Burton had stopped, at first to see whether it were a case that called for interference. Now, as the man jumped out just in front of him, he spoke4 to him,--as much from a desire to see the face of a man who ran so furtively5 as from curiosity as to the effect the doctor's name would have. "Pardon me," he said. "Can you tell me if this is where Dr. Underwood lives?"
But this time his cast drew nothing. The man stopped a moment, cast a sharp though furtive6 glance up at his questioner, and shook his head.
"Don't know," he said curtly7, and hurried on. Burton took the liberty of believing that the man had lied.
The Red House had a character and quality of its own that set it immediately apart from the rest of this half-baked town. It was a large house, with signs of age that were grateful to him, set back in extensive grounds which were surrounded by high hedges of shrubbery. The house itself was shaded by old trees, and the general effect of the place was one of aloofness8, as different as possible from the cheap, new, easy-going publicity9 of the rest of the street. If it be true that human beings mould their surrounding to reflect their own characters, then the Underwoods were certainly not commonplace people. Burton was sensitive to influences, and as he stepped inside the grounds and let the gate shut behind him, he had an indefinable feeling that he had stepped into an alien territory. He glanced back at the street outside as an adventurer who has strayed into an enchanted10 land may look back for reassurance11 to the safe and commonplace country he has left.
A man in the rough dress of a gardener was down on his knees beside a flower-bed in the garden, and Burton approached him.
"Is this Dr. Underwood's house?"
"He lives here," the man said coolly, without glancing up.
"You mean he doesn't own it?" Burton asked, more for the sake of pursuing the conversation than from any special interest in Dr. Underwood's tax list.
"He couldn't own that, could he?" asked the man, pointing dramatically at the tulip about which he had been building up the earth.
"You are a philosopher as well as a gardener."
"I?" The man stood up, and Burton saw that he was young, and that his face, in spite of its somberness, was intelligent and not unattractive. "Oh, I am a human being, like the rest of the impertinent race. I try to forget what I am, but I have no right to. You do well to remind me."
"Why do you wish to forget?" asked Burton curiously12.
"Who that is human would not wish to forget? Who that is human would not wish at times that he were a tulip, blooming in perfect beauty, and so doing all that could be asked of him? Or an oak, like that one, fulfilling its nature without blame and without harm?"
"Are you Ben Bussey?" Burton asked on a sudden impulse, remembering the name of the young man whom the hotel clerk had mentioned as being the subject of popular stories. This young man was certainly queer enough to give rise to legends.
He was not prepared for the effect of his question. The young man drew back as though he had been struck, while a look where fear and distaste and reproach were mingled13 darkened his face.
"Who are you?" he asked harshly. "What do you know about Ben Bussey?"
"I have heard the name mentioned, that's all, as that of a young man living with Dr. Underwood. I assure you I meant nothing offensive." Unconsciously he had adopted the tone of one speaking to an equal. This was no common gardener.
"No, I am not Ben Bussey," the young man said, after a pause in which he obviously struggled to regain14 his self-control. "I have often wished I were, however. I am Henry Underwood." He looked up with a sharp defiance15 in his eyes as he spoke the name. It was as though he expected to see some sign of repulsion.
"I am very glad to meet you, then. My name is Burton. Mrs. Overman, of Putney, asked me to bring a message to your sister."
"You will find her in the house, I suppose," the young man answered carelessly. He turned indifferently away, as though he had no further interest in his visitor, and in a few minutes he was bent16 over another flower-bed, absorbed in his work.
Burton walked up to the house, his pulses curiously atingle. No wonder the Underwoods got themselves talked about in the neighborhood, if this was a sample of the way in which they met the advances of strangers! After ringing the bell, he glanced back at Henry Underwood. He had risen from the ground and stood with bared head looking up into the branches of the oak with an expression that struck Burton even at that distance as inexpressibly sad.
The door was opened by a middle-aged17 servant, in whom Burton recognized the woman he had seen gesticulating so violently in the back yard. She looked out at him with surprise and caution, and with the obvious intent of not admitting him without cause shown.
"Is Miss Underwood at home?" he asked.
"I don't know. Likely she is," the woman answered, still with that uncomprehending look of wonder at his intrusion.
"Will you take her my card, please?" And with a little more muscular effort than he was in the habit of using when entering a house, he forced the door far enough back to enable him to pass the guarded portal, and with an air of assurance that was largely factitious, walked into a room opening from the hall, which he judged to be a reception room.
The woman followed him to the door and looked dubiously18 from him to his card, which she still held in her hand.
"I will wait here while you see if Miss Underwood is at home and whether she can see me. Please look her up at once," he said positively19. The tone was effective. The woman departed.
