Once only did Lancelot break out with his real sentiments when the banker was planning how to reestablish his credit; to set to work, in fact, to blow over again the same bubble which had already burst under him.
‘If I were a Christian,’ said Lancelot, ‘like you, I would call this credit system of yours the devil’s selfish counterfeit16 of God’s order of mutual17 love and trust; the child of that miserable18 dream, which, as Dr. Chalmers well said, expects universal selfishness to do the work of universal love. Look at your credit system, how — not in its abuse, but in its very essence — it carries the seeds of self-destruction. In the first place, a man’s credit depends, not upon his real worth and property, but upon his reputation for property; daily and hourly he is tempted19, he is forced, to puff20 himself, to pretend to be richer than he is.’
The banker sighed and shrugged21 his shoulders. ‘We all do it, my dear boy.’
‘I know it. You must do it, or be more than human. There is lie the first, and look at lie the second. This credit system is founded on the universal faith and honour of men towards men. But do you think faith and honour can be the children of selfishness? Men must be chivalrous22 and disinterested23 to be honourable24. And you expect them all to join in universal faith — each for his own selfish interest? You forget that if that is the prime motive25, men will be honourable only as long as it suits that same self-interest.’
The banker shrugged his shoulders again.
‘Yes, my dear uncle,’ said Lancelot, ‘you all forget it, though you suffer for it daily and hourly; though the honourable men among you complain of the stain which has fallen on the old chivalrous good faith of English commerce, and say that now, abroad as well as at home, an Englishman’s word is no longer worth other men’s bonds. You see the evil, and you deplore26 it in disgust. Ask yourself honestly, how can you battle against it, while you allow in practice, and in theory too, except in church on Sundays, the very falsehood from which it all springs? — that a man is bound to get wealth, not for his country, but for himself; that, in short, not patriotism27, but selfishness, is the bond of all society. Selfishness can collect, not unite, a herd28 of cowardly wild cattle, that they may feed together, breed together, keep off the wolf and bear together. But when one of your wild cattle falls sick, what becomes of the corporate29 feelings of the herd then? For one man of your class who is nobly helped by his fellows, are not the thousand left behind to perish? Your Bible talks of society, not as a herd, but as a living tree, an organic individual body, a holy brotherhood30, and kingdom of God. And here is an idol11 which you have set up instead of it!’
But the banker was deaf to all arguments. No doubt he had plenty, for he was himself a just and generous — ay, and a God-fearing man in his way, only he regarded Lancelot’s young fancies as too visionary to deserve an answer; which they most probably are; else, having been broached31 as often as they have been, they would surely, ere now, have provoked the complete refutation which can, no doubt, be given to them by hundreds of learned votaries32 of so-called commerce. And here I beg my readers to recollect33 that I am in no way answerable for the speculations34, either of Lancelot or any of his acquaintances; and that these papers have been, from beginning to end, as in name, so in nature, Yeast35 — an honest sample of the questions, which, good or bad, are fermenting36 in the minds of the young of this day, and are rapidly leavening37 the minds of the rising generation. No doubt they are all as full of fallacies as possible, but as long as the saying of the German sage38 stands true, that ‘the destiny of any nation, at any given moment, depends on the opinions of its young men under five-and-twenty,’ so long it must be worth while for those who wish to preserve the present order of society to justify its acknowledged evils somewhat, not only to the few young men who are interested in preserving them, but also to the many who are not.
Though, therefore, I am neither Plymouth Brother nor Communist, and as thoroughly39 convinced as the newspapers can make me, that to assert the duties of property is only to plot its destruction, and that a community of goods must needs imply a community of wives (as every one knows was the case with the apostolic Christians), I shall take the liberty of narrating40 Lancelot’s fanatical conduct, without execratory41 comment, certain that he will still receive his just reward of condemnation42; and that, if I find facts, a sensible public will find abhorrence43 for them. His behaviour was, indeed, most singular; he absolutely refused a good commercial situation which his uncle procured44 him. He did not believe in being ‘cured by a hair of the dog that bit him;’ and he refused, also, the really generous offers of the creditors45, to allow him a sufficient maintenance.
