorry for that,” said Rosier with an amiable32 sigh of good faith. “I think Mrs. Osmond would favour me.”
“Very likely — if her husband doesn’t.”
“In everything. They think quite differently.”
“Well,” said Rosier, “I’m sorry for that; but it’s none of my business. She’s very fond of Pansy.”
“Yes, she’s very fond of Pansy.”
“And Pansy has a great affection for her. She has told me how she loves her as if she were her own mother.”
“You must, after all, have had some very intimate talk with the poor child,” said Madame Merle. “Have you declared your sentiments?”
“Never!” cried Rosier, lifting his neatly-gloved hand. “Never till I’ve assured myself of those of the parents.”
“You always wait for that? You’ve excellent principles; you observe the proprieties34.”
“I think you’re laughing at me,” the young man murmured, dropping back in his chair and feeling his small moustache. “I didn’t expect that of you, Madame Merle.”
She shook her head calmly, like a person who saw things as she saw them. “You don’t do me justice. I think your conduct in excellent taste and the best you could adopt. Yes, that’s what I think.”
“I’m glad, after all, that you’ve told me,” Madame Merle went on. “Leave it to me a little; I think I can help you.”
“You were very clever,” Madame Merle returned more dryly. “When I say I can help you I mean once assuming your cause to be good. Let us think a little if it is.”
“I’m awfully37 decent, you know,” said Rosier earnestly. “I won’t say I’ve no faults, but I’ll say I’ve no vices38.”
“All that’s negative, and it always depends, also, on what people call vices. What’s the positive side? What’s the virtuous39? What have you got besides your Spanish lace and your Dresden teacups?”
“I’ve a comfortable little fortune — about forty thousand francs a year. With the talent I have for arranging, we can live beautifully on such an income.”
“Beautifully, no. Sufficiently40, yes. Even that depends on where you live.”
“Well, in Paris. I would undertake it in Paris.”
Madame Merle’s mouth rose to the left. “It wouldn’t be famous; you’d have to make use of the teacups, and they’d get broken.”
“We don’t want to be famous. If Miss Osmond should have everything pretty it would be enough. When one’s as pretty as she one can afford — well, quite cheap faience. She ought never to wear anything but muslin — without the sprig,” said Rosier reflectively.
“Wouldn’t you even allow her the sprig? She’d be much obliged to you at any rate for that theory.”
“It’s the correct one, I assure you; and I’m sure she’d enter into it. She understands all that; that’s why I love her.”
“She’s a very good little girl, and most tidy — also extremely graceful41. But her father, to the best of my belief, can give her nothing.”
Rosier scarce demurred42. “I don’t in the least desire that he should. But I may remark, all the same, that he lives like a rich man.”
“The money’s his wife’s; she brought him a large fortune.”
“Mrs. Osmond then is very fond of her stepdaughter; she may do something.”
“For a love-sick swain you have your eyes about you!” Madame Merle exclaimed with a laugh.
“Mrs. Osmond,” Madame Merle went on, “will probably prefer to keep her money for her own children.”
“Her own children? Surely she has none.”
“She may have yet. She had a poor little boy, who died two years ago, six months after his birth. Others therefore may come.”
“I hope they will, if it will make her happy. She’s a splendid woman.”
Madame Merle failed to burst into speech. “Ah, about her there’s much to be said. Splendid as you like! We’ve not exactly made out that you’re a parti. The absence of vices is hardly a source of income.
“I think you underrate me.”
“You’re not so innocent as that? Seriously,” said Madame Merle, “of course forty thousand francs a year and a nice character are a combination to be considered. I don’t say it’s to be jumped at, but there might be a worse offer. Mr. Osmond, however, will probably incline to believe he can do better.”
“HE can do so perhaps; but what can his daughter do? She can’t do better than marry the man she loves. For she does, you know,” Rosier added eagerly.
“She does — I know it.”
“Ah,” cried the young man, “I said you were the person to come to.”
“But I don’t know how you know it, if you haven’t asked her,” Madame Merle went on.
“In such a case there’s no need of asking and telling; as you say, we’re an innocent couple. How did YOU know it?”
Rosier got up and stood smoothing his hat. “You say that rather coldly. Don’t simply find out how it is, but try to make it as it should be.”
“I’ll do my best. I’ll try to make the most of your advantages.”
“Thank you so very much. Meanwhile then I’ll say a word to Mrs. Osmond.”
