Apart from his staid and correct manner at church, Palmer was a bluff6, hearty7 fellow, well known and well liked in our little town, where he frequently doctored the poor for nothing; and it was always understood that Palmer's brother George, a solicitor8, was also equally ready to give his services free of charge to the poor. It was only natural, then, that the Palmers were liked in our town—for it was a very small town. Grave faces, I remember, had been plentiful9 in Rugeley for some weeks and things had been going on that we boys did not understand. We knew the names of Palmer's horses, and felt any amount of interest in Blinkbonny and Goldfinder; but we did not understand the gloom that had settled on the town, for older people spoke10 with bated breath, and when boys drew near the conversation ceased or the lads were driven away. We knew the name of Palmer was whispered continuously. What did it all mean? At length mystery, reticence11, and whispered suspicions were useless. Palmer had been arrested for the murder of John Parsons Cook, whose body lay in our churchyard, and whose funeral we had witnessed.[Pg 127] Now the excitement began. Rugeley became almost the hub of the universe. Strange people arrived from everywhere, and the quiet town became a Babel.
I remember with what awe12 we gazed at Cook's grave after the body had been exhumed13 and returned to its resting-place. We knew that some part of the body had been taken away and sent to London for great men to examine. We boys even discussed the ultimate destination of the parts taken away, and wondered if they would ever get back to poor Cook. How well I remember the exciting events of that long and dramatic trial in London! Rugeley people were poor in those days, and newspapers were dear, so we borrowed where we could, and lent to others when we possessed14. I read aloud the records of that trial to all sorts of poor people, so I have cause to remember it. I prosecuted15 Palmer, and I defended him; I was witness, and I was judge; I claimed a triumphant16 acquittal, and I demanded his condemnation17; I cross-examined the great analyst18, and even at that age began to learn something of the nature and effects of strychnine. I thrilled with it all, but I believed Palmer to be innocent, and in a measure I was proud of a townsman who could stand up bravely against all the big men in London and show no fear. Oh, but he was a brave man! He must be innocent! And when the trial was all over, and Palmer was brought to Stafford to pay the penalty of his crime, do I not remember how all the world rushed to Stafford to see him hanged? Ay, I remember how people tramped all day through[Pg 128] Rugeley to Stafford, and how they stood all through the night in Stafford streets waiting, waiting for eight o'clock the next morning. Yes, I remember it all; and I remember, too, that the cherries in a certain garden nevermore had any attractions! But I remember, too, that Palmer died game, showing no fear, betraying no anxiety, with a good appetite to the last and a firm step to the scaffold.
Surely Palmer was innocent, and was supported by the knowledge of his innocence19. Murderers had fearsome consciences; they were haunted by a sense of their guilt20, and by the eyes or the spirits of their victims.
So I felt and so I reasoned about murderers when I was a boy. I have since those days had many opportunities of correcting my judgment21, and now I no longer believe that a bold, cool, collected behaviour, together with the possession of a good appetite, is synonymous with innocence. For I have seen enough to justify22 me in saying that a calm and brave bearing is more likely to be indicative of guilt than of innocence. But the public and certain portions of the press still translate callous23 behaviour into a proof of innocence, and sometimes convert prisoners into heroes.
No greater mistake could be made, for a prisoner's behaviour has nothing do with to his guilt or innocence. On the whole, fear or distress24 are far more likely to indicate innocence than they are to denote guilt. This I believe to hold good of all prisoners, not only of those charged with the capital offence. I have failed[Pg 129] to observe in prisoners who were undoubtedly25 guilty the furtive26 look that is supposed to be peculiar27 to guilt. I have watched closely and have spoken confidentially28 to many hundreds, but their eyes met mine as naturally as those of a child. I have been compelled to the conclusion that not only is a bold bearing consistent with the deepest guilt, but also that a natural bearing and a childlike trustfulness are by no means to be taken as signs of innocence. Of the behaviour of innocent people when charged with crime, fortunately, we do not get many opportunities of observation; still, I have seen some, and can bear testimony29 that they were a great deal more confused, excited, and unreliable than prisoners who were undeniably guilty. Such prisoners often contradict themselves, and sometimes depart from the truth when attempting to defend themselves. It is palpable to everyone that they feel their position, and fear the consequences. I have seen such astounding30 coolness and presence of mind, coupled with apparent candour and sincerity31, among guilty prisoners that when I know of a prisoner exhibiting these qualities I almost instinctively32 suspect him. An innocent man, in his anxiety, may prevaricate33 through fear and confusion; but the veritably guilty man is careful in these matters, though he may be sometimes a little too clever.
