Seward.
We now return to the Marquis de Montalt, who having seen La Motte safely lodged2 in the prison of D— y, and learning the trial would not come on immediately, had returned to his villa4 on the borders of the forest, where he expected to hear news of Adeline. It had been his intention to follow his servants to Lyons; but he now determined5 to wait a few days for letters, and he had little doubt that Adeline, since her flight had been so quickly purfued, would be overtaken, and probably before she could reach that city. In this expectation he had been miserably6 disappointed; for his servants informed him, that though they traced her thither7, they had neither been able to follow her route beyond, nor to discover her at Lyons. This escape she probably owed to having embarked8 on the Rhone, for it does not appear that the Marquis’s people thought of seeking her on the course of that river.
His presence was soon after required at Vaceau, where the court martial9 was then sitting; thither, therefore, he went, with passions still more exasperated10 by his late disappointment, and procured11 the condemnation12 of Theodore. The sentence was universally lamented13, for Theodore was much beloved in his regiment14; and the occasion of the Marquis’s personal resentment15 towards him being known, every heart was interested in his cause.
Louis de la Motte happening at this time to be stationed in the same town, heard an imperfect account of his story, and being convinced that the prisoner was the young chevalier whom he had formerly16 seen with the Marquis at the Abbey, he was induced partly from compassion17, and partly with a hope of hearing of his parents, to visit him. The compassionate18 sympathy which Louis expressed, and the zeal19 with which he tendered his services, affected20 Theodore, and excited in him a warm return of friendship. Louis made him frequent visits, did every thing that kindness could suggest to alleviate21 his sufferings, and a mutual22 esteem23 and confidence ensued.
Theodore at length communicated the chief subject of his concern to Louis, who discovered, with inexpressible grief, that it was Adeline whom the Marquis had thus cruelly persecuted24, and Adeline for whose sake the generous Theodore was about to suffer. He soon perceived also that Theodore was his favoured rival; but he generously suppressed the jealous pang25 this discovery occasioned, and determined that no prejudice of passion should withdraw him from the duties of humanity and friendship. He eagerly inquired where Adeline then resided. “She is yet, I fear, in the power of the Marquis,” said Theodore, sighing deeply. “O God! — these chains!” — and he threw an agonizing26 glance upon them. Louis sat silent and thoughtful; at length starting from his reverie, he said he would go to the Marquis, and immediately quitted the prison. The Marquis was, however, already set off for Paris, where he had been summoned to appear at the approaching trial of La Motte; and Louis, yet ignorant of the late transactions at the Abbey, returned to the prison, where he endeavoured to forget that Theodore was the favoured rival of his love, and to remember him only as the defender27 of Adeline. So earnestly he pressed his offers of service, that Theodore, whom the silence of his father equally surprized and afflicted28, and who was very anxious to see him once again, accepted his proposal of going himself to Savoy. “My letters I strongly suspect to have been intercepted29 by the Marquis,” said Theodore; “if so, my poor father will have the whole weight of this calamity30 to sustain at once, unless I avail myself of your kindness, and I shall neither see him nor hear from him before I die. Louis! there are moments when my fortitude31 shrinks from the conflict, and my senses threaten to desert me.”
No time was to be lost; the warrant for his execution had already received the king’s signature, and Louis immediately set forward for Savoy. The letters of Theodore had indeed been intercepted by order of the Marquis, who, in the hope of discovering the asylum32 of Adeline, had opened and afterwards deroyed them.
But to return to La Luc, who now drew near Vaceau, and who his family observed to be greatly changed in his looks since he had heard the late calamitous33 intelligence; he uttered no complaint; but it was too obvious that his disorder34 had made a rapid progress. Louis, who, during the journey, proved the goodness of his disposition35 by the delicate attentions he paid this unhappy party, concealed37 his observation of the decline of La Luc, and, to support Adeline’s spirits, endeavoured to convince her that her apprehensions38 on this subject were groundless. Her spirits did indeed require support, for she was now within a few miles of the town that contained Theodore; and while her increasing perturbation almost overcome her, she yet tried to appear composed. When the carriage entered the town, she cast a timid and anxious glance from the window in search of the prison; but having passed through several streets without perceiving any building which corresponded with her idea of that she looked for, the coach stopped at the inn. The frequent changes in La Luc’s countenance39 betrayed the violent agitation40 of his mind, and when he attempted to alight, feeble and exhausted41, he was compelled to accept the support of Louis, to whom he faintly said, as he passed to the parlour, “I am indeed sick at heart, but I trust the pain will not be long.” Louis pressed his hand without speaking, and hastened back for Adeline and Clara, who were already in the passage. La Luc wiped the tears from his eyes, (they were the first he had shed) as they entered the room. “I would go immediately to my poor boy,” said he to Louis; “yours, Sir, is a mournful office — be so good as to conduct me to him.” He rose to go, but, feeble and overcome with grief, again sat down. Adeline and Clara united in entreating42 that he would compose himself, and take some refreshment43, and Louis urging the necessity of preparing Theodore for the interview, prevailed with him to delay it till his son should be informed of his arrival, and immediately quitted the inn for the prison of his friend. When he was gone, La Luc, as a duty he owed those he loved, tried to take some support, but the convulsions of his throat would not suffer him to swallow the wine he held to his parched44 lips, and he was now so much disordered, that he desired to retire to his chamber45, where alone, and in prayer, he passed the dreadful interval46 of Louis’s absence.