“Gardez-vous-en bien!” And Madame Merle was on her feet. “Don’t set her going, or you’ll spoil everything.”
Rosier gazed into his hat; he wondered whether his hostess HAD been after all the right person to come to. “I don’t think I understand you. I’m an old friend of Mrs. Osmond, and I think she would like me to succeed.”
“Be an old friend as much as you like; the more old friends she has the better, for she doesn’t get on very well with some of her new. But don’t for the present try to make her take up the cudgels for you. Her husband may have other views, and, as a person who wishes her well, I advise you not to multiply points of difference between them.”
Poor Rosier’s face assumed an expression of alarm; a suit for the hand of Pansy Osmond was even a more complicated business than his taste for proper transitions had allowed. But the extreme good sense which he concealed47 under a surface suggesting that of a careful owner’s “best set” came to his assistance. “I don’t see that I’m bound to consider Mr. Osmond so very much!” he exclaimed. “No, but you should consider HER. You say you’re an old friend. Would you make her suffer?”
“Not for the world.”
“Then be very careful, and let the matter alone till I’ve taken a few soundings.”
“Let the matter alone, dear Madame Merle? Remember that I’m in love.”
“You’re very kind; I’ll be very good,” the young man promised. “But I’m afraid Mr. Osmond’s pretty hard,” he added in his mild voice as he went to the door.
Madame Merle gave a short laugh. “It has been said before. But his wife isn’t easy either.”
“Ah, she’s a splendid woman!” Ned Rosier repeated, for departure. He resolved that his conduct should be worthy49 of an aspirant50 who was already a model of discretion51; but he saw nothing in any pledge he had given Madame Merle that made it improper52 he should keep himself in spirits by an occasional visit to Miss Osmond’s home. He reflected constantly on what his adviser53 had said to him, and turned over in his mind the impression of her rather circumspect54 tone. He had gone to her de confiance, as they put it in Paris; but it was possible he had been precipitate. He found difficulty in thinking of himself as rash — he had incurred55 this reproach so rarely; but it certainly was true that he had known Madame Merle only for the last month, and that his thinking her a delightful56 woman was not, when one came to look into it, a reason for assuming that she would be eager to push Pansy Osmond into his arms, gracefully57 arranged as these members might be to receive her. She had indeed shown him benevolence58, and she was a person of consideration among the girl’s people, where she had a rather striking appearance (Rosier had more than once wondered how she managed it) of being intimate without being familiar. But possibly he had exaggerated these advantages. There was no particular reason why she should take trouble for him; a charming woman was charming to every one, and Rosier felt rather a fool when he thought of his having appealed to her on the ground that she had distinguished59 him. Very likely — though she had appeared to say it in joke — she was really only thinking of his bibelots. Had it come into her head that he might offer her two or three of the gems60 of his collection? If she would only help him to marry Miss Osmond he would present her with his whole museum. He could hardly say so to her outright61; it would seem too gross a bribe62. But he should like her to believe it.
It was with these thoughts that he went again to Mrs. Osmond’s, Mrs. Osmond having an “evening”— she had taken the Thursday of each week — when his presence could be accounted for on general principles of civility. The object of Mr. Rosier’s well-regulated affection dwelt in a high house in the very heart of Rome; a dark and massive structure overlooking a sunny piazzetta in the neighbourhood of the Farnese Palace. In a palace, too, little Pansy lived — a palace by Roman measure, but a dungeon63 to poor Rosier’s apprehensive mind. It seemed to him of evil omen25 that the young lady he wished to marry, and whose fastidious father he doubted of his ability to conciliate, should be immured64 in a kind of domestic fortress65, a pile which bore a stern old Roman name, which smelt66 of historic deeds, of crime and craft and violence, which was mentioned in “Murray” and visited by tourists who looked, on a vague survey, disappointed and depressed67, and which had frescoes68 by Caravaggio in the piano nobile and a row of mutilated statues and dusty urns69 in the wide, nobly-arched loggia overhanging the damp court where a fountain gushed70 out of a mossy niche71. In a less preoccupied72 frame of mind he could have done justice to the Palazzo Roccanera; he could have entered into the sentiment of Mrs. Osmond, who had once told him that on settling themselves in Rome she and her husband had chosen this habitation for the love of local colour. It had local colour enough, and though he knew less about architecture than about Limoges enamels73 he could see that the proportions of the windows and even the details of the cornice had quite the grand air. But Rosier was haunted by the conviction that at picturesque74 periods young girls had been shut up there to keep them from their true loves, and hen, under the threat of being thrown into convents, had been forced into unholy marriages. There was one point, however, to which he always did justice when once he found himself in Mrs. Osmond’s warm, rich-looking reception-rooms, which were on the second floor. He acknowledged that these people were very strong in “good things.” It was a taste of Osmond’s own — not at all of hers; this she had told him the first time he came to the house, when, after asking himself for a quarter of an hour whether they had even better “French” than he in Paris, he was obliged on the spot to admit that they had, very much, and vanquished75 his envy, as a gentleman should, to the point of expressing to his hostess his pure admiration76 of her treasures. He learned from Mrs. Osmond that her husband had made a large collection before their marriage and that, though he had annexed77 a number of fine pieces within the last three years, he had achieved his greatest finds at a time when he had not the advantage of her advice. Rosier interpreted this information according to principles of his own. For “advice” read “cash,” he said to himself; and the fact that Gilbert Osmond had landed his highest prizes during his impecunious78 season confirmed his most cherished doctrine79 — the doctrine that a collector may freely be poor if he be only patient. In general, when Rosier presented himself on a Thursday evening, his first recognition was for the walls of the saloon; there were three or four objects his eyes really yearned80 for. But after his talk with Madame Merle he felt the extreme seriousness of his position; and now, when he came in, he looked about for the daughter of the house with such eagerness as might be permitted a gentleman whose smile, as he crossed a threshold, always took everything comfortable for granted.
点击收听单词发音
1 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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2 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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4 rosier | |
Rosieresite | |
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5 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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6 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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7 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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8 deplore | |