‘No,’ he said, ‘no more pay without work for me. I will earn my bread or starve. It seems God’s will to teach me what poverty is — I will see that His intention is not left half fulfilled. I have sinned, and only in the stern delight of a just penance46 can I gain self-respect.’
‘But, my dear madman,’ said his uncle, ‘you are just the innocent one among us all. You, at least, were only a sleeping partner.’
‘And therein lies my sin; I took money which I never earned, and cared as little how it was gained as how I spent it. Henceforth I shall touch no farthing which is the fruit of a system which I cannot approve. I accuse no one. Actions may vary in rightfulness, according to the age and the person. But what may be right for you, because you think it right, is surely wrong for me because I think it wrong.’
So, with grim determination, he sent to the hammer every article he possessed48, till he had literally49 nothing left but the clothes in which he stood. ‘He could not rest,’ he said, ‘till he had pulled out all his borrowed peacock’s feathers. When they were gone he should be able to see, at last, whether he was jackdaw or eagle.’ And wonder not, reader, at this same strength of will. The very genius, which too often makes its possessor self-indulgent in common matters, from the intense capability50 of enjoyment51 which it brings, may also, when once his whole being is stirred into motion by some great object, transform him into a hero.
And he carried a letter, too, in his bosom52, night and day, which routed all coward fears and sad forebodings as soon as they arose, and converted the lonely and squalid lodging53 to which he had retired54, into a fairy palace peopled with bright phantoms55 of future bliss56. I need not say from whom it came.
‘Beloved!’ (it ran) ‘Darling! you need not pain yourself to tell me anything. I know all; and I know, too (do not ask me how), your noble determination to drink the wholesome57 cup of poverty to the very dregs.
‘Oh that I were with you! Oh that I could give you my fortune! but
that is not yet, alas58! in my own power. No! rather would I share that poverty with you, and strengthen you in your purpose. And yet, I cannot bear the thought of you, lonely — perhaps miserable. But, courage! though you have lost all, you have found me; and now you are knitting me to you for ever — justifying59 my own love to me by your nobleness; and am I not worth all the world to you? I dare say this to you; you will not think me conceited60. Can we misunderstand each other’s hearts? And all this while you are alone! Oh! I have mourned for you! Since I heard of your misfortune I have not tasted pleasure. The light of heaven has been black to me, and I have lived only upon love. I will not taste comfort while you are wretched. Would that I could be poor like you! Every night upon the bare floor I lie down to sleep, and fancy you in your little chamber61, and nestle to you, and cover that dear face with kisses. Strange! that I should dare to speak thus to you, whom a few months ago I had never heard of! Wonderful simplicity62 of love! How all that is prudish63 and artificial flees before it! I seem to have begun a new life. If I could play now, it would be only with little children. Farewell! be great — a glorious future is before you and me in you!’
Lancelot’s answer must remain untold64; perhaps the veil has been already too far lifted which hides the sanctuary65 of such love. But, alas! to his letter no second had been returned; and he felt — though he dared not confess it to himself — a gloomy presentiment66 of evil flit across him, as he thought of his fallen fortunes, and the altered light in which his suit would be regarded by Argemone’s parents. Once he blamed himself bitterly for not having gone to Mr. Lavington the moment he discovered Argemone’s affection, and insuring — as he then might have done — his consent. But again he felt that no sloth67 had kept him back, but adoring reverence68 for his God-given treasure, and humble69 astonishment70 at his own happiness; and he fled from the thought into renewed examination into the state of the masses, the effect of which was only to deepen his own determination to share their lot.