Clara on the bosom47 of Adeline, who set in calm but deep distress48, yielded to the violence of her grief. “I shall lose my dear father too,” said she; “I see it; I shall lose my father and my brother together.” Adeline wept with her friend for some time in silence; and then attempted to persuade her that La Luc was not so ill as she apprehended49.
“Do not mislead me with hope,” “she replied, he will not survive the shock of this calamity — I saw it from the first.” Adeline knowing that La Luc’s distress would be heightened by the observance of his daughter’s, and that indulgence would only encrease its poignancy50, endeavoured to rouse her to an exertion51 of fortitude by urging the necessity of commanding her emotion in the presence of her father. “This is possible,” added she, “however painful may be the effort. You must know, my dear, that my grief is not inferior to your own, yet I have hitherto been enabled to support my sufferings in silence, for M. La Luc I do, indeed, love and reverence52 as a parent.”
Louis meanwhile reached the prison of Theodore, who received him with an air of mingled53 surprize and impatience54. “What brings you back so soon,” said he, “have you heard news of my father?” Louis now gradually unfolded the circumstances of their meeting, and La Luc’s arrival at Vaceau. A various emotion agitated55 the countenance of Theodore on receiving this intelligence. “My poor father!” said he, “he has then followed his son to this ignominious56 place! Little did I think when last we parted he would meet me in a prison, under condemnation!” This reflection roused an impetuosity of grief which deprived him for some time of speech. “But where is he?” said Theodore, recovering himself; “now he is come, I shrink from the interview I have so much wished for. The sight of his distress will be dreadful to me. Louis! when I am gone — comfort my poor father.” His voice was again interrupted by sobs57; and Louis, who had been fearful of acquainting him at the same time of the arrival of La Luc, and the discovery of Adeline, now judged it proper to administer the cordial of this latter intelligence.
The glooms of a prison, and of calamity, vanished for a transient moment; those who had seen Theodore would have believed this to be the instant which gave him life and liberty. When his first emotions subsided58, “I will not repine,” said he; “since I know that Adeline is preserved, and that I shall once more see my father, I will endeavour to die with resignation.” He enquired60 if La Luc was there in the prison; and was told he was at the inn with Clara and Adeline. “Adeline! Is Adeline there too! — This is beyond my hopes. Yet why do I rejoice? I must never see her more: this is no place for Adeline.” Again he relapsed into an agony of distress — and again repeated a thousand questions concerning Adeline, till he was reminded by Louis that his father was impatient to see him — when, shocked that he had so long detained his friend, he entreated61 him to conduct La Luc to the prison, and endeavoured to recollect62 fortitude for the approaching interview.
When Louis returned to the inn La Luc was still in his chamber, and Clara quitting the room to call him, Adeline seized with trembling impatience the opportunity to enquire59 more particularly concerning Theodore, than the chose to do in the presence of his unhappy sister. Lewis represented him to be much more tranquil63 than he really was: Adeline was somewhat soothed64 by the account; and her tears, hitherto restrained, flowed silently and fast, till La Luc appeared. His countenance had recovered its serenity65, but was impressed with a deep and steady sorrow, which excited in the beholder66 a mingled emotion of pity and reverence. “How is my son? sir,” said he as he entered the room. “We will go to him immediately.”
Clara renewed the entreaties67 that had been already rejected, to accompany her father, who persisted in a refusal. “To-morrow you shall see him, added he;” “but our first meeting must be alone. Stay with your friend, my dear; she has need of consolation68.” When La Luc was gone, Adeline, unable longer to struggle against the force of grief, retired69 to her chamber and her bed.