The psychology34 of prisoners has, then, for years been a favourite study with me, and a very interesting study I have found it. In my endeavours to discover the state of mind that existed and caused certain prisoners to commit[Pg 130] serious crimes, I have sometimes discovered, almost hidden in the dark recesses35 of the mind, some little shadow of some small thing that to me seemed quite absurd, but which to the prisoner loomed36 so large, so real, and so important, that he regarded it as a sufficient justification37 for his deed. To myself the crime and the something in the prisoner's mind appeared to have no possible connection, yet unmistakably, if the prisoners were to be believed, they were cause and effect. Now, from this kind of mania38—for such it undoubtedly is—small and ridiculous as it seems—and I have met it too often not to be certain as to its existence—a double question is presented: What is the cause of that little something in the prisoner's mind? and why has it caused the prisoner to commit a certain action? I have never been able to get any light upon these questions, but have had to content myself with the knowledge that the mental equipment of that class of criminals is altogether different to that of ordinary individuals. I am not here speaking of a defined mania that dominates the life, stirs the passions, and leads directly to the perpetration of a crime—cause and effect in such a case are obvious, though, of course, the cause of the cause is still obscure—but I am speaking of silly little somethings that float about in certain minds, that refuse to be ejected, that entail39 much misery40 and suffering, and finally crime. Possibly this state of mind may be the outcome of indigestion, even as an extra severe sentence upon a prisoner may be the outcome of indigestion in a judge: for it is quite possible to suppose a case[Pg 131] in which judge and prisoner suffered from a like cause; but the one has committed a crime because of it, and the other inflicts41 unmerited punishment because of it. Two things are very clear to me: first, that our judges and magistrates42 ought to be in the very best of health when performing their duties; secondly43, that pathological causes enter very largely into the perpetration of crime. Ill-health may make a judge irritable44 and severe, and so distort his judgment, and excuses are made for him; for it is whispered he is a martyr45 to gout, indigestion, or some equally trying malady46. If so, he certainly ought not to be a judge, for health and temper are absolutely necessary for one who has to administer justice and act as the arbiter47 of other people's fate. But this excuse is not made for prisoners. Yet in hundreds of cases it might honestly be made; for while they may not have been influenced by gout or indigestion, they have been influenced by pathological causes, and the two things are equal.
I am persuaded, after many years' close observation and many years' friendship with criminals, that disease, mental or physical, is a tremendous factor in the causation of crime. The "criminal class" is often spoken of, and it might be supposed that there is a distinct class of people to whom the appellation48 applies. My experience teaches me that there is no "criminal class," but there are plenty of criminals. The low forehead and the square jaw49, the scowling50 eye and the stubbly beard, do not denote criminality; the receding51 forehead, the weak eye, and the almost absence of chin, do not indicate criminal instincts.[Pg 132] Nothing of the sort. All these things are consistent with decent living, a fair amount of intelligence, and some moral purpose. On the other hand, a well-built body, a well-shaped head, a handsome face, a clean skin, and a bright eye are consistent with the basest criminality. Some of the worst criminals I have met—real and dangerous criminals—were handsome as Apollo. But there does exist a class—and, unfortunately, a very large class—who have very limited intelligence, who appear to be retrogressing physically52, mentally, and morally, of whom a large proportion commit various kinds of offences—not from criminal instincts, but from stunted53 or undeveloped intelligence and lack of reasoning power.
But I am digressing, for it is not my purpose in this chapter to speak of criminals in general, but rather of those whom I have personally met charged with murder, and who were convicted, some paying the full penalty. These I want to consider more fully54. From this list I must eliminate man-slayers who had killed in the heat of passion or in a drunken quarrel, for they were not murderers at heart. Their mental condition was understandable, and their bearing while undergoing trial is beside the question. Neither do I wish to include married or single women who had killed their offspring at childbirth or soon after, for they are outside my consideration. But I want to speak plainly about those who had committed prearranged murders, and carried them out with considerable skill.
