The retreat into which I have withdrawn4 myself, is Bond-street. From this lonely spot I make pilgrimages into the surrounding wilderness5, and traverse extensive tracts6 of the Great Desert. The first solemn feeling of isolation7 overcome, the first oppressive consciousness of profound retirement8 conquered, I enjoy that sense of freedom, and feel reviving within me that latent wildness of the original savage9, which has been (upon the whole somewhat frequently) noticed by Travellers.
My lodgings10 are at a hatter’s — my own hatter’s. After exhibiting no articles in his window for some weeks, but sea-side wide-awakes, shooting-caps, and a choice of rough waterproof11 head-gear for the moors12 and mountains, he has put upon the heads of his family as much of this stock as they could carry, and has taken them off to the Isle13 of Thanet. His young man alone remains14 — and remains alone in the shop. The young man has let out the fire at which the irons are heated, and, saving his strong sense of duty, I see no reason why he should take the shutters15 down.
Happily for himself and for his country the young man is a Volunteer; most happily for himself, or I think he would become the prey16 of a settled melancholy17. For, to live surrounded by human hats, and alienated18 from human heads to fit them on, is surely a great endurance. But, the young man, sustained by practising his exercise, and by constantly furbishing up his regulation plume19 (it is unnecessary to observe that, as a hatter, he is in a cock’s-feather corps), is resigned, and uncomplaining. On a Saturday, when he closes early and gets his Knickerbockers on, he is even cheerful. I am gratefully particular in this reference to him, because he is my companion through many peaceful hours.
My hatter has a desk up certain steps behind his counter, enclosed like the clerk’s desk at Church. I shut myself into this place of seclusion21, after breakfast, and meditate22. At such times, I observe the young man loading an imaginary rifle with the greatest precision, and maintaining a most galling23 and destructive fire upon the national enemy. I thank him publicly for his companionship and his patriotism24.
The simple character of my life, and the calm nature of the scenes by which I am surrounded, occasion me to rise early. I go forth25 in my slippers26, and promenade27 the pavement. It is pastoral to feel the freshness of the air in the uninhabited town, and to appreciate the shepherdess character of the few milkwomen who purvey28 so little milk that it would be worth nobody’s while to adulterate it, if anybody were left to undertake the task. On the crowded sea-shore, the great demand for milk, combined with the strong local temptation of chalk, would betray itself in the lowered quality of the article. In Arcadian London I derive29 it from the cow.
The Arcadian simplicity30 of the metropolis31 altogether, and the primitive32 ways into which it has fallen in this autumnal Golden Age, make it entirely33 new to me. Within a few hundred yards of my retreat, is the house of a friend who maintains a most sumptuous34 butler. I never, until yesterday, saw that butler out of superfine black broadcloth. Until yesterday, I never saw him off duty, never saw him (he is the best of butlers) with the appearance of having any mind for anything but the glory of his master and his master’s friends. Yesterday morning, walking in my slippers near the house of which he is the prop35 and ornament36 — a house now a waste of shutters — I encountered that butler, also in his slippers, and in a shooting suit of one colour, and in a low-crowned straw-hat, smoking an early cigar. He felt that we had formerly37 met in another state of existence, and that we were translated into a new sphere. Wisely and well, he passed me without recognition. Under his arm he carried the morning paper, and shortly afterwards I saw him sitting on a rail in the pleasant open landscape of Regent-street, perusing38 it at his ease under the ripening39 sun.