The same evidences of old-time dignity and present-day decay that he had noted20 in the grounds struck Burton in the drawing-room. The room was a stately one, built according to the old ideas of spaciousness21 and leisure, but the carpet was worn, the upholstery dingy22, and a general air of disuse showed that the days of receptions must be long past. Evidently the Underwoods were not living in the heyday23 of prosperity. To do Rachel justice, she would not care about that except incidentally. But she would care a great deal about the family's social standing24. Burton tried, to the best of his masculine ability, to take an inventory25 of things that would enable him to answer the questions she was sure to pour out upon him,--always supposing his mission were in any degree successful.
He walked to the window and looked out upon the side garden. Not far from the house was a rustic26 seat, and here a lady was sitting,--a tall, gray-haired lady, reading a ponderous27 book. The conviction that this must be Mrs. Underwood made him look at her with the liveliest interest. The servant to whom Burton had given his card came out, in obvious haste and excitement, but the reading lady merely lifted a calm hand to check her, and turned her page without raising her eyes. But she shook her head, seemingly in answer to some question, and the messenger returned hastily to the house. The lady continued to read.
Burton smiled to himself over the little scene. Mrs. Underwood, if this were she, would be able to give points in self-possession to Rachel herself.
But the moment that Leslie Underwood entered the room, Burton forgot all his hesitations28 and reluctances. In the instant while he bowed before her, his mind took a right-about-face. It was not merely that she was unexpectedly beautiful. That would account for Philip's infatuation, but Burton was a keener judge of human nature. Behind the girl's mask of beauty there looked out a spirit so direct, so genuine, that it was like a touchstone to prove those qualities in others. Burton felt something pull him erect29 as he looked at her. Philip had drawn30 a prize which he probably neither understood nor deserved,--and the High Ridge31 tales about Dr. Underwood were preposterous32 absurdities33. All this in the flash of an eye!
"You wished to see me?" she asked. Her voice had a vibrant34 ring.
"Yes,--though I am merely an ambassador." (No thought now of modifying his commission!) "I come from Philip Overman."
Her face flushed sensitively at the name.
"Philip has been seriously ill," he said.
"I am sorry to hear it."
"Even yet his condition causes keen anxiety to his mother."
A little change passed over her sensitive face,--could it have been a flicker35 of amusement? The suspicion helped to restore his nerve. Who was this young woman after all, that she should dare to smile at Rachel Overman's anxiety for her boy? People who knew Mrs. Overman were accustomed to treat even her whims36 with respect. He continued a thought more stiffly.
"His physician, I may say, admits that her fears are justified37. He is in an extremely nervous and excitable condition, and it is considered that the best hope for his recovery lies in removing the cause of the mental disturbance38 which is at the root of his physical overthrow39. His unhappiness is sending him into a decline."
She looked at him quizzically. There was no question now about the hidden amusement that brought that gleam into her eyes. And she answered with a rocking, monotonous40 cadence41 that flared42 its mockery in his ears.
"Men have died, and worms have eaten them," she said slowly, "but--not for love."
Burton flushed to the roots of his hair. He knew that he had not been honest in his plea,--that it was for Rachel's sake and not for Philip's (confound the boy!) that he had turned special pleader in the case,--but for heaven's sake, why couldn't the girl have pretended with him for a little while? Couldn't she see that he had to present the best side of his cause?
"I think possibly the matter is more serious than you realize," he said, dropping his eyes. "Philip is a high-strung young man. His disappointment was profound. It has seemingly shattered his ambition and his interest in life."
"Philip is a self-willed young man," she said, in a carefully modulated43 voice that was so palpable a mimicry44 of his own that he was torn between a desire to applaud her skill and to box her ears for her impertinence. "He cried for the moon, and when he couldn't have it, he evidently made things uncomfortable for his dear mamma and his self-sacrificing friend. But I believe, speaking under correction, that the best modern authorities, as well as the classic one I have already quoted, agree that the probabilities are highly in favor of a complete recovery,--in time. Don't you agree with me?"
"I am sorry not to be able to do so. In the first place I have been retained as a witness by the other side. In the second place, I can judge, as you cannot, of the rarity of the treasure that he thinks he has lost. I cannot say that his despair is excessive."
She smiled appreciatively.
"That was really very well done, under the circumstances. Well, now that these polite preliminaries have passed, what is the real object of your visit?"
"Allow me to point out that you make an ambassador's task unusually difficult by pressing so immediately to the point, but, since that is your way, I can only meet you in the same direct manner. My object is to ask whether it is not possible for you to reconsider your refusal to marry Philip Overman."
She lifted her head with a look of surprise. There was a sparkle in her eyes and this time it was not amusement.
"Did he send you?" she asked.