In refreshing55 my memory about these, I find that they held several characteristics in common:
[Pg 133]
1. Not one of them exhibited any sense of shame, no matter how disgraceful the attendant circumstances.
2. Not one of them exhibited any nervousness or fear of the consequences.
3. Those who admitted their guilt justified56 their actions, and appeared to believe that they had done the right thing.
4. Those who denied their guilt, denied it with cool and positive assurance, and denied it to the last with almost contempt, as if the charge was more an insult than anything serious.
5. None of them betrayed the slightest sorrow.
6. Every one of them appeared of sound mind so far as reasoning powers were concerned, for they were quite lucid57, and remarkably58 quick to see a point in their favour.
7. None of them were fully able to realize the position in which they stood, as ordinary people must have realized it.
Of course, everyone will admit that the man or woman who can plan and carry out a murder, whether that murder is likely to be detected or not, is not, and cannot be, a normal person; but what we require to know is where they depart from the normal, and how and why they depart from the normal.
I would like to say that the particulars just given are the results not only of my observation of prisoners when in the dock, but also of many personal and private conversations with them. In a word, I do not consider that any of these prisoners were thoroughly59 sane60. It may be said—it is often said—that in human nature "we find[Pg 134] what we look for," and there is truth in the saying; but when trying to understand these people, I had not the slightest idea of what I was seeking. I knew there must be some cause that led to the crime, something out of the ordinary in their minds, but what it was and how to find it was more than I could tell. So I have watched, have talked and listened. For these prisoners were always ready to talk: there was no secrecy61 with them, excepting with regard to the crime; otherwise they were talkative enough. It takes some time and patience to discover whether or not in people there is a suspicion of brain trouble. They appear so natural that several lengthened conversations may be required before anything at all is revealed. I trust that it will not be thought that I am betraying confidences that poor wretches62 have given to me, for no prisoner, guilty or innocent, ever confided63 in me without such confidences being considered sacred; but as their cases are not of recent date, no harm can be done, and possibly good may ensue, if I give some particulars that I gained regarding their mental peculiarities64. Being anxious to ascertain65 how far my experience was confirmed by the experience of others, quite recently I put a question to the chaplain of one of our largest prisons, and whose experience was much greater than my own in this particular direction. I asked him whether he had ever known anyone who was about to suffer the death penalty for a premeditated and cleverly contrived66 murder exhibit any sense of remorse67, sorrow, or fear. His answer was exactly what I expected—"that he had performed his last sad offices for a [Pg 135]considerable number of such prisoners, and that he had discovered neither fear nor remorse in any of them; with one exception, they all denied their guilt." I want it to be perfectly68 clear that I am speaking now about murderers who committed premeditated crimes that had been cleverly carried out, impromptu69 murders not being considered.
I now propose to give a sufficient number of examples to prove my point. In a poor street within two hundred yards of my own door I had frequently seen a beautiful boy of about four years old. His appearance, his clothing, his cleanliness, and even his speech, told unmistakably that he was not belonging to the poor. I knew the old people that he lived with, and felt quite sure that it was not owing to their exertions70 that he was so beautifully dressed and kept so spotlessly clean, for they were old, feeble, and very poor. But the old people had a daughter living with them, and it was the daughter who had charge of the child, for the little fellow was a "nurse-child." Good payment must have been given for the care of the child, for it was the only source of income for the household. The foster-mother was devoted71 to the boy, and he reflected every credit upon her love and care. Many times when I have met them I have spoken a cheery word to the little fellow, never dreaming of the coming tragedy, or that I should meet his real mother and discuss his death with her. The dead body of a boy between four and five years of age had been discovered in the women's lavatory73 of a North London railway-station. Without doubt the child had been ruthlessly murdered. His head had been smashed; his[Pg 136] face was crushed beyond recognition. A calcined brick lay close by the body, and had evidently been used for perpetrating the deed. No other trace of the murder was forthcoming, and the body was taken to the nearest mortuary. Meanwhile the foster-mother and her aged72 parents