But at the same time it seemed to him but fair to live, as long as it would last, on that part of his capital which his creditors would have given nothing for — namely, his information; and he set to work to write. But, alas! he had but a ‘small literary connection;’ and the entree71 of the initiated72 ring is not obtained in a day. . . . Besides, he would not write trash. — He was in far too grim a humour for that; and if he wrote on important subjects, able editors always were in the habit of entrusting73 them to old contributors — men, in short, in whose judgment74 they had confidence — not to say anything which would commit the magazine to anything but its own little party-theory. And behold75! poor Lancelot found himself of no party whatsoever76. He was in a minority of one against the whole world, on all points, right or wrong. He had the unhappiest knack77 (as all geniuses have) of seeing connections, humorous or awful, between the most seemingly antipodal things; of illustrating78 every subject from three or four different spheres which it is anathema79 to mention in the same page. If he wrote a physical-science article, able editors asked him what the deuce a scrap80 of high-churchism did in the middle of it? If he took the same article to a high-church magazine, the editor could not commit himself to any theory which made the earth more than six thousand years old, and was afraid that the public taste would not approve of the allusions81 to free-masonry and Soyer’s soup. . . . And worse than that, one and all — Jew, Turk, infidel, and heretic, as well as the orthodox — joined in pious82 horror at his irreverence83; — the shocking way he had of jumbling84 religion and politics — the human and the divine — the theories of the pulpit with the facts of the exchange. . . . The very atheists, who laughed at him for believing in a God, agreed that that, at least, was inconsistent with the dignity of the God — who did not exist. . . . It was Syncretism . . . Pantheism . . . .
‘Very well, friends,’ quoth Lancelot to himself, in bitter rage, one day, ‘if you choose to be without God in the world, and to honour Him by denying Him . . . do so! You shall have your way; and go to the place whither it seems leading you just now, at railroad pace. But I must live. . . . Well, at least, there is some old college nonsense of mine, written three years ago, when I believed, like you, that all heaven and earth was put together out of separate bits, like a child’s puzzle, and that each topic ought to have its private little pigeon-hole all to itself in a man’s brain, like drugs in a chemist’s shop. Perhaps it will suit you, friends; perhaps it will be system-frozen, and narrow, and dogmatic, and cowardly, and godless enough for you.’ . . . So he went forth47 with them to market; and behold! they were bought forthwith. There was verily a demand for such; . . . and in spite of the ten thousand ink-fountains which were daily pouring out similar Stygian liquors, the public thirst remained unslaked. ‘Well,’ thought Lancelot, ‘the negro race is not the only one which is afflicted85 with manias86 for eating dirt. . . . By the bye, where is poor Luke?’
Ah! where was poor Luke? Lancelot had received from him one short and hurried note, blotted87 with tears, which told how he had informed his father; and how his father had refused to see him, and had forbid him the house; and how he had offered him an allowance of fifty pounds a year (it should have been five hundred, he said, if he had possessed it), which Luke’s director, sensibly enough, had compelled him to accept. . . . And there the letter ended, abruptly89, leaving the writer evidently in lower depths than he had either experienced already, or expected at all.
Lancelot had often pleaded for him with his father; but in vain. Not that the good man was hard-hearted: he would cry like a child about it all to Lancelot when they sat together after dinner. But he was utterly90 beside himself, what with grief, shame, terror, and astonishment. On the whole, the sorrow was a real comfort to him: it gave him something beside his bankruptcy91 to think of; and, distracted between the two different griefs, he could brood over neither. But of the two, certainly his son’s conversion92 was the worst in his eyes. The bankruptcy was intelligible93 — measurable; it was something known and classified — part of the ills which flesh (or, at least, commercial flesh) is heir to. But going to Rome! —
‘I can’t understand it. I won’t believe it. It’s so foolish, you see, Lancelot — so foolish — like an ass5 that eats thistles! . . . There must be some reason; — there must be-something we don’t know, sir! Do you think they could have promised to make him a cardinal94?’
Lancelot quite agreed that there were reasons for it, that they — or, at least, the banker — did not know . . . .
‘Depend upon it, they promised him something — some prince-bishopric, perhaps. Else why on earth could a man go over! It’s out of the course of nature!’
Lancelot tried in vain to make him understand that a man might sacrifice everything to conscience, and actually give up all worldly weal for what he thought right. The banker turned on him with angry resignation —
‘Very well — I suppose he’s done right then! I suppose you’ll go next! Take up a false religion, and give up everything for it! Why, then, he must be honest; and if he’s honest, he’s in the right; and I suppose I’d better go too!’
