My story requires that I should be somewhat minute. I am still a very young man — not yet twenty-two years of age. My name, at present, is a very usual and rather plebeian8 one — Simpson. I say “at present;” for it is only lately that I have been so called — having legislatively9 adopted this surname within the last year in order to receive a large inheritance left me by a distant male relative, Adolphus Simpson, Esq. The bequest10 was conditioned upon my taking the name of the testator — the family, not the Christian11 name; my Christian name is Napoleon Bonaparte — or, more properly, these are my first and middle appellations13.
I assumed the name, Simpson, with some reluctance14, as in my true patronym, Froissart, I felt a very pardonable pride — believing that I could trace a descent from the immortal15 author of the “Chronicles.” While on the subject of names, by the bye, I may mention a singular coincidence of sound attending the names of some of my immediate18 predecessors19. My father was a Monsieur Froissart, of Paris. His wife — my mother, whom he married at fifteen — was a Mademoiselle Croissart, eldest20 daughter of Croissart the banker, whose wife, again, being only sixteen when married, was the eldest daughter of one Victor Voissart. Monsieur Voissart, very singularly, had married a lady of similar name — a Mademoiselle Moissart. She, too, was quite a child when married; and her mother, also, Madame Moissart, was only fourteen when led to the altar. These early marriages are usual in France. Here, however, are Moissart, Voissart, Croissart, and Froissart, all in the direct line of descent. My own name, though, as I say, became Simpson, by act of Legislature, and with so much repugnance21 on my part, that, at one period, I actually hesitated about accepting the legacy22 with the useless and annoying proviso attached.
As to personal endowments, I am by no means deficient23. On the contrary, I believe that I am well made, and possess what nine tenths of the world would call a handsome face. In height I am five feet eleven. My hair is black and curling. My nose is sufficiently24 good. My eyes are large and gray; and although, in fact they are weak a very inconvenient25 degree, still no defect in this regard would be suspected from their appearance. The weakness itself, however, has always much annoyed me, and I have resorted to every remedy — short of wearing glasses. Being youthful and good-looking, I naturally dislike these, and have resolutely26 refused to employ them. I know nothing, indeed, which so disfigures the countenance28 of a young person, or so impresses every feature with an air of demureness30, if not altogether of sanctimoniousness31 and of age. An eyeglass, on the other hand, has a savor32 of downright foppery and affectation. I have hitherto managed as well as I could without either. But something too much of these merely personal details, which, after all, are of little importance. I will content myself with saying, in addition, that my temperament35 is sanguine36, rash, ardent37, enthusiastic — and that all my life I have been a devoted38 admirer of the women.
One night last winter I entered a box at the P— Theatre, in company with a friend, Mr. Talbot. It was an opera night, and the bills presented a very rare attraction, so that the house was excessively crowded. We were in time, however, to obtain the front seats which had been reserved for us, and into which, with some little difficulty, we elbowed our way.
For two hours my companion, who was a musical fanatico, gave his undivided attention to the stage; and, in the meantime, I amused myself by observing the audience, which consisted, in chief part, of the very elite40 of the city. Having satisfied myself upon this point, I was about turning my eyes to the prima donna, when they were arrested and riveted by a figure in one of the private boxes which had escaped my observation.
If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the intense emotion with which I regarded this figure. It was that of a female, the most exquisite44 I had ever beheld45. The face was so far turned toward the stage that, for some minutes, I could not obtain a view of it — but the form was divine; no other word can sufficiently express its magnificent proportion — and even the term “divine” seems ridiculously feeble as I write it.
The magic of a lovely form in woman — the necromancy46 of female gracefulness47 — was always a power which I had found it impossible to resist, but here was grace personified, incarnate48, the beau ideal of my wildest and most enthusiastic visions. The figure, almost all of which the construction of the box permitted to be seen, was somewhat above the medium height, and nearly approached, without positively49 reaching, the majestic50. Its perfect fullness and tournure were delicious. The head of which only the back was visible, rivalled in outline that of the Greek Psyche51, and was rather displayed than concealed53 by an elegant cap of gaze aerienne, which put me in mind of the ventum textilem of Apuleius. The right arm hung over the balustrade of the box, and thrilled every nerve of my frame with its exquisite symmetry. Its upper portion was draperied by one of the loose open sleeves now in fashion. This extended but little below the elbow. Beneath it was worn an under one of some frail54 material, close-fitting, and terminated by a cuff55 of rich lace, which fell gracefully56 over the top of the hand, revealing only the delicate fingers, upon one of which sparkled a diamond ring, which I at once saw was of extraordinary value. The admirable roundness of the wrist was well set off by a bracelet58 which encircled it, and which also was ornamented59 and clasped by a magnificent aigrette of jewels-telling, in words that could not be mistaken, at once of the wealth and fastidious taste of the wearer.
I gazed at this queenly apparition60 for at least half an hour, as if I had been suddenly converted to stone; and, during this period, I felt the full force and truth of all that has been said or sung concerning “love at first sight.” My feelings were totally different from any which I had hitherto experienced, in the presence of even the most celebrated61 specimens62 of female loveliness. An unaccountable, and what I am compelled to consider a magnetic, sympathy of soul for soul, seemed to rivet5, not only my vision, but my whole powers of thought and feeling, upon the admirable object before me. I saw — I felt — I knew that I was deeply, madly, irrevocably in love — and this even before seeing the face of the person beloved. So intense, indeed, was the passion that consumed me, that I really believe it would have received little if any abatement63 had the features, yet unseen, proved of merely ordinary character, so anomalous64 is the nature of the only true love — of the love at first sight — and so little really dependent is it upon the external conditions which only seem to create and control it.
While I was thus wrapped in admiration65 of this lovely vision, a sudden disturbance66 among the audience caused her to turn her head partially67 toward me, so that I beheld the entire profile of the face. Its beauty even exceeded my anticipations68 — and yet there was something about it which disappointed me without my being able to tell exactly what it was. I said “disappointed,” but this is not altogether the word. My sentiments were at once quieted and exalted70. They partook less of transport and more of calm enthusiasm of enthusiastic repose71. This state of feeling arose, perhaps, from the Madonna-like and matronly air of the face; and yet I at once understood that it could not have arisen entirely72 from this. There was something else — some mystery which I could not develope — some expression about the countenance which slightly disturbed me while it greatly heightened my interest. In fact, I was just in that condition of mind which prepares a young and susceptible73 man for any act of extravagance. Had the lady been alone, I should undoubtedly74 have entered her box and accosted75 her at all hazards; but, fortunately, she was attended by two companions — a gentleman, and a strikingly beautiful woman, to all appearance a few years younger than herself.