were mourning the loss of the bonny boy, for the boy's mother had taken him from them that he might begin his education in a boarding-school for young children at Brighton. They had learned to love the child, and now he was gone. The old people missed him sadly, and the nurse-mother wept for him. The house seemed so dull without him. The murder occurred on a Saturday. On one of the early days of the ensuing week a neighbour chanced to tell the nurse-mother that she had read in a Sunday paper about the discovery of a child's mangled74 body at a North London railway-station, and also that the body remained unidentified at the mortuary. Although the nurse had not the slightest suspicion—for on the Saturday morning she had accompanied the boy and his mother to London Bridge, where tickets had been taken for Brighton, and the nurse had seen them safely on the correct platform and the train waiting—yet the loss of her nurse-child had so affected75 her that she wept as her neighbour told her of the newspaper account, and they went together to the mortuary, which was some miles away, to see the "other little dear." It was some years before the nurse recovered from the shock she sustained on her visit to the mortuary, for the mangled and disfigured body was that of her late charge—her "dear Manfred." I question whether even now[Pg 137] she has recovered, for several times I know that she has been ill, and sometimes when I have been sent for, she seemed likely to lose her reason, the one and only thing that occupied her mind being the tragic76 discovery of her dear boy's maimed body. But the child's mother undoubtedly went to Brighton on that particular Saturday afternoon. She intended to go to Brighton, not for the purpose of placing her child in a school, but for another purpose by no means so praiseworthy, yet for a purpose that was esteemed77 by her a sufficient justification for the murder of the child. She had lured78 a young man into a promise to spend the week-end with her at Brighton, and some reason had to be found and given for her visit. Placing the child in a suitable school seemed a sufficient reason, so the nurse was instructed to get the boy's clothing ready and accompany her to London Bridge. This was accordingly done, and the nurse returned home, fully believing that the boy and his mother were on the way to Brighton. But the mother did not go to Brighton by that train. She allowed it to go without her, and when the nurse was safely away she left the platform, saying that she had missed it, but would return and go by a later train. She then took a bus for Broad Street Station, there taking a return ticket for Dalston, where she alighted. The lavatory in question was on the platform, consequently she did not pass the ticket-barrier. After accomplishing her object with the brick I have referred to, and which she had carried in her reticule all day for the purpose—for she had taken it from the garden of the house where she lived—she[Pg 138] returned to Broad Street, giving her correct ticket up, and then on to London Bridge and Brighton early enough to meet the young man, who was about half her own age, and who spent the week-end with her.
I have given briefly79 the particulars of this gruesome affair because they lead up to the mental conditions of the murderess. It will be noticed that the murder was skilfully80 contrived beforehand; that the object to be gained was indulgence with a young man but little more than half her age; that within a few hours of killing81 her own boy she smilingly met the young man as if nothing had happened. All these things are extraordinary, but when to these some particulars regarding the murderess are added, the character of the whole affair becomes more extraordinary still. She was a governess, clever and exceedingly well educated, with scientific accomplishments82. She was about thirty-six years of age, by no means soft or voluptuous83 in appearance, but with a hard, strong cast of face. She was doing well in a pecuniary84 sense, and her friends were also in good circumstances.
In considering the case, the first thing that strikes me is that when a woman of her character, standing85 and appearance gives birth to an illegitimate child, at an age when girlhood has long passed, there is an absolute departure from the normal, there is something wrong. I need not give any details of her trial, only to say the facts I have given were fully proved, and to add that she was found guilty, sentenced, and hanged.
It is of her bearing and demeanour that I wish[Pg 139] to speak. Of course, she protested her innocence; any other person might be guilty, but it was absurd to hint that she was guilty. Yet she betrayed no indignation. To her it was Euclid over again, with quod erat faciendum, as the result of the problem. She was cool, alert, and fearless; she showed no emotion, no anxiety, no feeling. The killing of a sheep could not have been a matter of less importance to her than was the murder of her own child. Such was her demeanour at the inquest and at the police-court proceedings86, and this attitude she maintained to the end.