Lancelot argued: but in vain. The idea of disinterested sacrifice was so utterly foreign to the good man’s own creed96 and practice, that he could but see one pair of alternatives.
‘Either he is a good man, or he’s a hypocrite. Either he’s right, or he’s gone over for some vile97 selfish end; and what can that be but money?’
Lancelot gently hinted that there might be other selfish ends besides pecuniary98 ones — saving one’s soul, for instance.
‘Why, if he wants to save his soul, he’s right. What ought we all to do, but try to save our souls? I tell you there’s some sinister99 reason. They’ve told him that they expect to convert England — I should like to see them do it! — and that he’ll be made a bishop95. Don’t argue with me, or you’ll drive me mad. I know those Jesuits!’
And as soon as he began upon the Jesuits, Lancelot prudently100 held his tongue. The good man had worked himself up into a perfect frenzy101 of terror and suspicion about them. He suspected concealed102 Jesuits among his footmen and his housemaids; Jesuits in his counting-house, Jesuits in his duns . . . .
‘Hang it, sir! how do I know that there ain’t a Jesuit listening to us now behind the curtain?’
‘I’ll go and look,’ quoth Lancelot, and suited the action to the word.
‘Well, if there ain’t there might be. They’re everywhere, I tell you. That vicar of Whitford was a Jesuit. I was sure of it all along; but the man seemed so pious; and certainly he did my poor dear boy a deal of good. But he ruined you, you know. And I’m convinced — no, don’t contradict me; I tell you, I won’t stand it — I’m convinced that this whole mess of mine is a plot of those rascals103; — I’m as certain of it as if they’d told me!’
‘For what end?’
‘How the deuce can I tell? Am I a Jesuit, to understand their sneaking104, underhand — pah! I’m sick of life! Nothing but rogues105 wherever one turns!’
And then Lancelot used to try to persuade him to take poor Luke back again. But vague terror had steeled his heart.
‘What! Why, he’d convert us all! He’d convert his sisters! He’d bring his priests in here, or his nuns106 disguised as ladies’ maids, and we should all go over, every one of us, like a set of nine-pins!’
‘You seem to think Protestantism a rather shaky cause, if it is so easy to be upset.’
‘Sir! Protestantism is the cause of England and Christianity, and civilisation107, and freedom, and common sense, sir! and that’s the very reason why it’s so easy to pervert108 men from it; and the very reason why it’s a lost cause, and popery, and Antichrist, and the gates of hell are coming in like a flood to prevail against it!’
‘Well,’ thought Lancelot, ‘that is the very strangest reason for it’s being a lost cause! Perhaps if my poor uncle believed it really to be the cause of God Himself, he would not be in such extreme fear for it, or fancy it required such a hotbed and greenhouse culture. . . . Really, if his sisters were little girls of ten years old, who looked up to him as an oracle109, there would be some reason in it. . . . But those tall, ball-going, flirting110, self-satisfied cousins of mine — who would have been glad enough, either of them, two months ago, to snap up me, infidelity, bad character, and all, as a charming rich young roue — if they have not learnt enough Protestantism in the last five-and-twenty years to take care of themselves, Protestantism must have very few allurements112, or else be very badly carried out in practice by those who talk loudest in favour of it. . . . I heard them praising O’Blareaway’s “ministry,” by the bye, the other day. So he is up in town at last — at the summit of his ambition. Well, he may suit them. I wonder how many young creatures like Argemone and Luke he would keep from Popery!’
But there was no use arguing with a man in such a state of mind; and gradually Lancelot gave it up, in hopes that time would bring the good man to his sane113 wits again, and that a father’s feelings would prove themselves stronger, because more divine, than a so-called Protestant’s fears, though that would have been, in the banker’s eyes, and in the Jesuit’s also — so do extremes meet — the very reason for expecting them to be the weaker; for it is the rule with all bigots, that the right cause is always a lost cause, and therefore requires — God’s weapons of love, truth, and reason being well known to be too weak — to be defended, if it is to be saved, with the devil’s weapons of bad logic114, spite, and calumny115.
