The son of Godwin was the flower of the whole Saxon race. The jealousies1 which had disturbed the mind of Edward the Confessor had long since passed away; and Harold, whom he once had looked upon with eyes of personal aversion, he now regarded almost as his own son. Yet still the Saxon hostages—Ulfnoth, and the young son of Swerga, who in the time of his mad predilection2 for the Normans, and his unnatural3 distrust of his own countrymen, had been delivered for safe keeping to William, duke of Normandy—still lingered, melancholy4 exiles, far from the white cliffs of their native land. And now, for the first time since their departure, did the aspect of affairs appear propitious5 for their liberation; and Harold, brother of one, and uncle of the other, full of proud confidence in his own intellect and valor6, applied7 to Edward for permission that he might cross the English channel, and, personally visiting the Norman, bring back the hostages in honor and security to the dear land of their forefathers8. The countenance9 of the Confessor fell at the request; and, conscious probably in his own heart of some rash promise made in days long past, and long repented11, to the ambitious William, he manifested a degree of agitation12 amounting almost to alarm.
10 “Harold,” he said, after a long pause of deliberation—“Harold, my son, since you have made me this request, and that your noble heart seems set on its accomplishment13, it shall not be my part to do constraint14 or violence to your affectionate and patriotic15 wishes. Go, then, if such be your resolve, but go without my leave, and contrary to my advice. It is not that I would not have your brother and your kinsman16 home, but that I do distrust the means of their deliverance; and sure I am, that should you go in person, some terrible disaster shall befall ourselves and this our country. Well do I know Duke William; well do I know his spirit—brave, crafty17, daring, deep, ambitious, and designing. You, too, he hates especially, nor will he grant you anything, save at a price that shall draw down an overwhelming ruin on you who pay it, and on the throne of which you are the glory and the stay. If we would have these hostages delivered at a less ransom18 than the downfall of our Saxon dynasty—the misery19 of merry England—another messenger than thou must seek the wily Norman. Be it, however, as thou wilt20, my friend, my kinsman, and my son.”
Oh, sage21 advice, and admirable counsel! advice how fatally neglected—counsel how sadly frustrated22! Gallant23, and brave, and young; fraught24 with a noble sense of his own powers, a full reliance on his own honorable purposes; untaught as yet in that, the hardest lesson of the world’s hardest school, distrust of others, suspicion of all men—Harold set forth25 upon his journey, as it were, on an excursion in pursuit of pleasure. Surrounded by a train of blithe26 companions, gallantly27 mounted, gorgeously attired28, with falcon29 upon fist, and greyhounds bounding by his side, gayly and merrily he started, on a serene31 autumnal morning, for the coast of Sussex. There he took ship; and scarcely was he out of sight of land, when, as it were at once to justify32 the words of Edward, the wind, which had been on his embarkation33 the fairest that could blow from heaven, suddenly shifted round, the sky was overcast34 with vast clouds11 of a leaden hue35, the waves tossed wildly with an ominous36 and hollow murmur37; and, ere the first day had elapsed, as fierce a tempest burst upon his laboring39 barks as ever baffled mariner40 among the perilous41 shoals and sandbanks of the narrow seas. Hopeless almost of safety, worn out with unaccustomed toil43 and hard privations, for three days and as many nights they battled with the stormy waters; and on the morning of the fourth, when the skies lightened, and the abating44 violence of the strong gales45 allowed them to put in, and come to anchor, where the Somme pours its noble stream into the deep, through the rich territories of the count of Ponthieu, they were at once made prisoners, robbed of their personal effects, held to a heavy ransom, and cast as prisoners-of-war into the dungeon-walls of Belram, to languish46 there until the avarice47 of the count Guy should be appeased48 with gold.