My landlord having taken his whole establishment to be salted down, I am waited on by an elderly woman labouring under a chronic40 sniff41, who, at the shadowy hour of half-past nine o’clock of every evening, gives admittance at the street door to a meagre and mouldy old man whom I have never yet seen detached from a flat pint42 of beer in a pewter pot. The meagre and mouldy old man is her husband, and the pair have a dejected consciousness that they are not justified43 in appearing on the surface of the earth. They come out of some hole when London empties itself, and go in again when it fills. I saw them arrive on the evening when I myself took possession, and they arrived with the flat pint of beer, and their bed in a bundle. The old man is a weak old man, and appeared to me to get the bed down the kitchen stairs by tumbling down with and upon it. They make their bed in the lowest and remotest corner of the basement, and they smell of bed, and have no possession but bed: unless it be (which I rather infer from an under-current of flavour in them) cheese. I know their name, through the chance of having called the wife’s attention, at half-past nine on the second evening of our acquaintance, to the circumstance of there being some one at the house door; when she apologetically explained, ‘It’s only Mr. Klem.’ What becomes of Mr. Klem all day, or when he goes out, or why, is a mystery I cannot penetrate44; but at half-past nine he never fails to turn up on the door-step with the flat pint of beer. And the pint of beer, flat as it is, is so much more important than himself, that it always seems to my fancy as if it had found him drivelling in the street and had humanely45 brought him home. In making his way below, Mr. Klem never goes down the middle of the passage, like another Christian46, but shuffles47 against the wall as if entreating48 me to take notice that he is occupying as little space as possible in the house; and whenever I come upon him face to face, he backs from me in fascinated confusion. The most extraordinary circumstance I have traced in connexion with this aged49 couple, is, that there is a Miss Klem, their daughter, apparently50 ten years older than either of them, who has also a bed and smells of it, and carries it about the earth at dusk and hides it in deserted51 houses. I came into this piece of knowledge through Mrs. Klem’s beseeching52 me to sanction the sheltering of Miss Klem under that roof for a single night, ‘between her takin’ care of the upper part in Pall53 Mall which the family of his back, and a ’ouse in Serjameses-street, which the family of leaves towng ter-morrer.’ I gave my gracious consent (having nothing that I know of to do with it), and in the shadowy hours Miss Klem became perceptible on the door-step, wrestling with a bed in a bundle. Where she made it up for the night I cannot positively54 state, but, I think, in a sink. I know that with the instinct of a reptile55 or an insect, she stowed it and herself away in deep obscurity. In the Klem family, I have noticed another remarkable56 gift of nature, and that is a power they possess of converting everything into flue. Such broken victuals57 as they take by stealth, appear (whatever the nature of the viands) invariably to generate flue; and even the nightly pint of beer, instead of assimilating naturally, strikes me as breaking out in that form, equally on the shabby gown of Mrs. Klem, and the threadbare coat of her husband.
Mrs. Klem has no idea of my name — as to Mr. Klem he has no idea of anything — and only knows me as her good gentleman. Thus, if doubtful whether I am in my room or no, Mrs. Klem taps at the door and says, ‘Is my good gentleman here?’ Or, if a messenger desiring to see me were consistent with my solitude, she would show him in with ‘Here is my good gentleman.’ I find this to be a generic58 custom. For, I meant to have observed before now, that in its Arcadian time all my part of London is indistinctly pervaded59 by the Klem species. They creep about with beds, and go to bed in miles of deserted houses. They hold no companionship except that sometimes, after dark, two of them will emerge from opposite houses, and meet in the middle of the road as on neutral ground, or will peep from adjoining houses over an interposing barrier of area railings, and compare a few reserved mistrustful notes respecting their good ladies or good gentlemen. This I have discovered in the course of various solitary60 rambles61 I have taken Northward62 from my retirement, along the awful perspectives of Wimpole-street, Harley-street, and similar frowning regions. Their effect would be scarcely distinguishable from that of the primeval forests, but for the Klem stragglers; these may be dimly observed, when the heavy shadows fall, flitting to and fro, putting up the door-chain, taking in the pint of beer, lowering like phantoms63 at the dark parlour windows, or secretly consorting64 underground with the dust-bin and the water-cistern.