I revolved76 in my mind a thousand schemes by which I might obtain, hereafter, an introduction to the elder lady, or, for the present, at all events, a more distinct view of her beauty. I would have removed my position to one nearer her own, but the crowded state of the theatre rendered this impossible; and the stern decrees of Fashion had, of late, imperatively77 prohibited the use of the opera-glass in a case such as this, even had I been so fortunate as to have one with me — but I had not — and was thus in despair.
At length I bethought me of applying to my companion.
“Talbot,” I said, “you have an opera-glass. Let me have it.”
“An opera — glass! — no! — what do you suppose I would be doing with an opera-glass?” Here he turned impatiently toward the stage.
“But, Talbot,” I continued, pulling him by the shoulder, “listen to me will you? Do you see the stage — box? — there! — no, the next. — did you ever behold78 as lovely a woman?”
“She is very beautiful, no doubt,” he said.
“I wonder who she can be?”
“Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don’t you know who she is? ‘Not to know her argues yourself unknown.’ She is the celebrated Madame Lalande — the beauty of the day par12 excellence79, and the talk of the whole town. Immensely wealthy too — a widow, and a great match — has just arrived from Paris.”
“Do you know her?”
“Yes; I have the honor.”
“Will you introduce me?”
“Assuredly, with the greatest pleasure; when shall it be?”
“To-morrow, at one, I will call upon you at B—’s .
“Very good; and now do hold your tongue, if you can.”
In this latter respect I was forced to take Talbot’s advice; for he remained obstinately80 deaf to every further question or suggestion, and occupied himself exclusively for the rest of the evening with what was transacting81 upon the stage.
In the meantime I kept my eyes riveted on Madame Lalande, and at length had the good fortune to obtain a full front view of her face. It was exquisitely82 lovely — this, of course, my heart had told me before, even had not Talbot fully57 satisfied me upon the point — but still the unintelligible83 something disturbed me. I finally concluded that my senses were impressed by a certain air of gravity, sadness, or, still more properly, of weariness, which took something from the youth and freshness of the countenance, only to endow it with a seraphic tenderness and majesty84, and thus, of course, to my enthusiastic and romantic temperment, with an interest tenfold.
While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last, to my great trepidation85, by an almost imperceptible start on the part of the lady, that she had become suddenly aware of the intensity86 of my gaze. Still, I was absolutely fascinated, and could not withdraw it, even for an instant. She turned aside her face, and again I saw only the chiselled87 contour of the back portion of the head. After some minutes, as if urged by curiosity to see if I was still looking, she gradually brought her face again around and again encountered my burning gaze. Her large dark eyes fell instantly, and a deep blush mantled88 her cheek. But what was my astonishment89 at perceiving that she not only did not a second time avert90 her head, but that she actually took from her girdle a double eyeglass — elevated it — adjusted it — and then regarded me through it, intently and deliberately91, for the space of several minutes.
Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have been more thoroughly92 astounded93 — astounded only — not offended or disgusted in the slightest degree; although an action so bold in any other woman would have been likely to offend or disgust. But the whole thing was done with so much quietude — so much nonchalance94 — so much repose — with so evident an air of the highest breeding, in short — that nothing of mere34 effrontery95 was perceptible, and my sole sentiments were those of admiration and surprise.
I observed that, upon her first elevation96 of the glass, she had seemed satisfied with a momentary97 inspection98 of my person, and was withdrawing the instrument, when, as if struck by a second thought, she resumed it, and so continued to regard me with fixed99 attention for the space of several minutes — for five minutes, at the very least, I am sure.
This action, so remarkable100 in an American theatre, attracted very general observation, and gave rise to an indefinite movement, or buzz, among the audience, which for a moment filled me with confusion, but produced no visible effect upon the countenance of Madame Lalande.
Having satisfied her curiosity — if such it was — she dropped the glass, and quietly gave her attention again to the stage; her profile now being turned toward myself, as before. I continued to watch her unremittingly, although I was fully conscious of my rudeness in so doing. Presently I saw the head slowly and slightly change its position; and soon I became convinced that the lady, while pretending to look at the stage was, in fact, attentively101 regarding myself. It is needless to say what effect this conduct, on the part of so fascinating a woman, had upon my excitable mind.
Having thus scrutinized102 me for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the fair object of my passion addressed the gentleman who attended her, and while she spoke103, I saw distinctly, by the glances of both, that the conversation had reference to myself.
Upon its conclusion, Madame Lalande again turned toward the stage, and, for a few minutes, seemed absorbed in the performance. At the expiration105 of this period, however, I was thrown into an extremity106 of agitation107 by seeing her unfold, for the second time, the eye-glass which hung at her side, fully confront me as before, and, disregarding the renewed buzz of the audience, survey me, from head to foot, with the same miraculous108 composure which had previously109 so delighted and confounded my soul.
This extraordinary behavior, by throwing me into a perfect fever of excitement — into an absolute delirium110 of love-served rather to embolden111 than to disconcert me. In the mad intensity of my devotion, I forgot everything but the presence and the majestic loveliness of the vision which confronted my gaze. Watching my opportunity, when I thought the audience were fully engaged with the opera, I at length caught the eyes of Madame Lalande, and, upon the instant, made a slight but unmistakable bow.
She blushed very deeply — then averted112 her eyes — then slowly and cautiously looked around, apparently113 to see if my rash action had been noticed — then leaned over toward the gentleman who sat by her side.
I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had committed, and expected nothing less than instant exposure; while a vision of pistols upon the morrow floated rapidly and uncomfortably through my brain. I was greatly and immediately relieved, however, when I saw the lady merely hand the gentleman a play-bill, without speaking, but the reader may form some feeble conception of my astonishment — of my profound amazement115 — my delirious116 bewilderment of heart and soul — when, instantly afterward117, having again glanced furtively118 around, she allowed her bright eyes to set fully and steadily119 upon my own, and then, with a faint smile, disclosing a bright line of her pearly teeth, made two distinct, pointed69, and unequivocal affirmative inclinations121 of the head.
It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy — upon my transport — upon my illimitable ecstasy122 of heart. If ever man was mad with excess of happiness, it was myself at that moment. I loved. This was my first love — so I felt it to be. It was love supreme123-indescribable. It was “love at first sight;” and at first sight, too, it had been appreciated and returned.