Still Harold bore a high heart and a proud demeanor49, bearding the robber-count even to his teeth, set him at defiance50, proclaiming himself an embassador from England to the duke of Normandy, and claiming as a right the means of making known to William his unfortunate condition. This, deeming it perchance his interest so to do, the count at once conceded; and before many days had passed, Harold might see, from the barred windows of his turret-prison, a gallant band of lancers, arrayed beneath the Norman banner, with a pursuivant and trumpet52 at their head, wheeling around the walls of the grim fortress53. A haughty54 summons followed, denouncing “the extremities55 of fire and of the sword against the count de Ponthieu, his friends, dependants56, and allies, should he not instantly set free, with all his goods and chattels57, his baggage and his horses, friends, followers58, and slaves, unransomed with all honor, Harold, the son of Godwin, the friend and host of William, high and puissant59 duke of Normandy!” Little, however, did mere60 menaces avail with the proud count de Ponthieu; nor did the12 Saxon prince obtain his liberty till William had paid down a mighty61 sum of silver, and invested Guy with a magnificent demesne62 on the rich meadows of the Eaune.
Then once more did the son of Godwin ride forth a freeman, in the bright light of heaven, escorted—such were the strange anomalies of those old times—by a superb array of lances, furnished for his defence by the same count de Ponthieu, who, having held him in vile63 durance until his object was obtained, as soon as he was liberated64 on full payment of the stipulated65 price, had thenceforth treated him as a much-honored guest, holding his stirrup at his castle-gate when he departed, and sending a strong guard of honor to see him in all safety over the frontier of the duke’s demesne. Here, at the frontier town, William’s high senechal attended his arrival; and gay and glorious was his progress through the rich fields of Normandy, until he reached Rouen. The glorious chase—whether by the green margin66 of some brimful river they roused the hermit-tyrant of the waters, that noblest of the birds of chase, to make sport for their long-winged falcons67, or through the sere30 trees of the forest pursued the stag or felon68 wolf with horn, hound, and halloo—diversified the tedium69 of the journey; while every night some feudal70 castle threw wide its hospitable71 gates to greet with revelry and banqueting the guest of the grand duke. Arrived at Rouen, that powerful prince himself, the mightiest72 warrior73 of the day, rode forth beyond the gates to meet the Saxon; nor did two brothers long estranged74 meet ever with more cordiality of outward show than these, the chiefs of nations long destined75 to be rival and antagonistic76, till from their union should arise the mightiest, the wisest, the most victorious77, and enlightened, and free race of men, that ever peopled empires, or spread their language and their laws through an admiring world. On that first meeting, as he embraced his guest, the princely Norman announced to him that his young13 brother and his nephew were thenceforth at his absolute disposal.
“The hostages are yours,” he said—“yours, at your sole request; nor would I be less blithe to render them, if Harold stood before me himself a landless exile, than as I see him now, the first lord of a powerful kingdom, the most trusty messenger of a right noble king. But, of your courtesy, I pray you leave us not yet awhile; though if you will do so, my troops shall convey you to the seashore, my ships shall bear you home!—but, I beseech78, do this honor to your host, to tarry with him for a little space: and as you be the first—for so you are reported to us—in all realities and sports of Saxon warfare79, so let us prove your prowess, and witness you our skill, in passages of Norman chivalry80.”
In answer to this fair request, what could the Saxon do but acquiesce81? Yet, even as he did so, the words of the gray-headed king came sensibly upon his memory, and he began to feel as if in truth the net of the deceiver were already round about him with its inevitable82 meshes83. Still, having once assented84, nothing remained for him but to fulfil, as gracefully85 as possible, his half-unwilling87 promise. So joyously88, however, were the days consumed—so gayly did the evenings pass, among festivities far more refined and delicate than were the rude feasts of the sturdy Saxons, wherein excess of drink and vulgar riot composed the chief attractions—that, after one short week had flown, all the anxieties and fears of Harold were lost in admiration90 of the polished manners of his Norman hosts, and the high qualities of his chief entertainer. From town to town they passed in gay cortége, visiting castle after castle in their route, and ever and anon testing the valor and the skill each of the other, in those superb encounters of mock warfare—the free and gentle passage of arms—which in the education of the warlike Normans were second only to the real shock of14 battle, which was to them, not metaphorically91, the very breath of life.