In the Burlington Arcade65, I observe, with peculiar66 pleasure, a primitive state of manners to have superseded67 the baneful68 influences of ultra civilisation69. Nothing can surpass the innocence70 of the ladies’ shoe-shops, the artificial-flower repositories, and the head-dress depots71. They are in strange hands at this time of year — hands of unaccustomed persons, who are imperfectly acquainted with the prices of the goods, and contemplate72 them with unsophisticated delight and wonder. The children of these virtuous73 people exchange familiarities in the Arcade, and temper the asperity74 of the two tall beadles. Their youthful prattle75 blends in an unwonted manner with the harmonious76 shade of the scene, and the general effect is, as of the voices of birds in a grove77. In this happy restoration of the golden time, it has been my privilege even to see the bigger beadle’s wife. She brought him his dinner in a basin, and he ate it in his arm-chair, and afterwards fell asleep like a satiated child. At Mr. Truefitt’s, the excellent hairdresser’s, they are learning French to beguile78 the time; and even the few solitaries79 left on guard at Mr. Atkinson’s, the perfumer’s round the corner (generally the most inexorable gentleman in London, and the most scornful of three-and-sixpence), condescend80 a little, as they drowsily81 bide82 or recall their turn for chasing the ebbing83 Neptune84 on the ribbed sea-sand. From Messrs. Hunt and Roskell’s, the jewellers, all things are absent but the precious stones, and the gold and silver, and the soldierly pensioner85 at the door with his decorated breast. I might stand night and day for a month to come, in Saville-row, with my tongue out, yet not find a doctor to look at it for love or money. The dentists’ instruments are rusting86 in their drawers, and their horrible cool parlours, where people pretend to read the Every-Day Book and not to be afraid, are doing penance87 for their grimness in white sheets. The light-weight of shrewd appearance, with one eye always shut up, as if he were eating a sharp gooseberry in all seasons, who usually stands at the gateway88 of the livery-stables on very little legs under a very large waistcoat, has gone to Doncaster. Of such undesigning aspect is his guileless yard now, with its gravel89 and scarlet90 beans, and the yellow Break housed under a glass roof in a corner, that I almost believe I could not be taken in there, if I tried. In the places of business of the great tailors, the cheval-glasses are dim and dusty for lack of being looked into. Ranges of brown paper coat and waistcoat bodies look as funereal91 as if they were the hatchments of the customers with whose names they are inscribed92; the measuring tapes hang idle on the wall; the order-taker, left on the hopeless chance of some one looking in, yawns in the last extremity93 over the book of patterns, as if he were trying to read that entertaining library. The hotels in Brook-street have no one in them, and the staffs of servants stare disconsolately94 for next season out of all the windows. The very man who goes about like an erect95 Turtle, between two boards recommendatory of the Sixteen Shilling Trousers, is aware of himself as a hollow mockery, and eats filberts while he leans his hinder shell against a wall.
Among these tranquillising objects, it is my delight to walk and meditate. Soothed96 by the repose97 around me, I wander insensibly to considerable distances, and guide myself back by the stars. Thus, I enjoy the contrast of a few still partially98 inhabited and busy spots where all the lights are not fled, where all the garlands are not dead, whence all but I have not departed. Then, does it appear to me that in this age three things are clamorously required of Man in the miscellaneous thoroughfares of the metropolis. Firstly, that he have his boots cleaned. Secondly99, that he eat a penny ice. Thirdly, that he get himself photographed. Then do I speculate, What have those seam-worn artists been who stand at the photograph doors in Greek caps, sample in hand, and mysteriously salute100 the public — the female public with a pressing tenderness — to come in and be ‘took’? What did they do with their greasy101 blandishments, before the era of cheap photography? Of what class were their previous victims, and how victimised? And how did they get, and how did they pay for, that large collection of likenesses, all purporting102 to have been taken inside, with the taking of none of which had that establishment any more to do than with the taking of Delhi?
But, these are small oases103, and I am soon back again in metropolitan104 Arcadia. It is my impression that much of its serene105 and peaceful character is attributable to the absence of customary Talk. How do I know but there may be subtle influences in Talk, to vex106 the souls of men who don’t hear it? How do I know but that Talk, five, ten, twenty miles off, may get into the air and disagree with me? If I rise from my bed, vaguely107 troubled and wearied and sick of my life, in the session of Parliament, who shall say that my noble friend, my right reverend friend, my right honourable108 friend, my honourable friend, my honourable and learned friend, or my honourable and gallant109 friend, may not be responsible for that effect upon my nervous system? Too much Ozone110 in the air, I am informed and fully20 believe (though I have no idea what it is), would affect me in a marvellously disagreeable way; why may not too much Talk? I don’t see or hear the Ozone; I don’t see or hear the Talk. And there is so much Talk; so much too much; such loud cry, and such scant111 supply of wool; such a deal of fleecing, and so little fleece! Hence, in the Arcadian season, I find it a delicious triumph to walk down to deserted Westminster, and see the Courts shut up; to walk a little further and see the Two Houses shut up; to stand in the Abbey Yard, like the New Zealander of the grand English History (concerning which unfortunate man, a whole rookery of mares’ nests is generally being discovered), and gloat upon the ruins of Talk. Returning to my primitive solitude and lying down to sleep, my grateful heart expands with the consciousness that there is no adjourned112 Debate, no ministerial explanation, nobody to give notice of intention to ask the noble Lord at the head of her Majesty’s Government five-and-twenty bootless questions in one, no term time with legal argument, no Nisi Prius with eloquent113 appeal to British Jury; that the air will to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, remain untroubled by this superabundant generating of Talk. In a minor114 degree it is a delicious triumph to me to go into the club, and see the carpets up, and the Bores and the other dust dispersed115 to the four winds. Again, New Zealander-like, I stand on the cold hearth116, and say in the solitude, ‘Here I watched Bore A 1, with voice always mysteriously low and head always mysteriously drooped117, whispering political secrets into the ears of Adam’s confiding118 children. Accursed be his memory for ever and a day!’