Yes, returned. How and why should I doubt it for an instant. What other construction could I possibly put upon such conduct, on the part of a lady so beautiful — so wealthy — evidently so accomplished124 — of so high breeding — of so lofty a position in society — in every regard so entirely respectable as I felt assured was Madame Lalande? Yes, she loved me — she returned the enthusiasm of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind — as uncompromising — as uncalculating — as abandoned — and as utterly125 unbounded as my own! These delicious fancies and reflections, however, were now interrupted by the falling of the drop-curtain. The audience arose; and the usual tumult126 immediately supervened. Quitting Talbot abruptly127, I made every effort to force my way into closer proximity128 with Madame Lalande. Having failed in this, on account of the crowd, I at length gave up the chase, and bent129 my steps homeward; consoling myself for my disappointment in not having been able to touch even the hem27 of her robe, by the reflection that I should be introduced by Talbot, in due form, upon the morrow.
This morrow at last came, that is to say, a day finally dawned upon a long and weary night of impatience130; and then the hours until “one” were snail-paced, dreary131, and innumerable. But even Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end, and there came an end to this long delay. The clock struck. As the last echo ceased, I stepped into B—’s and inquired for Talbot.
“Out,” said the footman — Talbot’s own.
“Out!” I replied, staggering back half a dozen paces —“let me tell you, my fine fellow, that this thing is thoroughly impossible and impracticable; Mr. Talbot is not out. What do you mean?”
“Nothing, sir; only Mr. Talbot is not in, that’s all. He rode over to S — immediately after breakfast, and left word that he would not be in town again for a week.”
I stood petrified132 with horror and rage. I endeavored to reply, but my tongue refused its office. At length I turned on my heel, livid with wrath133, and inwardly consigning134 the whole tribe of the Talbots to the innermost regions of Erebus. It was evident that my considerate friend, il fanatico, had quite forgotten his appointment with myself — had forgotten it as soon as it was made. At no time was he a very scrupulous135 man of his word. There was no help for it; so smothering136 my vexation as well as I could, I strolled moodily137 up the street, propounding138 futile139 inquiries140 about Madame Lalande to every male acquaintance I met. By report she was known, I found, to all — to many by sight — but she had been in town only a few weeks, and there were very few, therefore, who claimed her personal acquaintance. These few, being still comparatively strangers, could not, or would not, take the liberty of introducing me through the formality of a morning call. While I stood thus in despair, conversing141 with a trio of friends upon the all absorbing subject of my heart, it so happened that the subject itself passed by.
“As I live, there she is!” cried one.
“Surprisingly beautiful!” exclaimed a second.
“An angel upon earth!” ejaculated a third.
I looked; and in an open carriage which approached us, passing slowly down the street, sat the enchanting142 vision of the opera, accompanied by the younger lady who had occupied a portion of her box.
“Her companion also wears remarkably143 well,” said the one of my trio who had spoken first.
“Astonishingly,” said the second; “still quite a brilliant air, but art will do wonders. Upon my word, she looks better than she did at Paris five years ago. A beautiful woman still; — don’t you think so, Froissart? — Simpson, I mean.”
“Still!” said I, “and why shouldn’t she be? But compared with her friend she is as a rush — light to the evening star — a glow — worm to Antares.
“Ha! ha! ha! — why, Simpson, you have an astonishing tact144 at making discoveries — original ones, I mean.” And here we separated, while one of the trio began humming a gay vaudeville145, of which I caught only the lines —
Ninon, Ninon, Ninon a bas-
A bas Ninon De L’Enclos!
During this little scene, however, one thing had served greatly to console me, although it fed the passion by which I was consumed. As the carriage of Madame Lalande rolled by our group, I had observed that she recognized me; and more than this, she had blessed me, by the most seraphic of all imaginable smiles, with no equivocal mark of the recognition.
As for an introduction, I was obliged to abandon all hope of it until such time as Talbot should think proper to return from the country. In the meantime I perseveringly146 frequented every reputable place of public amusement; and, at length, at the theatre, where I first saw her, I had the supreme bliss147 of meeting her, and of exchanging glances with her once again. This did not occur, however, until the lapse148 of a fortnight. Every day, in the interim149, I had inquired for Talbot at his hotel, and every day had been thrown into a spasm150 of wrath by the everlasting151 “Not come home yet” of his footman.
Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a condition little short of madness. Madame Lalande, I had been told, was a Parisian — had lately arrived from Paris — might she not suddenly return? — return before Talbot came back — and might she not be thus lost to me forever? The thought was too terrible to bear. Since my future happiness was at issue, I resolved to act with a manly152 decision. In a word, upon the breaking up of the play, I traced the lady to her residence, noted153 the address, and the next morning sent her a full and elaborate letter, in which I poured out my whole heart.
I spoke boldly, freely — in a word, I spoke with passion. I concealed nothing — nothing even of my weakness. I alluded155 to the romantic circumstances of our first meeting — even to the glances which had passed between us. I went so far as to say that I felt assured of her love; while I offered this assurance, and my own intensity of devotion, as two excuses for my otherwise unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke of my fear that she might quit the city before I could have the opportunity of a formal introduction. I concluded the most wildly enthusiastic epistle ever penned, with a frank declaration of my worldly circumstances — of my affluence156 — and with an offer of my heart and of my hand.
In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply. After what seemed the lapse of a century it came.
Yes, actually came. Romantic as all this may appear, I really received a letter from Madame Lalande — the beautiful, the wealthy, the idolized Madame Lalande. Her eyes — her magnificent eyes, had not belied157 her noble heart. Like a true Frenchwoman as she was she had obeyed the frank dictates158 of her reason — the generous impulses of her nature — despising the conventional pruderies of the world. She had not scorned my proposals. She had not sheltered herself in silence. She had not returned my letter unopened. She had even sent me, in reply, one penned by her own exquisite fingers. It ran thus:
“Monsieur Simpson vill pardonne me for not compose de butefulle tong of his contree so vell as might. It is only de late dat I am arrive, and not yet ave do opportunite for to — l’etudier.
“Vid dis apologie for the maniere, I vill now say dat, helas! — Monsieur Simpson ave guess but de too true. Need I say de more? Helas! am I not ready speak de too moshe?
“EUGENIE LALAND.”
This noble — spirited note I kissed a million times, and committed, no doubt, on its account, a thousand other extravagances that have now escaped my memory. Still Talbot would not return. Alas159! could he have formed even the vaguest idea of the suffering his absence had occasioned his friend, would not his sympathizing nature have flown immediately to my relief? Still, however, he came not. I wrote. He replied. He was detained by urgent business — but would shortly return. He begged me not to be impatient — to moderate my transports — to read soothing160 books — to drink nothing stronger than Hock — and to bring the consolations161 of philosophy to my aid. The fool! if he could not come himself, why, in the name of every thing rational, could he not have enclosed me a letter of presentation? I wrote him again, entreating163 him to forward one forthwith. My letter was returned by that footman, with the following endorsement164 in pencil. The scoundrel had joined his master in the country:
“Left S— yesterday, for parts unknown — did not say where — or when be back — so thought best to return letter, knowing your handwriting, and as how you is always, more or less, in a hurry.