Nor in these jousts92 and tournaments, whether with headless lance or blunted broadsword, or in the deadlier though still amicable93 strife94 at outrance, did not the Saxon, though unused to the menêge of the destrier and equestrian95 combat with the lance, win high renown96 and credit with his martial97 hosts. The Saxon tribes had, from their earliest existence as a people, been famed as infantry98; their arms, a huge and massive axe99; a short, sharp, two-edged sword, framed like the all-victorious weapon of the Romans; a target, and ponderous100 javelin101, used ever as a missile. Cavalry102, properly so called, although their leaders sometimes rode into the conflict, they had none; and by a natural consequence, one of that people for the first time adopting the complete panoply103, mounting the barbed war-horse, and tilting104 with the long lance of the Gallic chivalry, must have engaged with the practised champions of the time at a fearful disadvantage. Still, even at this odds105, such was the force of emulation106 acting107 upon a spirit elastic108, vigorous, and fiery109, backed by a powerful and agile110 frame, inured111 to feats112 of strength and daring, that little time elapsed ere Harold could abide113 the brunt of the best lance of William’s court, not only without the risk of reputation, but often at advantage. After a long and desperate encounter, wherein the Saxon prince had foiled all comers, hurling114 three cavaliers to earth with one unsplintered lance, William, in admiration of his bravery, insisted on bestowing115 on his friend, with his own honored blade, the accolade116 of knighthood—buckled the gilded117 spurs upon his heels; presented him with the complete apparel of a knight—the lance, with its appropriate bandrol—the huge, two-handed war-sword; and, above all, the finest charger of his royal stables, which, constantly supplied from the best blood of Andalusia, at that time were esteemed118 the choicest stud in Europe. It may now be supposed that15 honors such as these, coming too from a Norman, for the most part esteemed the scorner of the Saxon race—nor this alone, but from the most renowned119 and famous warrior of the day—produced a powerful effect on the enthusiastic and ambitious spirit of the young Englishman; nor did the wily duke fail to observe the operation of his deep-laid man?uvres, nor, when observed, did he neglect by every means to strengthen the impression he had made. To this end, therefore, not courtesies alone, nor the high-prized distinctions of military honor, nor gorgeous gifts, nor personal deference120, were deemed sufficient instruments. To finish what he had himself so well begun, to complete the ensnarement of the Saxon’s senses, the aid of woman was called in—woman, all-powerful, perilous, fascinating woman! Nor did he lack a fair and willing bait wherewith to give his prize. In his own court, filled as it was with the most lovely, or at least—thanks to the prowess of the Norman spear—the most renowned of Europe’s ladies, there was not one that could compete in beauty, wit, or grace, with Alice, his bright daughter. Too keen a player with the passions and the characters of men—too wise a judge of that most wondrous121 compound, that strange mass of inconsistencies, of evil and of good, of honor and deceit, the human heart—too close a calculator of effects and causes, was William, to divulge122 his purpose, or to hint his wishes, even to the obedient ear of Alice. He cared not—he—whether she loved, or feigned123 to love, so that his object was effected. Commanding ever his wildest passions, using them but as instruments and tools to bend or break men to his purposes, he never dreamed or recked of their ungovernable force upon the minds of others. It was but a few days after the arrival of his guest, that he discovered how he gazed after, and with signs of evident and earnest admiration, on the young damsel, to whose intimacy125 he had been studiously admitted as an especial and much-honored friend of his host:16 and her father, to fan this flame on Harold’s part, it needed little art from so consummate126 an intriguer127 as the duke; while as to Alice, young as she was, and thoughtless, delighted with attention, and attracted by the fine form and high repute of the young stranger, and yet more by the raciness and trifling128 singularities of his foreign though high-bred deportment—a fond, paternal129 smile, and an approving glance, as she toyed with her young admirer, sufficed to give full scope to her vivacious130 inclinations131.
Daily the Norman’s game became more intricate, daily more certain; when suddenly, just as the Saxon—flattered and half-enamored as he was, began to feel that he had no excuse for lingering longer at a distance from his country and his sovereign—began to speak of a return before the setting-in of winter, an accident occurred, which, with his wonted readiness of wit, William turned instantly to good account.