At last, in despair of obtaining tidings of his cousin by any other method, Lancelot made up his mind to apply to a certain remarkable116 man, whose ‘conversion’ had preceded Luke’s about a year, and had, indeed, mainly caused it.
He went, . . . and was not disappointed. With the most winning courtesy and sweetness, his story and his request were patiently listened to.
‘The outcome of your speech, then, my dear sir, as I apprehend118 it, is a request to me to send back the fugitive119 lamb into the jaws120 of the well-meaning, but still lupine wolf?’
This was spoken with so sweet and arch a smile, that it was impossible to be angry.
‘On my honour, I have no wish to convert him. All I want is to have human speech of him — to hear from his own lips that he is content. Whither should I convert him? Not to my own platform — for I am nowhere. Not to that which he has left, . . . for if he could have found standing121 ground there, he would not have gone elsewhere for rest.’
‘Therefore they went out from you, because they were not of you,’ said the ‘Father,’ half aside.
‘Most true, sir. I have felt long that argument was bootless with those whose root-ideas of Deity122, man, earth, and heaven, were as utterly different from my own, as if we had been created by two different beings.’
‘Do you include in that catalogue those ideas of truth, love, and justice, which are Deity itself? Have you no common ground in them?’
‘You are an elder and a better man than I. . . . It would be insolent123 in me to answer that question, except in one way, . . . and —’
‘In that you cannot answer it. Be it so. . . . You shall see your cousin. You may make what efforts you will for his reconversion. The Catholic Church,’ continued he, with one of his arch, deep-meaning smiles, ‘is not, like popular Protestantism, driven into shrieking124 terror at the approach of a foe125. She has too much faith in herself, and in Him who gives to her the power of truth, to expect every gay meadow to allure111 away her lambs from the fold.’
‘I assure you that your gallant126 permission is unnecessary. I am beginning, at least, to believe that there is a Father in Heaven who educates His children; and I have no wish to interfere127 with His methods. Let my cousin go his way . . . he will learn something which he wanted, I doubt not, on his present path, even as I shall on mine. “Se tu segui la tua stella” is my motto. . . . Let it be his too, wherever the star may guide him. If it be a will-o’-the-wisp, and lead to the morass128, he will only learn how to avoid morasses129 better for the future.’
‘Ave Maris stella! It is the star of Bethlehem which he follows . . . the star of Mary, immaculate, all-loving!’ . . . And he bowed his head reverently130. ‘Would that you, too, would submit yourself to that guidance! . . . You, too, would seem to want some loving heart whereon to rest.’ . . .
Lancelot sighed. ‘I am not a child, but a man; I want not a mother to pet, but a man to rule me.’
Slowly his companion raised his thin hand, and pointed117 to the crucifix, which stood at the other end of the apartment.
‘Behold him!’ and he bowed his head once more . . . and Lancelot, he knew not why, did the same . . . and yet in an instant he threw his head up proudly, and answered with George Fox’s old reply to the Puritans —
‘I want a live Christ, not a dead one. . . . That is noble . . . beautiful . . . it may be true. . . . But it has no message for me.’
‘He died for you.’
‘I care for the world, and not myself.’
‘He died for the world.’
‘And has deserted131 it, as folks say now, and become — an absentee, performing His work by deputies. . . . Do not start; the blasphemy132 is not mine, but those who preach it. No wonder that the owners of the soil think it no shame to desert their estates, when preachers tell them that He to whom they say, all power is given in heaven and earth, has deserted His.’
‘What would you have, my dear sir?’ asked the father.
‘What the Jews had. A king of my nation, and of the hearts of my nation, who would teach soldiers, artists, craftsmen133, statesmen, poets, priests, if priests there must be. I want a human lord, who understands me and the millions round me, pities us, teaches us, orders our history, civilisation, development for us. I come to you, full of manhood, and you send me to a woman. I go to the Protestants, full of desires to right the world — and they begin to talk of the next life, and give up this as lost!’