In her private conversation with me she was clear, animated87, and apparently88 calm and frank. I never saw the least symptoms of nervousness, and her eyes met mine as naturally and unconcernedly as if the charge she had to meet had not the remotest connection with herself. Her last words to me were: "When I am discharged, I shall invite myself to tea with Mrs. Holmes and yourself, for I am supported by the thought that you firmly believe in my innocence." I had never told her this, for I had not discussed her guilt or innocence. She had talked to me, and I had listened, putting a question occasionally to her. I could believe no other than that she was verily guilty, but I did not tell her so—I had no right to tell her so—but I listened and waited for an admission that would throw some little light upon the state of her mind, and give me a faint idea of the cause that led her to plan and execute the terrible deed. This she did, and I am persuaded that she took away the boy to furnish her with[Pg 140] some excuse for spending the week-end at Brighton. I leave it to others to decide upon her sanity89, though personally I am charitable enough to think she was insane. It is certain that she was animated with fierce passion; it is also certain that in other respects she was cold as an iceberg90. For the death of her beautiful boy, whether she was guilty or innocent of it, never troubled her for a moment. Does a lust91 for blood accompany an excess of the other passion in a woman of her temperament92 and characteristics? This I do not know, but I have no doubt that wiser people do know. At any rate, with hands that had cruelly battered93 the life out of her own child, and while the blood of that child was still hot upon them, she welcomed her male friend. I profess94 that I find some comfort in the belief that she was insane. Had her insanity95 been just a little more obvious, she might have escaped the death penalty and ended her days in a criminal lunatic asylum96.
But I do not think the question of her sanity was ever raised. He would have been a bold man that raised it, in the face of her accomplishments and self-control. Some day we shall, perhaps, apply different methods to test sanity than those now employed, and we shall look for other symptoms in diagnosis97 than those we look for now. The most dangerous madness is not that which is patent to everybody—the wild or vacant eyes, the inconsequent or violent speech, the manifest delusions99, and the inability to conduct one's own affairs. These are simple enough; but the possessors of these characteristics are often[Pg 141] harmless to the community. But when the madness is half madness, and is covered with a show of reason, it is then that danger is to be feared.
In the case I am now about to give insanity was just a little more apparent, though I do not think it was more real. But its manifestation100 was of sufficient magnitude to prevent capital punishment.
A young woman whose character was beyond reproach, and whose ability and business aptitude101 gave the greatest pleasure to her employer and his wife, was engaged as the manageress of a department in a drapery and millinery shop in North London. She had been in the situation for some months, and perfect confidence existed between the different parties. One hot Sunday afternoon she suddenly awoke from an afternoon nap with the conviction that she had been criminally assaulted by her employer. The fact that she was in her own room with the door fastened did not weigh with her at all. She declared that her employer was the guilty person. The fact that he and his wife spent the afternoon out of doors was nothing to her. Possessed with this extraordinary idea, she left London at once for a town on the South Coast, where her brother lived. Her brother appears to have accepted her statement without question or demur102, and to him the delusion98 became as real as to his sister. He armed her with an exquisitely103 made and very formidable dagger104, and provided himself with an equally dangerous pistol and cartridges105. Thus armed, they came to London—he to take vengeance106 upon the man who had dishonoured107 his[Pg 142] sister, she to point out the man, and to be ready with the dagger if the pistol failed to take effect. The brother did not fail, for he shot the man dead. Now that vengeance was satisfied, the couple were again harmless, for neither brother nor sister attempted to do any more injury. They were arrested, and gave up their arms willingly enough. They declared that they had done the deed, and that they intended to kill the man; that they procured108 the weapons and came to London for the express purpose. They claimed to be perfectly justified in their joint109 action. This attitude they maintained before the court, for when asked if they wished to put any questions to the witnesses, "Oh no!" was the reply. "Of what use would they be? We did it; we are glad that we did it. The consequences do not matter." There was quite a little dispute between the sister and brother. He declared that as he killed the man he alone was entitled to the glory and the punishment; but the sister declared that it was done at her request, and also that she was prepared to kill if her brother had failed. Both were found guilty, and both were committed to a criminal lunatic asylum. Yet they had every appearance of being thoroughly sane; their manner, their speech, their reasoning powers, and everything appertaining to them, savoured of clear reason, their delusion alone excepted. If that delusion had not been so manifest, undoubtedly they would have been hanged. There seems to me to be no point from which a line can be drawn111 to divide insanity from sanity. At present we have but clumsy, uncertain, and very speculative112[Pg 143] methods of deciding upon a prisoner's sanity—methods that must often result in the punishment, if not the death, of the prisoners who suffer from some kind of mental disease. I am inclined to believe that the more all traces of madness are hidden by clever murderers, the stronger is the probability of that madness existing, for the very essence of cunning is employed in hiding it. They will cheerfully contemplate113 the executioner's rope rather than be considered mad. The brother and sister to whom I have referred would have cheerfully accepted the death penalty in preference to committal to a lunatic asylum. In one of my conversations with the brother, I suddenly asked him: "Have any of your relations been detained in lunatic asylums114?" He was quite ready for me, and he replied: "I am as sane as you are; and if you are ever placed in a similar situation to mine, I hope you will prove as sane as I have."