The ducal territories, which had descended132 to the Norman line from their first champion, Rollo, were separated by the small stream of Co?snor from the neighboring tract89 of Brittany, to which all the succeeding princes had possessed133 a claim since Charles the Simple, in the treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, had ceded51 it to that great duke, the founder134 of the Norman dynasty. The consequence of this pretence—for such in fact it was—were endless bickerings, small border wars, aggressions and reprisals135, burnings, and massacres136, and vengeance137! Some trivial skirmish had occurred upon this frontier, just as the duke had perceived that he must either suffer Harold to depart before his projects were accomplished138, or force him to remain by open violence. In such a crisis he resolved at once upon his line of action; and, instantly proclaiming war, he raised the banner of his dukedom, summoned his vassals139, great and small, to render service for their military tenures; and in announcing to his guest his march against the forces of his hereditary140 foe,17 claimed his assistance in the field as a true host from his well-proved guest, and a godfather-in-arms from the son whom he had admitted to the distinguished141 honor of the knightly142 accolade. Intoxicated143 with ambition and with love, madly desirous of acquiring fame among the martial Normans, and fancying, with a vanity not wholly inexcusable, that he was doing service to his country in acquiring the respect of foreign powers, he met half-way the proffer144. And, in the parlance145 of the day, right nobly did he prove his gilded spurs of knighthood. In passing the Co?snor, which, like the See, the Seluna, and the other streams that cross the great Grêve of St. Michel, is perilous from its spring-tide and awful quicksands, Harold displayed, in recovering several soldiers, who, having quitted the true line of march, were on the point of perishing, a noble union of intrepidity146 and strength.
During the whole course of the war, the Norman and his guest had but one tent and one table; side by side in the front of war they charged the enemy, and side by side they rode upon the march, beguiling147 the fatigue148 and labor38 with gay jests or graver conversation: and now so intimate had they become, so perfect was the confidence reposed149 by the frank Englishman in his frank-seeming friend, that the sagacious tempter felt the game absolutely in his power, and waited but a fitting opportunity for aiming his last blow. Nor was it long ere the occasion he had sought, occurred. Some brilliant exploits, performed in the last skirmish of the campaign, by the intended victim of his perfidy150, gave him a chance to descant151 on the national and well-proved hardihood and valor of this Saxon race. Thence, by a stroke of masterly and well-timed tact152, he touched upon the beauties, the fertility, the noble forests, and the rich fields of England—the happy days which he had passed amid the hospitalities of that fair island. The praises of the reigning153 monarch154 followed, a topic wherein Harold freely and eagerly18 united with his host.
“You were but young in those days,” William continued, “and scarce, I trow, can recollect155 the scenes which to my older memory are but as things of yesterday. Then, then, indeed, our races were at variance156, and your good sire—peace to his soul!—worked me and mine sore scathe157 and trouble. Yet was it natural, most natural! For in those times your excellent and venerable king—long may he sway the sceptre he so honors!—lived with me upon terms of the most close and cordial friendship. Ay, in good sooth, we were as two brothers—living beneath the same roof, eating of the same board, and drinking from one cup! Not thou and I, my Harold, are more sure comrades. Ay! and he promised me—this in thy private ear—if ever he should gain the throne of England, to leave me by his will, in default of his own issue, heir to that noble kingdom. I doubt not of his troth nor loyalty158, though it is years since we spoke159 of it. You have more lately been about him: hast ever heard him speak of it? What thinkest thou of his plighted160 faith? He is not one, I do believe, to register a vow161 in heaven, and fall from it!”
Taken thus by surprise, annoyed and much embarrassed by the turn their converse162 had thus taken, Harold turned pale, and actually stammered163, as he made reply:—
“He never had presumed to question his liege lord and king on matters of such import. The king had never dropped the slightest hint to him concerning the succession. If he had sworn, doubtless he would perform his oath: he was famed, the world over, for his strict sanctity; how, then, should he be perjured164? He doubted not, had he so promised, the duke would have no reason to complain of any breach165 of faith in good King Edward’s testament166.”
“Ay! it is so,” said William, musingly167, as it appeared to Harold, although in truth his every word had been premeditated19 long before. “I had so hoped it would be; and, by my faith, right glad am I that you confirm me in mine aspirations168. By your aid, my good friend—with the best Saxon on my side—all else is certain; and by my faith, whatever you shall ask of me, were it my daughter’s hand in marriage, surely it shall be yours when I am king of England!”