“Yours sincerely,
“STUBBS.”
After this, it is needless to say, that I devoted to the infernal deities165 both master and valet:— but there was little use in anger, and no consolation162 at all in complaint.
But I had yet a resource left, in my constitutional audacity166. Hitherto it had served me well, and I now resolved to make it avail me to the end. Besides, after the correspondence which had passed between us, what act of mere informality could I commit, within bounds, that ought to be regarded as indecorous by Madame Lalande? Since the affair of the letter, I had been in the habit of watching her house, and thus discovered that, about twilight167, it was her custom to promenade168, attended only by a negro in livery, in a public square overlooked by her windows. Here, amid the luxuriant and shadowing groves169, in the gray gloom of a sweet midsummer evening, I observed my opportunity and accosted her.
The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I did this with the assured air of an old and familiar acquaintance. With a presence of mind truly Parisian, she took the cue at once, and, to greet me, held out the most bewitchingly little of hands. The valet at once fell into the rear, and now, with hearts full to overflowing170, we discoursed171 long and unreservedly of our love.
As Madame Lalande spoke English even less fluently than she wrote it, our conversation was necessarily in French. In this sweet tongue, so adapted to passion, I gave loose to the impetuous enthusiasm of my nature, and, with all the eloquence172 I could command, besought173 her to consent to an immediate marriage.
At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old story of decorum — that bug-bear which deters174 so many from bliss until the opportunity for bliss has forever gone by. I had most imprudently made it known among my friends, she observed, that I desired her acquaintance — thus that I did not possess it — thus, again, there was no possibility of concealing175 the date of our first knowledge of each other. And then she adverted176, with a blush, to the extreme recency of this date. To wed39 immediately would be improper177 — would be indecorous — would be outre. All this she said with a charming air of naivete which enraptured178 while it grieved and convinced me. She went even so far as to accuse me, laughingly, of rashness — of imprudence. She bade me remember that I really even know not who she was — what were her prospects179, her connections, her standing180 in society. She begged me, but with a sigh, to reconsider my proposal, and termed my love an infatuation — a will o’ the wisp — a fancy or fantasy of the moment — a baseless and unstable181 creation rather of the imagination than of the heart. These things she uttered as the shadows of the sweet twilight gathered darkly and more darkly around us — and then, with a gentle pressure of her fairy-like hand, overthrew182, in a single sweet instant, all the argumentative fabric183 she had reared.
I replied as best I could — as only a true lover can. I spoke at length, and perseveringly of my devotion, of my passion — of her exceeding beauty, and of my own enthusiastic admiration. In conclusion, I dwelt, with a convincing energy, upon the perils184 that encompass185 the course of love — that course of true love that never did run smooth — and thus deduced the manifest danger of rendering186 that course unnecessarily long.
This latter argument seemed finally to soften187 the rigor188 of her determination. She relented; but there was yet an obstacle, she said, which she felt assured I had not properly considered. This was a delicate point — for a woman to urge, especially so; in mentioning it, she saw that she must make a sacrifice of her feelings; still, for me, every sacrifice should be made. She alluded to the topic of age. Was I aware — was I fully aware of the discrepancy189 between us? That the age of the husband, should surpass by a few years — even by fifteen or twenty — the age of the wife, was regarded by the world as admissible, and, indeed, as even proper, but she had always entertained the belief that the years of the wife should never exceed in number those of the husband. A discrepancy of this unnatural190 kind gave rise, too frequently, alas! to a life of unhappiness. Now she was aware that my own age did not exceed two and twenty; and I, on the contrary, perhaps, was not aware that the years of my Eugenie extended very considerably191 beyond that sum.
About all this there was a nobility of soul — a dignity of candor192 — which delighted — which enchanted193 me — which eternally riveted my chains. I could scarcely restrain the excessive transport which possessed194 me.
“My sweetest Eugenie,” I cried, “what is all this about which you are discoursing195? Your years surpass in some measure my own. But what then? The customs of the world are so many conventional follies196. To those who love as ourselves, in what respect differs a year from an hour? I am twenty-two, you say, granted: indeed, you may as well call me, at once, twenty-three. Now you yourself, my dearest Eugenie, can have numbered no more than — can have numbered no more than — no more than — than — than — than-”
Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation that Madame Lalande would interrupt me by supplying her true age. But a Frenchwoman is seldom direct, and has always, by way of answer to an embarrassing query197, some little practical reply of her own. In the present instance, Eugenie, who for a few moments past had seemed to be searching for something in her bosom198, at length let fall upon the grass a miniature, which I immediately picked up and presented to her.
“Keep it!” she said, with one of her most ravishing smiles. “Keep it for my sake — for the sake of her whom it too flatteringly represents. Besides, upon the back of the trinket you may discover, perhaps, the very information you seem to desire. It is now, to be sure, growing rather dark — but you can examine it at your leisure in the morning. In the meantime, you shall be my escort home to-night. My friends are about holding a little musical levee. I can promise you, too, some good singing. We French are not nearly so punctilious199 as you Americans, and I shall have no difficulty in smuggling200 you in, in the character of an old acquaintance.”
With this, she took my arm, and I attended her home. The mansion201 was quite a fine one, and, I believe, furnished in good taste. Of this latter point, however, I am scarcely qualified202 to judge; for it was just dark as we arrived; and in American mansions203 of the better sort lights seldom, during the heat of summer, make their appearance at this, the most pleasant period of the day. In about an hour after my arrival, to be sure, a single shaded solar lamp was lit in the principal drawing-room; and this apartment, I could thus see, was arranged with unusual good taste and even splendor204; but two other rooms of the suite205, and in which the company chiefly assembled, remained, during the whole evening, in a very agreeable shadow. This is a well-conceived custom, giving the party at least a choice of light or shade, and one which our friends over the water could not do better than immediately adopt.
The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most delicious of my life. Madame Lalande had not overrated the musical abilities of her friends; and the singing I here heard I had never heard excelled in any private circle out of Vienna. The instrumental performers were many and of superior talents. The vocalists were chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less than well. At length, upon a peremptory206 call for “Madame Lalande,” she arose at once, without affectation or demur29, from the chaise longue upon which she had sat by my side, and, accompanied by one or two gentlemen and her female friend of the opera, repaired to the piano in the main drawing-room. I would have escorted her myself, but felt that, under the circumstances of my introduction to the house, I had better remain unobserved where I was. I was thus deprived of the pleasure of seeing, although not of hearing, her sing.