But, I have all this time been coming to the point, that the happy nature of my retirement is most sweetly expressed in its being the abode119 of Love. It is, as it were, an inexpensive Agapemone: nobody’s speculation120: everybody’s profit. The one great result of the resumption of primitive habits, and (convertible terms) the not having much to do, is, the abounding121 of Love.
The Klem species are incapable122 of the softer emotions; probably, in that low nomadic123 race, the softer emotions have all degenerated124 into flue. But, with this exception, all the sharers of my retreat make love.
I have mentioned Saville-row. We all know the Doctor’s servant. We all know what a respectable man he is, what a hard dry man, what a firm man, what a confidential125 man: how he lets us into the waiting-room, like a man who knows minutely what is the matter with us, but from whom the rack should not wring126 the secret. In the prosaic127 “season,” he has distinctly the appearance of a man conscious of money in the savings128 bank, and taking his stand on his respectability with both feet. At that time it is as impossible to associate him with relaxation129, or any human weakness, as it is to meet his eye without feeling guilty of indisposition. In the blest Arcadian time, how changed! I have seen him, in a pepper-and-salt jacket — jacket — and drab trousers, with his arm round the waist of a bootmaker’s housemaid, smiling in open day. I have seen him at the pump by the Albany, unsolicitedly pumping for two fair young creatures, whose figures as they bent130 over their cans, were — if I may be allowed an original expression — a model for the sculptor131. I have seen him trying the piano in the Doctor’s drawing-room with his forefinger132, and have heard him humming tunes133 in praise of lovely woman. I have seen him seated on a fire-engine, and going (obviously in search of excitement) to a fire. I saw him, one moonlight evening when the peace and purity of our Arcadian west were at their height, polk with the lovely daughter of a cleaner of gloves, from the door-steps of his own residence, across Saville-row, round by Clifford-street and Old Burlington-street, back to Burlington-gardens. Is this the Golden Age revived, or Iron London?
The Dentist’s servant. Is that man no mystery to us, no type of invisible power? The tremendous individual knows (who else does?) what is done with the extracted teeth; he knows what goes on in the little room where something is always being washed or filed; he knows what warm spicy134 infusion135 is put into the comfortable tumbler from which we rinse136 our wounded mouth, with a gap in it that feels a foot wide; he knows whether the thing we spit into is a fixture137 communicating with the Thames, or could be cleared away for a dance; he sees the horrible parlour where there are no patients in it, and he could reveal, if he would, what becomes of the Every-Day Book then. The conviction of my coward conscience when I see that man in a professional light, is, that he knows all the statistics of my teeth and gums, my double teeth, my single teeth, my stopped teeth, and my sound. In this Arcadian rest, I am fearless of him as of a harmless, powerless creature in a Scotch138 cap, who adores a young lady in a voluminous crinoline, at a neighbouring billiard-room, and whose passion would be uninfluenced if every one of her teeth were false. They may be. He takes them all on trust.
In secluded139 corners of the place of my seclusion, there are little shops withdrawn from public curiosity, and never two together, where servants’ perquisites140 are bought. The cook may dispose of grease at these modest and convenient marts; the butler, of bottles; the valet and lady’s maid, of clothes; most servants, indeed, of most things they may happen to lay hold of. I have been told that in sterner times loving correspondence, otherwise interdicted141, may be maintained by letter through the agency of some of these useful establishments. In the Arcadian autumn, no such device is necessary. Everybody loves, and openly and blamelessly loves. My landlord’s young man loves the whole of one side of the way of Old Bond-street, and is beloved several doors up New Bond-street besides. I never look out of window but I see kissing of hands going on all around me. It is the morning custom to glide142 from shop to shop and exchange tender sentiments; it is the evening custom for couples to stand hand in hand at house doors, or roam, linked in that flowery manner, through the unpeopled streets. There is nothing else to do but love; and what there is to do, is done.