Again the words of the Confessor flashed on the mind of the ill-fated Saxon, and he foresaw at once the terrible result of this unwilling confidence. At the same time he saw no means of present extrication169, and, with an air of evident embarrassment170, he answered in words half-evasive, yet sufficiently171 conclusive172, as he hoped, to stop, for the time being, the unpleasing topic. But this was far from the intent of William, who, having read with an intuitive and almost supernatural sagacity the thought that flashed across the brain of Harold, determined173 that he should commit himself in terms decisive, and admitting of no dubious174 explanation. Taking it, then, for granted that he had replied fully86 in the affirmative—
“Since, then,” he said, “you do engage so loyally to serve me, you shall engage to fortify175 for me the castle on the heights of Dover; to dig in it good wells of living water; and, at my summons, to surrender it! You shall give me your sister, that she may be espoused176 unto the noblest of my barons178; and you shall have to wife my daughter Alice: some passages, I trow, have gone between ye ere now. Moreover, as a warrant of your faith, your brother Ulfnoth shall yet tarry with me; and when I come to England to possess my crown, then will I yield him to you!”
In all its force, the madness of his conduct now glared upon the very soul of Harold. He saw the guilt179 he had incurred180 already; the peril42 he had brought upon the kinsmen181 he had come to save; the wo that might result to his loved country! But, seeing this, he saw no better means than to feign124 acquiescence20 with this unworthy project, holding himself at liberty to break thereafter an unwilling promise.
No more was said upon the subject. They rode onward182 as before, but the light-hearted pleasure of the Saxon was destroyed; and though the great duke feigned not to perceive the changed mood of his comrade, he had resolved already that he should yet more publicly commit himself ere he should leave the realm.
At Avranches, but three days after their discourse183, William convoked184 a grand assembly of his lords and barons—the mightiest and the noblest of his vavasours and vassals—the pride of Normandy. There, in the centre of the hall, he caused an immense chest to be deposited, filled to the very brim with the most holy relics—bones of the martyred saints—fragments of the true cross—all that was deemed most sacred and most awful by the true-hearted catholic—and covered with a superb cloth of gold, as though it were an ordinary slab185 or table. There, seated in high state, upon his chair of dignity—a drawn186 sword in his hand, wearing his cap of maintenance, circled by fleurs-de-lis, upon his head, and clad in ermined robes of state—he held cour pleusêre of his nobles. The Saxon stood among them, honored among the first at all times, and now the more especially distinguished, that it was his farewell reception previous to his departure for England. After presenting him with the most splendid gifts, and making the most liberal professions of attachment187, “Harold,” exclaimed the duke, “before we part, I call on you, before this noble company, here to confirm by oath your promise made to me three days since, ‘to aid me in obtaining, after the death of Edward, the throne and crown of England; to take my daughter Alice to wife; and to send me your sister hither, that I may find for her a princely spouse177 among my vavasours!’”
21 Taken a second time at fault, and daring not thus openly to falsify his word—but with a blank and troubled aspect, unsatisfied with his internal reservation, and conscious of his perjury—Harold laid both his hands on two small reliquaries which lay, as if by chance, upon the cloth of gold; and swore, provided he should live, to make good all those promises—“so might God aid him.” And with one deep, solemn acclamation, the whole assembly echoed those last words: “So may God aid him! may God aid! God aid!” At the same instant, on a signal from the duke, the cloth of gold was drawn aside, and Harold saw the sacrilege he must commit, so deeply sworn on things so holy, should he repent10, or falsify his oath! He saw, and shuddered188 visibly, as though he had been stricken by an ague; yet presently, by a powerful effort, rallying all his courage to his aid, he made his last farewells, departed, loaded with gifts and honors, but with a melancholy heart; and sailed immediately for England, leaving the brother, for whose liberty he came a suitor, ten times more deeply forfeit189 than he had been before. On his first interview with Edward, he related all that had occurred—even his own involuntary oath. And the old sovereign trembled, and grew pale, but manifested nothing of surprise or anger!
“I knew it,” he replied, in calm but hollow tones; “I knew it, and I did forewarn you, how that your visit to the Norman should bring misery on you, and ruin on our country! As I forewarned you, so has it come to pass! So shall it come to pass hereafter, till all hath been fulfilled: God only grant that I live not to see it!”