La Luc walked silently towards the prison, resting on the arm of Lewis. It was now night: a dim lamp that hung above shewed them the gates, and Louis rung a bell; La Luc, almost overcome with agitation, leaned against the postern till the porter appeared. He enquired for Theodore, and followed the man; but when he reached the second court yard he seemed ready to faint, and again stopped. Louis desired the porter would fetch some water; but La Luc, recovering his voice, said he should soon be better, and would not suffer him to go. In a few minutes he was able to follow Louis, who led him through several dark passages, and up a flight of steps to a door, which being unbarred, disclosed to him the prison of his son. He was seated at a small table, on which stood a lamp that threw a feeble light across the place sufficient only to shew its desolation and wretchedness. When he perceived La Luc he sprung from his chair, and in the next moment was in his arms. “My father!” said he in a tremulous voice. “My son!” exclaimed La Luc; and they were for some time silent, and locked in each other’s embrace. At length Theodore led him to the only chair the room afforded, and seating himself with Louis at the foot of the bed, had leisure to observe the ravages70 which illness and calamity had made on the features of his parent. La Luc made several efforts to speak, but unable to articulate, laid his hand upon his breast and sighed deeply. Fearful of the consequence of so affecting a scene on his shattered frame, Lewis endeavoured to call off his attention from the immediate3 object of his distress, and interrupted the silence; but La Luc shuddering71, and complaining he was very cold, sunk back in his chair. His condition roused Theodore from the stupor72 of despair; and while he flew to support his father, Louis ran out for other assistance. — “I shall soon be better, Theodore,” said La Luc, unclosing his eye, “the faintness is already going off. I have not been well of late; and this sad meeting!” Unable any longer to command himself, Theodore wrung73 his hand, and the distress which had long struggled for utterance74 burst in convulsive sobs from his breast. La Luc gradually revived, and exerted himself to calm the transports of his son; but the fortitude of the latter had now entirely75 forsaken76 him, and he could only utter exclamation77 and complaint. “Ah! little did I think we should ever meet under circumstances so dreadful as the present! But I have not deserved them, my father! the motives78 of my conduct have still been just.”
“That is my supreme79 consolation,” said La Luc, “and ought to support you in this hour of trial. The Almighty80 God, who is the judge of hearts, will reward you hereafter. Trust in him, my son; I look to him with no feeble hope, but with a firm reliance on his justice!” La Luc’s voice faultered; he raised his eyes to heaven with an expression of meek81 devotion, while the tears of humanity fell slowly on his cheek.
Still more affected by his last words, Theodore turned from him, and paced the room with quick steps: the entrance of Louis was a very seasonable relief to La Luc, who, taking a cordial he had brought, was soon sufficiently82 restored to discourse83 on the subject most interesting to him. Theodore tried to attain84 a command of his feelings, and succeeded. He conversed85 with tolerable composure for above an hour, during which La Luc endeavoured to elevate, by religious hope, the mind of his son, and to enable him to meet with fortitude the aweful hour that approached. But the appearance of resignation which Theodore attained86 always vanished when he reflected that he was going to leave his father a prey87 to grief, and his beloved Adeline for ever. When La Luc was about to depart he again mentioned her. “Afflicting as an interview must be in our present circumstances,” said he, I cannot bear the thought of quitting the world without seeing her once again; yet I know not how to ask her to encounter, for my sake, the misery88 of a parting scene. Tell her that my thoughts never, for a moment, leave her; that” — La Luc interrupted, and assured him, that since he so much wished it, he should see her, though a meeting could serve only to heighten the mutual anguish89 of a final separation.
“I know it — I know it too well,” said Theodore; “yet I cannot resolve to see her no more, and thus spare her the pain this interview must inflict90. O my father! when I think of those whom I must soon leave for ever, my heart breaks. But I will indeed try to profit by your precept91 and example, and shew that your paternal92 care has not been in vain. My good Louis, go with my father — he has need of support. How much I owe this generous friend,” added Theodore, “you well know, Sir.” — “I do, in truth,” replied La Luc, “and can never repay his kindness to you. He has contributed to support us all; but you require comfort more than myself — he shall remain with you — I will go alone.”
This Theodore would not suffer; and La Luc no longer opposing him, they affectionately embraced, and separated for the night.
When they reached the inn La Luc consulted with Louis on the possibility of addressing a petition to the sovereign time enough to save Theodore. His distance from Paris, and the short interval before the period fixed93 for the execution of the sentence, made this design difficult; but believing it was practicable, La Luc, incapable94 as he appeared of performing so long a journey, determined to attempt it. Louis, thinking that the undertaking95 would prove fatal to the father, without benefiting the son, endeavoured, though faintly, to dissuade96 him from it — but his resolution was fixed. — “If I sacrifice the small remains97 of my life in the service of my child,” said he, “I shall lose little: if I save him, I shall gain every thing. There is no time to be lost — I will set off immediately.”
He would have ordered post horses, but Louis, and Clara, who was now come from the bed-side of her friend, urged the necessity of his taking a few hours repose98: he was at length compelled to acknowledge himself unequal to the immediate exertion which parental99 anxiety prompted, and consented to seek rest.