The more I think over the two cases—one woman found sane and hanged, the other declared insane and sent to a lunatic asylum—the more I am convinced that equal justice has not been done. Probably the madness in both women proceeded from the same cause, and it is clear that neither of them had the slightest compunction about shedding blood.
I will deal briefly with my next case, and of a truth there is not much to be said. He was a clerk about twenty-six years of age. He had married a decent young woman, for whom he had made no provision other than a loaded pistol. He had no home and no money, excepting a few[Pg 144] pounds that he had embezzled115, and with this he had paid the marriage expenses. With his last few shillings he hired a cab; drove, accompanied by his wife, from place to place, in pretence116 of finding a home for her; and, finally, while still in the cab, he did the deed for which he had prepared—he shot her. He made no attempt to escape; he offered no reason for his deed; he was quite satisfied with his action; and when before the court he was absolutely unconcerned. I had several conversations with him, and as he had publicly owned to the deed, there was no harm in my assumption of his guilt. I said to him: "Tell me why you did this cruel deed?" He said: "I don't consider it a cruel deed. What else could I do? You would have done the same." Argument, of course, was out of the question, but I did venture to express the hope that I might not have done what he had done, when he again replied: "You think so now; but if you had to do it, you would do it!" And this frame of mind he maintained to the end—for he was hanged.
I do not say that he ought not to have been hanged, for it is difficult to point out in what other way he could have been dealt with; but so long as insanity is considered a sufficient reason for preventing the death penalty, I do say that every possible means should be taken to test a prisoner's sanity before a final decision is arrived at; and, further, that the appearance of positive sanity is under such circumstances an indication of insanity. Every criminal, in addition to murderers, ought to be subjected to a careful and[Pg 145] prolonged scrutiny117 and mental examination by experts. The cost would not be great, and I am fully sure the results would compensate118 if the expense was great. Prisons ought to become psychological observatories119, and be made to furnish us with a vast amount of useful information. There are so many things we ought to know, and might know if we would only take pains to know. It might be that the information obtained would make us sad and excite our fear; it might be that our pity would be deeply stirred, and that we should have a whole army of human beings upon our hands, for whom we might feel hopeless and helpless. But we have these even now, and for them imprisonment120 or hanging is a ready and simple plan that suffices us! But ought they to suffice in these enlightened days? I think not. At any rate, we ought to gather knowledge. With knowledge will come power, and with power better methods of dealing121 with erring122 or afflicted123 humanity. For the days will surely come when the hangman's rope will be seldom in requisition; when all the unhealthy and demoralizing publicity124 attaching to a murder trial will be a thing of the past; when criminals will not be made into public heroes, because of the speculative and perhaps equal chances of life or death; when morbid125 and widespread sentiment will not be created by public appeals to the Home Secretary; and, perhaps best of all, when diseased minds will be no longer influenced by the unhealthy publicity of the details pertaining110 to a death sentence to commit the other crimes for which no motives126 have been apparent.
[Pg 146]
Since writing the above chapter, the following appeared in the daily papers of August 5, 1908:
"Thomas Siddle, a bricklayer, was yesterday executed at Hull127 for the murder of his wife in June last. The crime was a particularly callous one. Siddle was to have gone to prison for not paying his wife's maintenance under a separation order. On the day, however, he visited her, and after some conversation savagely128 attacked her with a razor. Before his execution the prisoner ate a hearty breakfast, and smiled at the warders as he walked firmly to the scaffold."