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1 jealousies | |
n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 );妒羡 | |
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2 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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3 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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4 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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5 propitious | |
adj.吉利的;顺利的 | |
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6 valor | |
n.勇气,英勇 | |
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7 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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8 forefathers | |
n.祖先,先人;祖先,祖宗( forefather的名词复数 );列祖列宗;前人 | |
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9 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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10 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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11 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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12 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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13 accomplishment | |
n.完成,成就,(pl.)造诣,技能 | |
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14 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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15 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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16 kinsman | |
n.男亲属 | |
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17 crafty | |
adj.狡猾的,诡诈的 | |
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18 ransom | |
n.赎金,赎身;v.赎回,解救 | |
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19 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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20 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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21 sage | |
n.圣人,哲人;adj.贤明的,明智的 | |
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22 frustrated | |
adj.挫败的,失意的,泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 );挫败;使受挫折;令人沮丧 | |
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23 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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24 fraught | |
adj.充满…的,伴有(危险等)的;忧虑的 | |
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25 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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26 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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27 gallantly | |
adv. 漂亮地,勇敢地,献殷勤地 | |
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28 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 falcon | |
n.隼,猎鹰 | |
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30 sere | |
adj.干枯的;n.演替系列 | |
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31 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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32 justify | |
vt.证明…正当(或有理),为…辩护 | |
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33 embarkation | |
n. 乘船, 搭机, 开船 | |
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34 overcast | |
adj.阴天的,阴暗的,愁闷的;v.遮盖,(使)变暗,包边缝;n.覆盖,阴天 | |
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35 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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36 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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37 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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38 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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39 laboring | |
n.劳动,操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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40 mariner | |
n.水手号不载人航天探测器,海员,航海者 | |
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41 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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42 peril | |
n.(严重的)危险;危险的事物 | |
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43 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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44 abating | |
减少( abate的现在分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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45 gales | |
龙猫 | |
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46 languish | |
vi.变得衰弱无力,失去活力,(植物等)凋萎 | |
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47 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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48 appeased | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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49 demeanor | |
n.行为;风度 | |
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50 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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51 ceded | |
v.让给,割让,放弃( cede的过去式 ) | |
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52 trumpet | |
n.喇叭,喇叭声;v.吹喇叭,吹嘘 | |
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53 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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54 haughty | |
adj.傲慢的,高傲的 | |
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55 extremities | |
n.端点( extremity的名词复数 );尽头;手和足;极窘迫的境地 | |
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56 dependants | |
受赡养者,受扶养的家属( dependant的名词复数 ) | |
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57 chattels | |
n.动产,奴隶( chattel的名词复数 ) | |
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58 followers | |
追随者( follower的名词复数 ); 用户; 契据的附面; 从动件 | |
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59 puissant | |
adj.强有力的 | |
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60 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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61 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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62 demesne | |
n.领域,私有土地 | |
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63 vile | |
adj.卑鄙的,可耻的,邪恶的;坏透的 | |
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64 liberated | |
a.无拘束的,放纵的 | |
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65 stipulated | |
vt.& vi.规定;约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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66 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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67 falcons | |
n.猎鹰( falcon的名词复数 ) | |
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68 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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69 tedium | |
n.单调;烦闷 | |
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70 feudal | |
adj.封建的,封地的,领地的 | |
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71 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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72 mightiest | |
adj.趾高气扬( mighty的最高级 );巨大的;强有力的;浩瀚的 | |
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73 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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74 estranged | |
adj.疏远的,分离的 | |
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75 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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76 antagonistic | |
adj.敌对的 | |
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77 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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78 beseech | |
v.祈求,恳求 | |
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79 warfare | |
n.战争(状态);斗争;冲突 | |
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80 chivalry | |
n.骑士气概,侠义;(男人)对女人彬彬有礼,献殷勤 | |
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81 acquiesce | |
vi.默许,顺从,同意 | |
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82 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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83 meshes | |
网孔( mesh的名词复数 ); 网状物; 陷阱; 困境 | |
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84 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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85 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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86 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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87 unwilling | |
adj.不情愿的 | |
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88 joyously | |
ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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89 tract | |
n.传单,小册子,大片(土地或森林) | |
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90 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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91 metaphorically | |
adv. 用比喻地 | |
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92 jousts | |
(骑士)骑着马用长矛打斗( joust的名词复数 ); 格斗,竞争 | |
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93 amicable | |
adj.和平的,友好的;友善的 | |
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94 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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95 equestrian | |
adj.骑马的;n.马术 | |
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96 renown | |
n.声誉,名望 | |