vt.哀叹,对...深感遗憾 | |
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9 temerity | |
n.鲁莽,冒失 | |
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10 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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11 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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12 amorous | |
adj.多情的;有关爱情的 | |
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13 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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14 juvenility | |
n.年轻,不成熟 | |
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15 rococo | |
n.洛可可;adj.过分修饰的 | |
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16 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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17 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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18 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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19 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 specimens | |
n.样品( specimen的名词复数 );范例;(化验的)抽样;某种类型的人 | |
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21 yearningly | |
怀念地,思慕地,同情地; 渴 | |
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22 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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23 totter | |
v.蹒跚, 摇摇欲坠;n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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24 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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25 omen | |
n.征兆,预兆;vt.预示 | |
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26 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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27 intercede | |
vi.仲裁,说情 | |
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28 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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29 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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30 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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31 strenuous | |
adj.奋发的,使劲的;紧张的;热烈的,狂热的 | |
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32 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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33 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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34 proprieties | |
n.礼仪,礼节;礼貌( propriety的名词复数 );规矩;正当;合适 | |
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35 agitate | |
vi.(for,against)煽动,鼓动;vt.搅动 | |
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36 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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37 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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38 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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39 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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40 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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41 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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42 demurred | |
v.表示异议,反对( demur的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43 lucidly | |
adv.清透地,透明地 | |
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44 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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45 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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46 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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47 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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48 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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49 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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50 aspirant | |
n.热望者;adj.渴望的 | |
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51 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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52 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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53 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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54 circumspect | |
adj.慎重的,谨慎的 | |
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55 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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56 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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57 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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58 benevolence | |
n.慈悲,捐助 | |
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59 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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60 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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61 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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62 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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63 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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64 immured | |
v.禁闭,监禁( immure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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66 smelt | |
v.熔解,熔炼;n.银白鱼,胡瓜鱼 | |
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67 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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68 frescoes | |
n.壁画( fresco的名词复数 );温壁画技法,湿壁画 | |
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69 urns | |
n.壶( urn的名词复数 );瓮;缸;骨灰瓮 | |
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70 gushed | |
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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71 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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72 preoccupied | |
adj.全神贯注的,入神的;被抢先占有的;心事重重的v.占据(某人)思想,使对…全神贯注,使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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73 enamels | |
搪瓷( enamel的名词复数 ); 珐琅; 釉药; 瓷漆 | |
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74 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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75 vanquished | |
v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 );战胜;克服;抑制 | |
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76 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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77 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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78 impecunious | |
adj.不名一文的,贫穷的 | |
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79 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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80 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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