A quiet smile lighted up the thin wan88 face, full of unfathomable thoughts; and he replied, again half to himself —
‘Am I God, to kill or to make alive, that thou sendest to me to recover a man of his leprosy? Farewell. You shall see your cousin here at noon tomorrow. You will not refuse my blessing134, or my prayers, even though they be offered to a mother?’
‘I will refuse nothing in the form of human love.’ And the father blessed him fervently135, and he went out . . . .
‘What a man!’ said he to himself, ‘or rather the wreck136 of what a man! Oh, for such a heart, with the thews and sinews of a truly English brain!’
Next day he met Luke in that room. Their talk was short and sad. Luke was on the point of entering an order devoted137 especially to the worship of the Blessed Virgin138.
‘My father has cast me out . . . I must go to her feet. She will have mercy, though man has none.’
‘But why enter the order? Why take an irrevocable step?’
‘Because it is irrevocable; because I shall enter an utterly new life, in which old things shall pass away, and all things become new, and I shall forget the very names of Parent, Englishman, Citizen — the very existence of that strange Babel of man’s building, whose roar and moan oppress me every time I walk the street. Oh, for solitude139, meditation140, penance! Oh, to make up by bitter self-punishment my ingratitude141 to her who has been leading me unseen, for years, home to her bosom! — The all-prevailing mother, daughter of Gabriel, spouse142 of Deity, flower of the earth, whom I have so long despised! Oh, to follow the example of the blessed Mary of Oignies, who every day inflicted143 on her most holy person eleven hundred stripes in honour of that all-perfect maiden144!’
‘Such an honour, I could have thought, would have pleased better Kali, the murder-goddess of the Thugs,’ thought Lancelot to himself; but he had not the heart to say it, and he only replied —
‘So torture propitiates145 the Virgin? That explains the strange story I read lately, of her having appeared in the Cevennes, and informed the peasantry that she had sent the potato disease on account of their neglecting her shrines146; that unless they repented147, she would next year destroy their cattle; and the third year, themselves.’
‘Why not?’ asked poor Luke.
‘Why not, indeed? If God is to be capricious, proud, revengeful, why not the Son of God? And if the Son of God, why not His mother?’
‘You judge spiritual feelings by the carnal test of the understanding; your Protestant horror of asceticism148 lies at the root of all you say. How can you comprehend the self-satisfaction, the absolute delight, of self-punishment?’
‘So far from it, I have always had an infinite respect for asceticism, as a noble and manful thing — the only manful thing to my eyes left in popery; and fast dying out of that under Jesuit influence. You recollect the quarrel between the Tablet and the Jesuits, over Faber’s unlucky honesty about St. Rose of Lima? . . . But, really, as long as you honour asceticism as a means of appeasing149 the angry deities150, I shall prefer to St. Dominic’s cuirass or St. Hedwiga’s chilblains, John Mytton’s two hours’ crawl on the ice in his shirt, after a flock of wild ducks. They both endured like heroes; but the former for a selfish, if not a blasphemous151 end; the latter, as a man should, to test and strengthen his own powers of endurance. . . . There, I will say no more. Go your way, in God’s name. There must be lessons to be learnt in all strong and self-restraining action. . . . So you will learn something from the scourge152 and the hair-shirt. We must all take the bitter medicine of suffering, I suppose.’
‘And, therefore, I am the wiser, in forcing the draught153 on myself.’
‘Provided it be the right draught, and do not require another and still bitterer one to expel the effects of the poison. I have no faith in people’s doctoring themselves, either physically154 or spiritually.’
‘I am not my own physician; I follow the rules of an infallible Church, and the examples of her canonised saints.’
‘Well . . . perhaps they may have known what was best for themselves. . . . But as for you and me here, in the year 1849. . . . However, we shall argue on for ever. Forgive me if I have offended you.’
‘I am not offended. The Catholic Church has always been a persecuted156 one.’
‘Then walk with me a little way, and I will persecute155 you no more.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To . . . To —’ Lancelot had not the heart to say whither.