The impression she produced upon the company seemed electrical but the effect upon myself was something even more. I know not how adequately to describe it. It arose in part, no doubt, from the sentiment of love with which I was imbued207; but chiefly from my conviction of the extreme sensibility of the singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow either air or recitative with more impassioned expression than was hers. Her utterance208 of the romance in Otello — the tone with which she gave the words “Sul mio sasso,” in the Capuletti — is ringing in my memory yet. Her lower tones were absolutely miraculous. Her voice embraced three complete octaves, extending from the contralto D to the D upper soprano, and, though sufficiently powerful to have filled the San Carlos, executed, with the minutest precision, every difficulty of vocal120 composition-ascending and descending210 scales, cadences211, or fiorituri. In the final of the Somnambula, she brought about a most remarkable effect at the words:
Ah! non guinge uman pensiero
Al contento ond ‘io son piena.
Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the original phrase of Bellini, so as to let her voice descend209 to the tenor212 G, when, by a rapid transition, she struck the G above the treble stave, springing over an interval213 of two octaves.
Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of vocal execution, she resumed her seat by my side; when I expressed to her, in terms of the deepest enthusiasm, my delight at her performance. Of my surprise I said nothing, and yet was I most unfeignedly surprised; for a certain feebleness, or rather a certain tremulous indecision of voice in ordinary conversation, had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing, she would not acquit214 herself with any remarkable ability.
Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninterrupted, and totally unreserved. She made me relate many of the earlier passages of my life, and listened with breathless attention to every word of the narrative215. I concealed nothing — felt that I had a right to conceal52 nothing — from her confiding216 affection. Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her age, I entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a detail of my many minor217 vices218, but made full confession of those moral and even of those physical infirmities, the disclosure of which, in demanding so much higher a degree of courage, is so much surer an evidence of love. I touched upon my college indiscretions — upon my extravagances — upon my carousals — upon my debts — upon my flirtations. I even went so far as to speak of a slightly hectic219 cough with which, at one time, I had been troubled — of a chronic16 rheumatism220 — of a twinge of hereditary221 gout — and, in conclusion, of the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hitherto carefully concealed, weakness of my eyes.
“Upon this latter point,” said Madame Lalande, laughingly, “you have been surely injudicious in coming to confession; for, without the confession, I take it for granted that no one would have accused you of the crime. By the by,” she continued, “have you any recollection-” and here I fancied that a blush, even through the gloom of the apartment, became distinctly visible upon her cheek —“have you any recollection, mon cher ami of this little ocular assistant, which now depends from my neck?”
As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical double eye-glass which had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the opera.
“Full well — alas! do I remember it,” I exclaimed, pressing passionately222 the delicate hand which offered the glasses for my inspection. They formed a complex and magnificent toy, richly chased and filigreed224, and gleaming with jewels, which, even in the deficient light, I could not help perceiving were of high value.
“Eh bien! mon ami” she resumed with a certain empressment of manner that rather surprised me —“Eh bien! mon ami, you have earnestly besought of me a favor which you have been pleased to denominate priceless. You have demanded of me my hand upon the morrow. Should I yield to your entreaties225 — and, I may add, to the pleadings of my own bosom — would I not be entitled to demand of you a very — a very little boon226 in return?”
“Name it!” I exclaimed with an energy that had nearly drawn227 upon us the observation of the company, and restrained by their presence alone from throwing myself impetuously at her feet. “Name it, my beloved, my Eugenie, my own! — name it! — but, alas! it is already yielded ere named.”
“You shall conquer, then, mon ami,” said she, “for the sake of the Eugenie whom you love, this little weakness which you have at last confessed — this weakness more moral than physical — and which, let me assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your real nature — so inconsistent with the candor of your usual character — and which, if permitted further control, will assuredly involve you, sooner or later, in some very disagreeable scrape. You shall conquer, for my sake, this affectation which leads you, as you yourself acknowledge, to the tacit or implied denial of your infirmity of vision. For, this infirmity you virtually deny, in refusing to employ the customary means for its relief. You will understand me to say, then, that I wish you to wear spectacles; — ah, hush228! — you have already consented to wear them, for my sake. You shall accept the little toy which I now hold in my hand, and which, though admirable as an aid to vision, is really of no very immense value as a gem229. You perceive that, by a trifling230 modification231 thus — or thus — it can be adapted to the eyes in the form of spectacles, or worn in the waistcoat pocket as an eye-glass. It is in the former mode, however, and habitually232, that you have already consented to wear it for my sake.”
This request — must I confess it? — confused me in no little degree. But the condition with which it was coupled rendered hesitation233, of course, a matter altogether out of the question.
“It is done!” I cried, with all the enthusiasm that I could muster234 at the moment. “It is done — it is most cheerfully agreed. I sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass, as an eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morning which gives me the pleasure of calling you wife, I will place it upon my — upon my nose — and there wear it ever afterward, in the less romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable, form which you desire.”
Our conversation now turned upon the details of our arrangements for the morrow. Talbot, I learned from my betrothed235, had just arrived in town. I was to see him at once, and procure236 a carriage. The soiree would scarcely break up before two; and by this hour the vehicle was to be at the door, when, in the confusion occasioned by the departure of the company, Madame L. could easily enter it unobserved. We were then to call at the house of a clergyman who would be in waiting; there be married, drop Talbot, and proceed on a short tour to the East, leaving the fashionable world at home to make whatever comments upon the matter it thought best.
Having planned all this, I immediately took leave, and went in search of Talbot, but, on the way, I could not refrain from stepping into a hotel, for the purpose of inspecting the miniature; and this I did by the powerful aid of the glasses. The countenance was a surpassingly beautiful one! Those large luminous237 eyes! — that proud Grecian nose! — those dark luxuriant curls! —“Ah!” said I, exultingly238 to myself, “this is indeed the speaking image of my beloved!” I turned the reverse, and discovered the words —“Eugenie Lalande — aged33 twenty-seven years and seven months.”
I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to acquaint him with my good fortune. He professed239 excessive astonishment, of course, but congratulated me most cordially, and proffered240 every assistance in his power. In a word, we carried out our arrangement to the letter, and, at two in the morning, just ten minutes after the ceremony, I found myself in a close carriage with Madame Lalande — with Mrs. Simpson, I should say — and driving at a great rate out of town, in a direction Northeast by North, half-North.