When he had retired to his chamber, Clara lamented the condition of her father. — “He will not bear the journey,” said she; “he is greatly changed within these few days.” — Louis was so entirely of her opinion, that he could not disguise it, even to flatter her with a hope. She added, what did not contribute to raise his spirits, that Adeline was so much indisposed by her grief for the situation of Theodore, and the sufferings of La Luc, that she dreaded100 the consequence.
It has been seen that the passion of young La Motte had suffered no abatement102 from time or absence; on the contrary, the persecution103 and the dangers which had pursued Adeline awakened104 all his tenderness, and drew her nearer to his heart. When he had discovered that Theodore loved her, and was beloved again, he experienced all the anguish of jealousy105 and disappointment; for though she had forbade him to hope, he found it too painful an effort to obey her, and had secretly cherished the flame which he ought to have stisled. His heart was, however, too noble to suffer his zeal for Theodore to abate101 because he was his favoured rival, and his mind too strong not to conceal36 the anguish this certainty occasioned. The attachment106 which Theodore had testified towards Adeline even endeared him to Louis, when he had recovered from the first shock of disappointment, and that conquest over jealousy which originated in principle, and was pursued with difficulty, became afterwards his pride and his glory. When, however, he again saw Adeline — saw her in the mild dignity of sorrow more interesting than ever — saw her, though sinking beneath its pressure, yet tender and solicitous107 to soften108 the afflictions of those around her — it was with the utmost difficulty he preserved his resolution, and forbore to express the sentiments she inspired. When he farther considered that her acute sufferings arose from the strength of her affection, he more than ever wished himself the object of a heart capable of so tender a regard, and Theodore in prison and in chains was a momentary109 object of envy.
In the morning, when La Luc arose from short and disturbed slumbers110, he found Louis, Clara, and Adeline, whom indisposition could not prevent from paying him this testimony111 of respect and affection, assembled in the parlour of the inn to see him depart. After a slight breakfast, during which his feelings permitted him to say little, he bade his friends a sad farewell, and stepped into the carriage, followed by their tears and prayers. — Adeline immediately retired to her chamber which she was too ill to quit that day. In the evening Clara left her friend, and, conducted by Louis, went to visit her brother, whose emotions, on hearing of his father’s departure, were various and strong.
点击收听单词发音
1 dart | |
v.猛冲,投掷;n.飞镖,猛冲 | |
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2 lodged | |
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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3 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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4 villa | |
n.别墅,城郊小屋 | |
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5 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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6 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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7 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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8 embarked | |
乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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9 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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10 exasperated | |
adj.恼怒的 | |
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11 procured | |
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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12 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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13 lamented | |
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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14 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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15 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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16 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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17 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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18 compassionate | |
adj.有同情心的,表示同情的 | |
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19 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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20 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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21 alleviate | |
v.减轻,缓和,缓解(痛苦等) | |
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22 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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23 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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24 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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25 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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26 agonizing | |
adj.痛苦难忍的;使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦;折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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27 defender | |
n.保卫者,拥护者,辩护人 | |
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28 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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30 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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31 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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32 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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33 calamitous | |
adj.灾难的,悲惨的;多灾多难;惨重 | |
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34 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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35 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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36 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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37 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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38 apprehensions | |
疑惧 | |
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39 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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40 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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41 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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42 entreating | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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43 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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44 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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45 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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46 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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47 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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48 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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49 apprehended | |
逮捕,拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 ); 理解 | |
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50 poignancy | |
n.辛酸事,尖锐 | |
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51 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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52 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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53 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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54 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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55 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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56 ignominious | |
adj.可鄙的,不光彩的,耻辱的 | |
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57 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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58 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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59 enquire | |
v.打听,询问;调查,查问 | |
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60 enquired | |
打听( enquire的过去式和过去分词 ); 询问; 问问题; 查问 | |
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61 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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63 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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64 soothed | |
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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65 serenity | |
n.宁静,沉着,晴朗 | |
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66 beholder | |
n.观看者,旁观者 | |
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67 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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68 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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69 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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70 ravages | |
劫掠后的残迹,破坏的结果,毁坏后的残迹 | |
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71 shuddering | |
v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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72 stupor | |
v.昏迷;不省人事 | |
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73 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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74 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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75 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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76 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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77 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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78 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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79 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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80 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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81 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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82 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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83 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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84 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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85 conversed | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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86 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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87 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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88 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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89 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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90 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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91 precept | |
n.戒律;格言 | |
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92 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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93 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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94 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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95 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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96 dissuade | |
v.劝阻,阻止 | |
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97 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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98 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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99 parental | |
adj.父母的;父的;母的 | |
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100 dreaded | |
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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101 abate | |
vi.(风势,疼痛等)减弱,减轻,减退 | |
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102 abatement | |
n.减(免)税,打折扣,冲销 | |
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103 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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104 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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105 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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106 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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107 solicitous | |
adj.热切的,挂念的 | |
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108 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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109 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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110 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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111 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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