‘To my father’s! Ah! what a son I would have been to him now, in his extreme need! . . . And he will not let me! Lancelot, is it impossible to move him? I do not want to go home again . . . to live there . . . I could not face that, though I longed but this moment to do it. I cannot face the self-satisfied, pitying looks . . . the everlasting157 suspicion that they suspect me to be speaking untruths, or proselytising in secret. . . . Cruel and unjust!’
Lancelot thought of a certain letter of Luke’s . . . but who was he, to break the bruised158 reed?
‘No; I will not see him. Better thus; better vanish, and be known only according to the spirit by the spirits of saints and confessors, and their successors upon earth. No! I will die, and give no sign.’
‘I must see somewhat more of you, indeed.’
‘I will meet you here, then, two hours hence. Near that house — even along the way which leads to it — I cannot go. It would be too painful: too painful to think that you were walking towards it — the old house where I was born and bred . . . and I shut out — even though it be for the sake of the kingdom of heaven!’
‘Or for the sake of your own share therein, my poor cousin!’ thought Lancelot to himself, ‘which is a very different matter.’
‘Whither, after you have been —?’ Luke could not get out the word home.
‘To Claude Mellot’s.’
‘I will walk part of the way thither159 with you. But he is a very bad companion for you.’
‘I can’t help that. I cannot live; and I am going to turn painter. It is not the road in which to find a fortune; but still, the very sign-painters live somehow, I suppose. I am going this very afternoon to Claude Mellot, and enlist160. I sold the last of my treasured Mss. to a fifth-rate magazine this morning, for what it would fetch. It has been like eating one’s own children — but, at least, they have fed me. So now “to fresh fields and pastures new.”’
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2 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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3 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 | |
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adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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11 idol | |
n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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12 concessions | |
n.(尤指由政府或雇主给予的)特许权( concession的名词复数 );承认;减价;(在某地的)特许经营权 | |
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13 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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14 consistency | |
n.一贯性,前后一致,稳定性;(液体的)浓度 | |
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15 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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16 counterfeit | |
vt.伪造,仿造;adj.伪造的,假冒的 | |
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17 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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18 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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19 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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20 puff | |
n.一口(气);一阵(风);v.喷气,喘气 | |
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21 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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22 chivalrous | |
adj.武士精神的;对女人彬彬有礼的 | |
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23 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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24 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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25 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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26 deplore | |
vt.哀叹,对...深感遗憾 | |
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27 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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28 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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29 corporate | |
adj.共同的,全体的;公司的,企业的 | |
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30 brotherhood | |
n.兄弟般的关系,手中情谊 | |
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31 broached | |
v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 );打开并开始用;用凿子扩大(或修光);(在桶上)钻孔取液体 | |
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32 votaries | |
n.信徒( votary的名词复数 );追随者;(天主教)修士;修女 | |
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33 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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34 speculations | |
n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 );思考;投机活动;推断 | |
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35 yeast | |
n.酵母;酵母片;泡沫;v.发酵;起泡沫 | |
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36 fermenting | |
v.(使)发酵( ferment的现在分词 );(使)激动;骚动;骚扰 | |
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37 leavening | |
n.酵母,发酵,发酵物v.使(面团)发酵( leaven的现在分词 );在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
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38 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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39 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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40 narrating | |
v.故事( narrate的现在分词 ) | |
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41 execratory | |
adj.诅咒的,诅咒性的 | |
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42 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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43 abhorrence | |
n.憎恶;可憎恶的事 | |
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44 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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45 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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46 penance | |
n.(赎罪的)惩罪 | |
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47 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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48 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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49 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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50 capability | |
n.能力;才能;(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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51 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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52 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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53 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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54 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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55 phantoms | |
n.鬼怪,幽灵( phantom的名词复数 ) | |
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56 bliss | |
n.狂喜,福佑,天赐的福 | |
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57 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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58 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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59 justifying | |
证明…有理( justify的现在分词 ); 为…辩护; 对…作出解释; 为…辩解(或辩护) | |
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60 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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61 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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62 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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63 prudish | |
adj.装淑女样子的,装规矩的,过分规矩的;adv.过分拘谨地 | |
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64 untold | |
adj.数不清的,无数的 | |
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65 sanctuary | |
n.圣所,圣堂,寺庙;禁猎区,保护区 | |
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66 presentiment | |
n.预感,预觉 | |
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67 sloth | |
n.[动]树懒;懒惰,懒散 | |
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68 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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69 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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70 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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71 entree | |
n.入场权,进入权 | |
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72 initiated | |
n. 创始人 adj. 新加入的 vt. 开始,创始,启蒙,介绍加入 | |
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73 entrusting | |
v.委托,托付( entrust的现在分词 ) | |