In unison143 with this pursuit, a chaste144 simplicity obtains in the domestic habits of Arcadia. Its few scattered145 people dine early, live moderately, sup socially, and sleep soundly. It is rumoured146 that the Beadles of the Arcade, from being the mortal enemies of boys, have signed with tears an address to Lord Shaftesbury, and subscribed147 to a ragged148 school. No wonder! For, they might turn their heavy maces into crooks149 and tend sheep in the Arcade, to the purling of the water-carts as they give the thirsty streets much more to drink than they can carry.
A happy Golden Age, and a serene tranquillity150. Charming picture, but it will fade. The iron age will return, London will come back to town, if I show my tongue then in Saville-row for half a minute I shall be prescribed for, the Doctor’s man and the Dentist’s man will then pretend that these days of unprofessional innocence never existed. Where Mr. and Mrs. Klem and their bed will be at that time, passes human knowledge; but my hatter hermitage will then know them no more, nor will it then know me. The desk at which I have written these meditations151 will retributively assist at the making out of my account, and the wheels of gorgeous carriages and the hoofs152 of high-stepping horses will crush the silence out of Bond-street — will grind Arcadia away, and give it to the elements in granite153 powder.
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solitude
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n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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meditation
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n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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lodging
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n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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withdrawn
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vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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wilderness
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n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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tracts
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大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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7
isolation
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n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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retirement
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n.退休,退职 | |
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savage
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adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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lodgings
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n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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waterproof
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n.防水材料;adj.防水的;v.使...能防水 | |
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moors
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v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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isle
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n.小岛,岛 | |
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remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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shutters
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百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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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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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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alienated
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adj.感到孤独的,不合群的v.使疏远( alienate的过去式和过去分词 );使不友好;转让;让渡(财产等) | |
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plume
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n.羽毛;v.整理羽毛,骚首弄姿,用羽毛装饰 | |
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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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seclusion
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n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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meditate
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v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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galling
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adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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patriotism
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n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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slippers
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n. 拖鞋 | |
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promenade
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n./v.散步 | |
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purvey
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v.(大量)供给,供应 | |
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derive
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v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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simplicity
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n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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metropolis
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n.首府;大城市 | |
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primitive
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adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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sumptuous
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adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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prop
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vt.支撑;n.支柱,支撑物;支持者,靠山 | |
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ornament
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v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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formerly
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adv.从前,以前 | |
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38
perusing
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v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的现在分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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ripening
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v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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chronic
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adj.(疾病)长期未愈的,慢性的;极坏的 | |
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sniff
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vi.嗅…味道;抽鼻涕;对嗤之以鼻,蔑视 | |
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pint
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n.品脱 | |
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justified
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a.正当的,有理的 | |
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penetrate
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v.透(渗)入;刺入,刺穿;洞察,了解 | |
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45
humanely
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adv.仁慈地;人道地;富人情地;慈悲地 | |
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Christian
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adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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47
shuffles
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n.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的名词复数 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼v.洗(纸牌)( shuffle的第三人称单数 );拖着脚步走;粗心地做;摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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48
entreating
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恳求,乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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49
aged
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adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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50
apparently
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adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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51
deserted
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adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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52
beseeching
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adj.恳求似的v.恳求,乞求(某事物)( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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53
pall
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v.覆盖,使平淡无味;n.柩衣,棺罩;棺材;帷幕 | |
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54
positively
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adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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55
reptile
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n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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56
remarkable
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adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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57
victuals
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n.食物;食品 | |
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58
generic
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adj.一般的,普通的,共有的 | |
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59
pervaded
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v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
solitary
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adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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61
rambles
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(无目的地)漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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62
northward
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adv.向北;n.北方的地区 | |
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63
phantoms
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n.鬼怪,幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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64
consorting
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v.结伴( consort的现在分词 );交往;相称;调和 | |
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65
arcade
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n.拱廊;(一侧或两侧有商店的)通道 | |
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66
peculiar
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adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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67
superseded
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[医]被代替的,废弃的 | |
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68
baneful
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adj.有害的 | |
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69
civilisation
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n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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70
innocence
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n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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71
depots
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仓库( depot的名词复数 ); 火车站; 车库; 军需库 | |
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72
contemplate
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vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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73
virtuous
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adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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74