It had been determined241 for us by Talbot, that, as we were to be up all night, we should make our first stop at C — a village about twenty miles from the city, and there get an early breakfast and some repose, before proceeding242 upon our route. At four precisely243, therefore, the carriage drew up at the door of the principal inn. I handed my adored wife out, and ordered breakfast forthwith. In the meantime we were shown into a small parlor244, and sat down.
It was now nearly if not altogether daylight; and, as I gazed, enraptured, at the angel by my side, the singular idea came, all at once, into my head, that this was really the very first moment since my acquaintance with the celebrated loveliness of Madame Lalande, that I had enjoyed a near inspection of that loveliness by daylight at all.
“And now, mon ami,” said she, taking my hand, and so interrupting this train of reflection, “and now, mon cher ami, since we are indissolubly one — since I have yielded to your passionate223 entreaties, and performed my portion of our agreement — I presume you have not forgotten that you also have a little favor to bestow245 — a little promise which it is your intention to keep. Ah! let me see! Let me remember! Yes; full easily do I call to mind the precise words of the dear promise you made to Eugenie last night. Listen! You spoke thus: ‘It is done! — it is most cheerfully agreed! I sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass as an eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morning which gives me the privilege of calling you wife, I will place it upon my — upon my nose — and there wear it ever afterward, in the less romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable, form which you desire.’ These were the exact words, my beloved husband, were they not?”
“They were,” I said; “you have an excellent memory; and assuredly, my beautiful Eugenie, there is no disposition246 on my part to evade247 the performance of the trivial promise they imply. See! Behold! they are becoming — rather — are they not?” And here, having arranged the glasses in the ordinary form of spectacles, I applied248 them gingerly in their proper position; while Madame Simpson, adjusting her cap, and folding her arms, sat bolt upright in her chair, in a somewhat stiff and prim41, and indeed, in a somewhat undignified position.
“Goodness gracious me!” I exclaimed, almost at the very instant that the rim42 of the spectacles had settled upon my nose —“My goodness gracious me! — why, what can be the matter with these glasses?” and taking them quickly off, I wiped them carefully with a silk handkerchief, and adjusted them again.
But if, in the first instance, there had occurred something which occasioned me surprise, in the second, this surprise became elevated into astonishment; and this astonishment was profound — was extreme — indeed I may say it was horrific. What, in the name of everything hideous249, did this mean? Could I believe my eyes? — could I? — that was the question. Was that — was that — was that rouge250? And were those — and were those — were those wrinkles, upon the visage of Eugenie Lalande? And oh! Jupiter, and every one of the gods and goddesses, little and big! what — what — what — what had become of her teeth? I dashed the spectacles violently to the ground, and, leaping to my feet, stood erect251 in the middle of the floor, confronting Mrs. Simpson, with my arms set a-kimbo, and grinning and foaming252, but, at the same time, utterly speechless with terror and with rage.
Now I have already said that Madame Eugenie Lalande — that is to say, Simpson — spoke the English language but very little better than she wrote it, and for this reason she very properly never attempted to speak it upon ordinary occasions. But rage will carry a lady to any extreme; and in the present care it carried Mrs. Simpson to the very extraordinary extreme of attempting to hold a conversation in a tongue that she did not altogether understand.
“Vell, Monsieur,” said she, after surveying me, in great apparent astonishment, for some moments —“Vell, Monsieur? — and vat43 den17? — vat de matter now? Is it de dance of de Saint itusse dat you ave? If not like me, vat for vy buy de pig in the poke104?”
“You wretch253!” said I, catching254 my breath —“you — you — you villainous old hag!”
“Ag? — ole? — me not so ver ole, after all! Me not one single day more dan de eighty-doo.”
“Eighty-two!” I ejaculated, staggering to the wall —“eighty-two hundred thousand baboons255! The miniature said twenty-seven years and seven months!”
“To be sure! — dat is so! — ver true! but den de portraite has been take for dese fifty-five year. Ven I go marry my segonde usbande, Monsieur Lalande, at dat time I had de portraite take for my daughter by my first usbande, Monsieur Moissart!”
“Moissart!” said I.
“Yes, Moissart,” said she, mimicking256 my pronunciation, which, to speak the truth, was none of the best — “and vat den? Vat you know about de Moissart?”
“Nothing, you old fright! — I know nothing about him at all; only I had an ancestor of that name, once upon a time.”
“Dat name! and vat you ave for say to dat name? ’Tis ver goot name; and so is Voissart — dat is ver goot name too. My daughter, Mademoiselle Moissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart — and de name is bot ver respectaable name.”
“Moissart?” I exclaimed, “and Voissart! Why, what is it you mean?”
“Vat I mean? — I mean Moissart and Voissart; and for de matter of dat, I mean Croissart and Froisart, too, if I only tink proper to mean it. My daughter’s daughter, Mademoiselle Voissart, she marry von Monsieur Croissart, and den again, my daughter’s grande daughter, Mademoiselle Croissart, she marry von Monsieur Froissart; and I suppose you say dat dat is not von ver respectaable name.-”
“Froissart!” said I, beginning to faint, “why, surely you don’t say Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart?”
“Yes,” she replied, leaning fully back in her chair, and stretching out her lower limbs at great length; “yes, Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and Froissart. But Monsieur Froissart, he vas von ver big vat you call fool — he vas von ver great big donce like yourself — for he lef la belle257 France for come to dis stupide Amerique — and ven he get here he went and ave von ver stupide, von ver, ver stupide sonn, so I hear, dough258 I not yet av ad de plaisir to meet vid him — neither me nor my companion, de Madame Stephanie Lalande. He is name de Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart, and I suppose you say dat dat, too, is not von ver respectable name.”
Either the length or the nature of this speech, had the effect of working up Mrs. Simpson into a very extraordinary passion indeed; and as she made an end of it, with great labor154, she lumped up from her chair like somebody bewitched, dropping upon the floor an entire universe of bustle259 as she lumped. Once upon her feet, she gnashed her gums, brandished260 her arms, rolled up her sleeves, shook her fist in my face, and concluded the performance by tearing the cap from her head, and with it an immense wig261 of the most valuable and beautiful black hair, the whole of which she dashed upon the ground with a yell, and there trammpled and danced a fandango upon it, in an absolute ecstasy and agony of rage.