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1 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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2 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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3 racing | |
n.竞赛,赛马;adj.竞赛用的,赛马用的 | |
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4 lengthened | |
(时间或空间)延长,伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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6 bluff | |
v.虚张声势,用假象骗人;n.虚张声势,欺骗 | |
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7 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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8 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
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9 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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10 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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11 reticence | |
n.沉默,含蓄 | |
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12 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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13 exhumed | |
v.挖出,发掘出( exhume的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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15 prosecuted | |
a.被起诉的 | |
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16 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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17 condemnation | |
n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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18 analyst | |
n.分析家,化验员;心理分析学家 | |
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19 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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20 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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21 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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22 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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23 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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24 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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25 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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26 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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27 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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28 confidentially | |
ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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29 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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30 astounding | |
adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊,使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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31 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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32 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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33 prevaricate | |
v.支吾其词;说谎;n.推诿的人;撒谎的人 | |
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34 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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35 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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36 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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37 justification | |
n.正当的理由;辩解的理由 | |
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38 mania | |
n.疯狂;躁狂症,狂热,癖好 | |
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39 entail | |
vt.使承担,使成为必要,需要 | |
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40 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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41 inflicts | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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42 magistrates | |
地方法官,治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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43 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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44 irritable | |
adj.急躁的;过敏的;易怒的 | |
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45 martyr | |
n.烈士,殉难者;vt.杀害,折磨,牺牲 | |
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46 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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47 arbiter | |
n.仲裁人,公断人 | |
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48 appellation | |
n.名称,称呼 | |
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49 jaw | |
n.颚,颌,说教,流言蜚语;v.喋喋不休,教训 | |
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50 scowling | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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51 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );向后倾斜;自原处后退或避开别人的注视;尤指问题 | |
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52 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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53 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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54 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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55 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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56 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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57 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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58 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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59 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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60 sane | |
adj.心智健全的,神志清醒的,明智的,稳健的 | |
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61 secrecy | |
n.秘密,保密,隐蔽 | |
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62 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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63 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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64 peculiarities | |
n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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65 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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66 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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67 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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68 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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69 impromptu | |
adj.即席的,即兴的;adv.即兴的(地),无准备的(地) | |
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70 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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71 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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72 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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73 lavatory | |
n.盥洗室,厕所 | |
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74 mangled | |
vt.乱砍(mangle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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75 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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76 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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77 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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78 lured | |
吸引,引诱(lure的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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79 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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80 skilfully | |
adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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81 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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82 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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83 voluptuous | |
adj.肉欲的,骄奢淫逸的 | |
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84 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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85 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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86 proceedings | |
n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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87 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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88 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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89 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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90 iceberg | |
n.冰山,流冰,冷冰冰的人 | |
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91 lust | |
n.性(淫)欲;渴(欲)望;vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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92 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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93 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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94 profess | |
v.声称,冒称,以...为业,正式接受入教,表明信仰 | |
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95 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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96 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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97 diagnosis | |
n.诊断,诊断结果,调查分析,判断 | |
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98 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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99 delusions | |
n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 );谬见;错觉;妄想 | |
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100 manifestation | |
n.表现形式;表明;现象 | |
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101 aptitude | |
n.(学习方面的)才能,资质,天资 | |
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102 demur | |
v.表示异议,反对 | |
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103 exquisitely | |
adv.精致地;强烈地;剧烈地;异常地 | |
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104 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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105 cartridges | |
子弹( cartridge的名词复数 ); (打印机的)墨盒; 录音带盒; (唱机的)唱头 | |
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106 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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107 dishonoured | |
a.不光彩的,不名誉的 | |
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108 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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109 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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110 pertaining | |
与…有关系的,附属…的,为…固有的(to) | |
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111 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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112 speculative | |
adj.思索性的,暝想性的,推理的 | |
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113 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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114 asylums | |
n.避难所( asylum的名词复数 );庇护;政治避难;精神病院 | |
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115 embezzled | |
v.贪污,盗用(公款)( embezzle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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117 scrutiny | |
n.详细检查,仔细观察 | |
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118 compensate | |
vt.补偿,赔偿;酬报 vi.弥补;补偿;抵消 | |
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119 observatories | |
n.天文台,气象台( observatory的名词复数 ) | |
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120 imprisonment | |
n.关押,监禁,坐牢 | |
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121 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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122 erring | |
做错事的,错误的 | |
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123 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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125 morbid | |
adj.病的;致病的;病态的;可怕的 | |
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126 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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127 hull | |
n.船身;(果、实等的)外壳;vt.去(谷物等)壳 | |
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128 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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