asperity
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n.粗鲁,艰苦 | |
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75
prattle
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n.闲谈;v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话;发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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76
harmonious
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adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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77
grove
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n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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78
beguile
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vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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79
solitaries
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n.独居者,隐士( solitary的名词复数 ) | |
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80
condescend
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v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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81
drowsily
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adv.睡地,懒洋洋地,昏昏欲睡地 | |
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82
bide
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v.忍耐;等候;住 | |
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83
ebbing
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(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
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84
Neptune
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n.海王星 | |
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85
pensioner
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n.领养老金的人 | |
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86
rusting
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n.生锈v.(使)生锈( rust的现在分词 ) | |
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87
penance
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n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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88
gateway
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n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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89
gravel
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n.砂跞;砂砾层;结石 | |
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90
scarlet
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n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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91
funereal
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adj.悲哀的;送葬的 | |
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92
inscribed
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v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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93
extremity
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n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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94
disconsolately
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adv.悲伤地,愁闷地;哭丧着脸 | |
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95
erect
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n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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96
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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97
repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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98
partially
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adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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99
secondly
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adv.第二,其次 | |
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100
salute
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vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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101
greasy
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adj. 多脂的,油脂的 | |
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102
purporting
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v.声称是…,(装得)像是…的样子( purport的现在分词 ) | |
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103
oases
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n.(沙漠中的)绿洲( oasis的名词复数 );(困苦中)令人快慰的地方(或时刻);乐土;乐事 | |
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104
metropolitan
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adj.大城市的,大都会的 | |
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105
serene
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adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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106
vex
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vt.使烦恼,使苦恼 | |
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107
vaguely
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adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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108
honourable
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adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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109
gallant
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adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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110
ozone
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n.臭氧,新鲜空气 | |
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111
scant
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adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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112
adjourned
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(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113
eloquent
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adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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114
minor
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adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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115
dispersed
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adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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116
hearth
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n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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117
drooped
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弯曲或下垂,发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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118
confiding
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adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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119
abode
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n.住处,住所 | |
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120
speculation
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n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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121
abounding
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adj.丰富的,大量的v.大量存在,充满,富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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122
incapable
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adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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123
nomadic
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adj.流浪的;游牧的 | |
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124
degenerated
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衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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125
confidential
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adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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126
wring
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n.扭绞;v.拧,绞出,扭 | |
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127
prosaic
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adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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128
savings
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n.存款,储蓄 | |
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129
relaxation
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n.松弛,放松;休息;消遣;娱乐 | |
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130
bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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131
sculptor
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n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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132
forefinger
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n.食指 | |
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133
tunes
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n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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134
spicy
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adj.加香料的;辛辣的,有风味的 | |
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135
infusion
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n.灌输 | |
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136
rinse
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v.用清水漂洗,用清水冲洗 | |
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137
fixture
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n.固定设备;预定日期;比赛时间;定期存款 | |
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138
scotch
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n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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139
secluded
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adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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140
perquisites
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n.(工资以外的)财务补贴( perquisite的名词复数 );额外收入;(随职位而得到的)好处;利益 | |
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141
interdicted
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v.禁止(行动)( interdict的过去式和过去分词 );禁用;限制 | |
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142
glide
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n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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143
unison
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n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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144
chaste
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adj.贞洁的;有道德的;善良的;简朴的 | |
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145
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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146
rumoured
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adj.谣传的;传说的;风 | |
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147
subscribed
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v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 );签署,题词;订阅;同意 | |
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148
ragged
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adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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149
crooks
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n.骗子( crook的名词复数 );罪犯;弯曲部分;(牧羊人或主教用的)弯拐杖v.弯成钩形( crook的第三人称单数 ) | |
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150
tranquillity
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n. 平静, 安静 | |
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151
meditations
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默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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152
hoofs
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n.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.(兽的)蹄,马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153
granite
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adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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