"He raved45 of you in his delirium46. He talked of you incessantly47. He has begged me times without number to ask you to come and let him see you for a minute,--for an hour. We pulled him through the fever and the rest of it, but his physical recovery has not restored his mental tone. He will not take up his life in the old way. He vows48 now that as soon as we let go our present surveillance, he will enlist49 and get himself sent to the Philippines. I think he means it. And it would be rather a pity, for in his state of health, to go to the Philippines as a common soldier would mean a fairly expeditious50 form of suicide. It would, beyond the slightest question, break his mother's heart. And she has no one else,--her husband died less than a year ago. Philip's death would mean a rather sad end for a good old family that has written its name in its country's history more than once."
She had dropped her eyes when he began, but at the last word she looked up.
"And what of my family?" she asked. There was a vibrant undertone of suppressed feeling in her voice which made Burton look at her questioningly. Exactly what feeling was it that brought such a challenging light into her eyes? He took refuge in a generalization51.
"In America, the families of the high contracting parties come in only for secondary consideration, don't they?" he suggested. "But I have discharged my commission very poorly if I have failed to make you understand that Philip's family is waiting to welcome you with entire love and--respect." In spite of himself, he had hesitated before the last word.
She laughed,--a forlorn little laugh that was anything but mirthful; but whatever answer she might have made was interrupted by the sounds of an unusual commotion52 outside. A woman's excited voice was heard in exclamations53 that were at first only half distinguishable.
"Oh, doctor, doctor, for the love of heaven what have you been in, now? What have you done to yourself? You're hurt, doctor, I can see that you're hurt!"
"Nonsense, Mrs. Bussey, don't make a fuss," a man's voice answered impatiently.
But the housekeeper54 who had admitted Burton now rushed into the drawing-room, calling hysterically55: "Oh, Miss Leslie, your father is killed!" And thereupon she threw her apron56 up over her head to render her more effective in the emergency.
She was followed almost immediately by a sufficiently57 startling apparition,--a powerfully built man of more than middle age, with a keen blue eye and an eager face. But just now the face was disfigured by the blood that flowed freely from a wound on his temple, and he supported himself by the door as though he could not well stand alone.
Leslie ran toward him with a cry.
"Father! Oh, father, what has happened?"
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1
alley
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n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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2
impatience
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n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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darted
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v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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4
spoke
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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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furtively
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adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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furtive
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adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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curtly
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adv.简短地 | |
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8
aloofness
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超然态度 | |
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publicity
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n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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10
enchanted
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adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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11
reassurance
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n.使放心,使消除疑虑 | |
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12
curiously
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adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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mingled
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混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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14
regain
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vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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defiance
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n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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bent
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n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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17
middle-aged
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adj.中年的 | |
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18
dubiously
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adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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19
positively
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adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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20
noted
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adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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21
spaciousness
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n.宽敞 | |
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22
dingy
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adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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23
heyday
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n.全盛时期,青春期 | |
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24
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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inventory
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n.详细目录,存货清单 | |
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26
rustic
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adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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ponderous
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adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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28
hesitations
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n.犹豫( hesitation的名词复数 );踌躇;犹豫(之事或行为);口吃 | |
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29
erect
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n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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30
drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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31
ridge
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n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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32
preposterous
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adj.荒谬的,可笑的 | |
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33
absurdities
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n.极端无理性( absurdity的名词复数 );荒谬;谬论;荒谬的行为 | |
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34
vibrant
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adj.震颤的,响亮的,充满活力的,精力充沛的,(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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35
flicker
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vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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36
WHIMS
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虚妄,禅病 | |
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37
justified
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a.正当的,有理的 | |
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38
disturbance
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n.动乱,骚动;打扰,干扰;(身心)失调 | |
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39
overthrow
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v.推翻,打倒,颠覆;n.推翻,瓦解,颠覆 | |
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40
monotonous
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adj.单调的,一成不变的,使人厌倦的 | |
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41
cadence
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n.(说话声调的)抑扬顿挫 | |
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42
Flared
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adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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43
modulated
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已调整[制]的,被调的 | |
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44
mimicry
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n.(生物)拟态,模仿 | |
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45
raved
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v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
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46
delirium
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n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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47
incessantly
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ad.不停地 | |
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48
vows
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誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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49
enlist
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vt.谋取(支持等),赢得;征募;vi.入伍 | |
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50
expeditious
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adj.迅速的,敏捷的 | |
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51
generalization
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n.普遍性,一般性,概括 | |
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52
commotion
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n.骚动,动乱 | |
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53
exclamations
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n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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54
housekeeper
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n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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55
hysterically
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ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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56
apron
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n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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57
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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