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97 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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98 infantry | |
n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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99 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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100 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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101 javelin | |
n.标枪,投枪 | |
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102 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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103 panoply | |
n.全副甲胄,礼服 | |
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104 tilting | |
倾斜,倾卸 | |
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105 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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106 emulation | |
n.竞争;仿效 | |
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107 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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108 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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109 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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110 agile | |
adj.敏捷的,灵活的 | |
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111 inured | |
adj.坚强的,习惯的 | |
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112 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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113 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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114 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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115 bestowing | |
砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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116 accolade | |
n.推崇备至,赞扬 | |
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117 gilded | |
a.镀金的,富有的 | |
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118 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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119 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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120 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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121 wondrous | |
adj.令人惊奇的,奇妙的;adv.惊人地;异乎寻常地;令人惊叹地 | |
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122 divulge | |
v.泄漏(秘密等);宣布,公布 | |
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123 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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124 feign | |
vt.假装,佯作 | |
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125 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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126 consummate | |
adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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127 intriguer | |
密谋者 | |
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128 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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129 paternal | |
adj.父亲的,像父亲的,父系的,父方的 | |
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130 vivacious | |
adj.活泼的,快活的 | |
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131 inclinations | |
倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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132 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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133 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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134 Founder | |
n.创始者,缔造者 | |
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135 reprisals | |
n.报复(行为)( reprisal的名词复数 ) | |
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136 massacres | |
大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 ); 惨败 | |
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137 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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138 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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139 vassals | |
n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 );(封建时代)诸侯;从属者;下属 | |
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140 hereditary | |
adj.遗传的,遗传性的,可继承的,世袭的 | |
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141 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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142 knightly | |
adj. 骑士般的 adv. 骑士般地 | |
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143 intoxicated | |
喝醉的,极其兴奋的 | |
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144 proffer | |
v.献出,赠送;n.提议,建议 | |
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145 parlance | |
n.说法;语调 | |
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146 intrepidity | |
n.大胆,刚勇;大胆的行为 | |
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147 beguiling | |
adj.欺骗的,诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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148 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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149 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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151 descant | |
v.详论,絮说;n.高音部 | |
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152 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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153 reigning | |
adj.统治的,起支配作用的 | |
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154 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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155 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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156 variance | |
n.矛盾,不同 | |
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157 scathe | |
v.损伤;n.伤害 | |
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158 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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159 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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160 plighted | |
vt.保证,约定(plight的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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161 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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162 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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163 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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164 perjured | |
adj.伪证的,犯伪证罪的v.发假誓,作伪证( perjure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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165 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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166 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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167 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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168 aspirations | |
强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 ); 志向; 发送气音; 发 h 音 | |
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169 extrication | |
n.解脱;救出,解脱 | |
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170 embarrassment | |
n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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171 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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172 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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173 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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174 dubious | |
adj.怀疑的,无把握的;有问题的,靠不住的 | |
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175 fortify | |
v.强化防御,为…设防;加强,强化 | |
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176 espoused | |
v.(决定)支持,拥护(目标、主张等)( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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177 spouse | |
n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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178 barons | |
男爵( baron的名词复数 ); 巨头; 大王; 大亨 | |
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179 guilt | |
n.犯罪;内疚;过失,罪责 | |
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180 incurred | |
[医]招致的,遭受的; incur的过去式 | |
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181 kinsmen | |
n.家属,亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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182 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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183 discourse | |
n.论文,演说;谈话;话语;vi.讲述,著述 | |
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184 convoked | |
v.召集,召开(会议)( convoke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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185 slab | |
n.平板,厚的切片;v.切成厚板,以平板盖上 | |
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186 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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187 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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188 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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189 forfeit | |
vt.丧失;n.罚金,罚款,没收物 | |
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