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74 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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75 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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76 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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77 knack | |
n.诀窍,做事情的灵巧的,便利的方法 | |
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78 illustrating | |
给…加插图( illustrate的现在分词 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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79 anathema | |
n.诅咒;被诅咒的人(物),十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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80 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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81 allusions | |
暗指,间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
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82 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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83 irreverence | |
n.不尊敬 | |
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84 jumbling | |
混杂( jumble的现在分词 ); (使)混乱; 使混乱; 使杂乱 | |
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85 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86 manias | |
n.(mania的复数形式) | |
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87 blotted | |
涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 ); (用吸墨纸)吸干 | |
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88 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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89 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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90 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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91 bankruptcy | |
n.破产;无偿付能力 | |
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92 conversion | |
n.转化,转换,转变 | |
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93 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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94 cardinal | |
n.(天主教的)红衣主教;adj.首要的,基本的 | |
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95 bishop | |
n.主教,(国际象棋)象 | |
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96 creed | |
n.信条;信念,纲领 | |
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97 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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98 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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99 sinister | |
adj.不吉利的,凶恶的,左边的 | |
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100 prudently | |
adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
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101 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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102 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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103 rascals | |
流氓( rascal的名词复数 ); 无赖; (开玩笑说法)淘气的人(尤指小孩); 恶作剧的人 | |
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104 sneaking | |
a.秘密的,不公开的 | |
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105 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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106 nuns | |
n.(通常指基督教的)修女, (佛教的)尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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107 civilisation | |
n.文明,文化,开化,教化 | |
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108 pervert | |
n.堕落者,反常者;vt.误用,滥用;使人堕落,使入邪路 | |
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109 oracle | |
n.神谕,神谕处,预言 | |
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110 flirting | |
v.调情,打情骂俏( flirt的现在分词 ) | |
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111 allure | |
n.诱惑力,魅力;vt.诱惑,引诱,吸引 | |
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112 allurements | |
n.诱惑( allurement的名词复数 );吸引;诱惑物;有诱惑力的事物 | |
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113 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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114 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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115 calumny | |
n.诽谤,污蔑,中伤 | |
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116 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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117 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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118 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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119 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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120 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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121 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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122 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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123 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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124 shrieking | |
v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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125 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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126 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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127 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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128 morass | |
n.沼泽,困境 | |
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129 morasses | |
n.缠作一团( morass的名词复数 );困境;沼泽;陷阱 | |
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130 reverently | |
adv.虔诚地 | |
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131 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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132 blasphemy | |
n.亵渎,渎神 | |
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133 craftsmen | |
n. 技工 | |
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134 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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135 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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136 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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137 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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138 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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139 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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140 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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141 ingratitude | |
n.忘恩负义 | |
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142 spouse | |
n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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143 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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145 propitiates | |
v.劝解,抚慰,使息怒( propitiate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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146 shrines | |
圣地,圣坛,神圣场所( shrine的名词复数 ) | |
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147 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148 asceticism | |
n.禁欲主义 | |
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149 appeasing | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的现在分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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150 deities | |
n.神,女神( deity的名词复数 );神祗;神灵;神明 | |
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151 blasphemous | |
adj.亵渎神明的,不敬神的 | |
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152 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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153 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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154 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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155 persecute | |
vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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156 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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157 everlasting | |
adj.永恒的,持久的,无止境的 | |
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158 bruised | |
[医]青肿的,瘀紫的 | |
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159 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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160 enlist | |
vt.谋取(支持等),赢得;征募;vi.入伍 | |
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