Meantime I sank aghast into the chair which she had vacated. “Moissart and Voissart!” I repeated, thoughtfully, as she cut one of her pigeon-wings, and “Croissart and Froissart!” as she completed another —“Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart! — why, you ineffable262 old serpent, that’s me — that’s me — d’ye hear? that’s me”— here I screamed at the top of my voice —“that’s me-e-e! I am Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart! and if I havn’t married my great, great, grandmother, I wish I may be everlastingly263 confounded!”
Madame Eugenie Lalande, quasi Simpson — formerly264 Moissart — was, in sober fact, my great, great, grandmother. In her youth she had been beautiful, and even at eighty-two, retained the majestic height, the sculptural contour of head, the fine eyes and the Grecian nose of her girlhood. By the aid of these, of pearl-powder, of rouge, of false hair, false teeth, and false tournure, as well as of the most skilful265 modistes of Paris, she contrived266 to hold a respectable footing among the beauties en peu passees of the French metropolis267. In this respect, indeed, she might have been regarded as little less than the equal of the celebrated Ninon De L’Enclos.
She was immensely wealthy, and being left, for the second time, a widow without children, she bethought herself of my existence in America, and for the purpose of making me her heir, paid a visit to the United States, in company with a distant and exceedingly lovely relative of her second husband’s — a Madame Stephanie Lalande.
At the opera, my great, great, grandmother’s attention was arrested by my notice; and, upon surveying me through her eye-glass, she was struck with a certain family resemblance to herself. Thus interested, and knowing that the heir she sought was actually in the city, she made inquiries of her party respecting me. The gentleman who attended her knew my person, and told her who I was. The information thus obtained induced her to renew her scrutiny268; and this scrutiny it was which so emboldened269 me that I behaved in the absurd manner already detailed270. She returned my bow, however, under the impression that, by some odd accident, I had discovered her identity. When, deceived by my weakness of vision, and the arts of the toilet, in respect to the age and charms of the strange lady, I demanded so enthusiastically of Talbot who she was, he concluded that I meant the younger beauty, as a matter of course, and so informed me, with perfect truth, that she was “the celebrated widow, Madame Lalande.”
In the street, next morning, my great, great, grandmother encountered Talbot, an old Parisian acquaintance; and the conversation, very naturally turned upon myself. My deficiencies of vision were then explained; for these were notorious, although I was entirely ignorant of their notoriety, and my good old relative discovered, much to her chagrin271, that she had been deceived in supposing me aware of her identity, and that I had been merely making a fool of myself in making open love, in a theatre, to an old woman unknown. By way of punishing me for this imprudence, she concocted272 with Talbot a plot. He purposely kept out of my way to avoid giving me the introduction. My street inquiries about “the lovely widow, Madame Lalande,” were supposed to refer to the younger lady, of course, and thus the conversation with the three gentlemen whom I encountered shortly after leaving Talbot’s hotel will be easily explained, as also their allusion273 to Ninon De L’Enclos. I had no opportunity of seeing Madame Lalande closely during daylight; and, at her musical soiree, my silly weakness in refusing the aid of glasses effectually prevented me from making a discovery of her age. When “Madame Lalande” was called upon to sing, the younger lady was intended; and it was she who arose to obey the call; my great, great, grandmother, to further the deception274, arising at the same moment and accompanying her to the piano in the main drawing-room. Had I decided275 upon escorting her thither276, it had been her design to suggest the propriety114 of my remaining where I was; but my own prudential views rendered this unnecessary. The songs which I so much admired, and which so confirmed my impression of the youth of my mistress, were executed by Madame Stephanie Lalande. The eyeglass was presented by way of adding a reproof277 to the hoax278 — a sting to the epigram of the deception. Its presentation afforded an opportunity for the lecture upon affectation with which I was so especially edified279. It is almost superfluous280 to add that the glasses of the instrument, as worn by the old lady, had been exchanged by her for a pair better adapted to my years. They suited me, in fact, to a T.
The clergyman, who merely pretended to tie the fatal knot, was a boon companion of Talbot’s, and no priest. He was an excellent “whip,” however; and having doffed281 his cassock to put on a great-coat, he drove the hack282 which conveyed the “happy couple” out of town. Talbot took a seat at his side. The two scoundrels were thus “in at the death,” and through a half-open window of the back parlor of the inn, amused themselves in grinning at the denouement283 of the drama. I believe I shall be forced to call them both out.
Nevertheless, I am not the husband of my great, great, grandmother; and this is a reflection which affords me infinite relief — but I am the husband of Madame Lalande — of Madame Stephanie Lalande — with whom my good old relative, besides making me her sole heir when she dies — if she ever does — has been at the trouble of concocting284 me a match. In conclusion: I am done forever with billets doux and am never to be met without SPECTACLES.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
ridicule
|
|
| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
ethical
|
|
| adj.伦理的，道德的，合乎道德的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
magnetism
|
|
| n.磁性，吸引力，磁学 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fetters
|
|
| n.脚镣( fetter的名词复数 )；束缚v.给…上脚镣，束缚( fetter的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
rivet
|
|
| n.铆钉；vt.铆接，铆牢；集中(目光或注意力) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
riveted
|
|
| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
plebeian
|
|
| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
legislatively
|
|
| adv.立法地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bequest
|
|
| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
appellations
|
|
| n.名称，称号( appellation的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
reluctance
|
|
| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
immortal
|
|
| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
chronic
|
|
| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
den
|
|
| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
predecessors
|
|
| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
repugnance
|
|
| n.嫌恶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
legacy
|
|
| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
deficient
|
|
| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
inconvenient
|
|
| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
hem
|
|
| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
demur
|
|
| v．表示异议，反对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
demureness
|
|
| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
31
sanctimoniousness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
savor
|
|
| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
temperament
|
|
| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
devoted
|
|
| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
wed
|
|
| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
elite
|
|
| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
prim
|
|
| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
rim
|
|
| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
vat
|
|
| n.(=value added tax)增值税，大桶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
necromancy
|
|
| n.巫术；通灵术 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
gracefulness
|
|
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
incarnate
|
|
| adj.化身的，人体化的，肉色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
majestic
|
|
| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
psyche
|
|
| n.精神；灵魂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
cuff
|
|
| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
gracefully
|
|
| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
bracelet
|
|
| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
ornamented
|
|
| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
specimens
|
|
| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
abatement
|
|
| n.减(免)税，打折扣，冲销 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
anomalous
|
|
| adj.反常的；不规则的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
disturbance
|
|
| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
partially
|
|
| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
anticipations
|
|
| 预期( anticipation的名词复数 )； 预测； （信托财产收益的）预支； 预期的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
susceptible
|
|
| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
undoubtedly
|
|
| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
accosted
|
|
| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
revolved
|
|
| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
imperatively
|
|
| adv.命令式地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
behold
|
|
| v.看，注视，看到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
obstinately
|
|
| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
transacting
|
|
| v.办理（业务等）( transact的现在分词 )；交易，谈判 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
exquisitely
|
|
| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
unintelligible
|
|
| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
majesty
|
|
| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
trepidation
|
|
| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
intensity
|
|
| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
chiselled
|
|
| adj.凿过的，凿光的； （文章等）精心雕琢的v.凿，雕，镌( chisel的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
mantled
|
|
| 披着斗篷的，覆盖着的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
avert
|
|
| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
astounded
|
|
| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
nonchalance
|
|
| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
effrontery
|
|
| n.厚颜无耻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
elevation
|
|
| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
inspection
|
|
| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
remarkable
|
|
| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
attentively
|
|
| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
scrutinized
|
|
| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
poke
|
|
| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
expiration
|
|
| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
extremity
|
|
| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
agitation
|
|
| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
miraculous
|
|
| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
delirium
|
|
| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
embolden
|
|
| v.给…壮胆，鼓励 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
averted
|
|
| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
furtively
|
|
| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
vocal
|
|
| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
inclinations
|
|
| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
tumult
|
|
| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
proximity
|
|
| n.接近，邻近 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
consigning
|
|
| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
scrupulous
|
|
| adj.审慎的，小心翼翼的，完全的，纯粹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
smothering
|
|
| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
moodily
|
|
| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
propounding
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
futile
|
|
| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
inquiries
|
|
| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
conversing
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
remarkably
|
|
| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
vaudeville
|
|
| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
perseveringly
|
|
| 坚定地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
148
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
149
interim
|
|
| adj.暂时的，临时的；n.间歇，过渡期间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
150
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
151
everlasting
|
|
| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
152
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
153
noted
|
|
| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
154
labor
|
|
| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
155
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
156
affluence
|
|
| n.充裕，富足 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
157
belied
|
|
| v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 )；证明（或显示）…为虚假；辜负；就…扯谎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
158
dictates
|
|
| n.命令，规定，要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
159
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
160
soothing
|
|
| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
161
consolations
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问( consolation的名词复数 )；起安慰作用的人（或事物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
162
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
163
entreating
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
164
endorsement
|
|
| n.背书；赞成，认可，担保；签(注)，批注 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
165
deities
|
|
| n.神，女神( deity的名词复数 )；神祗；神灵；神明 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
166
audacity
|
|
| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
167
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
168
promenade
|
|
| n./v.散步 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
169
groves
|
|
| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
170
overflowing
|
|
| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
171
discoursed
|
|
| 演说（discourse的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
172
eloquence
|
|
| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
173
besought
|
|
| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
174
deters
|
|
| v.阻止，制止( deter的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
175
concealing
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
176
adverted
|
|
| 引起注意（advert的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
177
improper
|
|
| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
178
enraptured
|
|
| v.使狂喜( enrapture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
179
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
180
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
181
unstable
|
|
| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
182
overthrew
|
|
| overthrow的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
183
fabric
|
|
| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
184
perils
|
|
| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
185
encompass
|
|
| vt.围绕，包围；包含，包括；完成 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
186
rendering
|
|
| n.表现，描写 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
187
soften
|
|
| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
188
rigor
|
|
| n.严酷，严格，严厉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
189
discrepancy
|
|
| n.不同；不符；差异；矛盾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
190
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
191
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
192
candor
|
|
| n.坦白，率真 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
193
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
194
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
195
discoursing
|
|
| 演说（discourse的现在分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
196
follies
|
|
| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
197
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
198
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
199
punctilious
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
200
smuggling
|
|
| n.走私 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
201
mansion
|
|
| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
202
qualified
|
|
| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
203
mansions
|
|
| n.宅第，公馆，大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
204
splendor
|
|
| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
205
suite
|
|
| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
206
peremptory
|
|
| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
207
imbued
|
|
| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
208
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
209
descend
|
|
| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
210
descending
|
|
| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
211
cadences
|
|
| n.（声音的）抑扬顿挫( cadence的名词复数 )；节奏；韵律；调子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
212
tenor
|
|
| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
213
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
214
acquit
|
|
| vt.宣判无罪；(oneself)使(自己)表现出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
215
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
216
confiding
|
|
| 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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
217
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
218
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
219
hectic
|
|
| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
220
rheumatism
|
|
| n.风湿病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
221
hereditary
|
|
| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
222
passionately
|
|
| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
223
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
224
filigreed
|
|
| adj.饰有金银丝细工的v.（用金丝等制成的）精工制品( filigree的过去式和过去分词 )；精致的物品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
225
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
226
boon
|
|
| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
227
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
228
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
229
gem
|
|
| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
230
trifling
|
|
| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
231
modification
|
|
| n.修改，改进，缓和，减轻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
232
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
233
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
234
muster
|
|
| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
235
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
236
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
237
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
238
exultingly
|
|
| 兴高采烈地，得意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
239
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
240
proffered
|
|
| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
241
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
242
proceeding
|
|
| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
243
precisely
|
|
| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
244
parlor
|
|
| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
245
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
246
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
247
evade
|
|
| vt.逃避，回避；避开，躲避 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
248
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
249
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
250
rouge
|
|
| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
251
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
252
foaming
|
|
| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
253
wretch
|
|
| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
254
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
255
baboons
|
|
| n.狒狒( baboon的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
256
mimicking
|
|
| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
257
belle
|
|
| n.靓女 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
258
dough
|
|
| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
259
bustle
|
|
| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
260
brandished
|
|
| v.挥舞( brandish的过去式和过去分词 )；炫耀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
261
wig
|
|
| n.假发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
262
ineffable
|
|
| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
263
everlastingly
|
|
| 永久地，持久地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
264
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
265
skilful
|
|
| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
266
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
267
metropolis
|
|
| n.首府；大城市 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
268
scrutiny
|
|
| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
269
emboldened
|
|
| v.鼓励，使有胆量( embolden的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
270
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
271
chagrin
|
|
| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
272
concocted
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
273
allusion
|
|
| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
274
deception
|
|
| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
275
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
276
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
277
reproof
|
|
| n.斥责，责备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
278
hoax
|
|
| v.欺骗，哄骗，愚弄；n.愚弄人，恶作剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
279
edified
|
|
| v.开导，启发( edify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
280
superfluous
|
|
| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
281
doffed
|
|
| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
282
hack
|
|
| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
283
denouement
|
|
| n.结尾，结局 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
284
concocting
|
|
| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |