Strong bodies of the household troops were posted here and there about the avenues and gates of the royal demesne21, and several large detachments of the archers22 of the prev?t’s guard—still called so from the arms which they had long since ceased to carry—might be seen everywhere on duty. Yet there were no symptoms of an émeute among the populace, nor any signs of angry feeling or excitement in the features of the loitering crowd, which was increasing every moment as the day waxed toward noon. Some feeling certainly there was—some dark and earnest interest, as might be judged from the knit brows, clinched24 hands, and anxious whispers which everywhere attended the exchange of thought throughout the concourse—but it was by no means of an alarming or an angry character. Grief, wonder, expectation, and a sort of half-doubtful pity, as far as might be gathered from the words of the passing speakers, were the more prominent ingredients of the167 common feeling, which had called out so large a portion of the city’s population on a day so unsuited to any spectacle of interest. For several hours this mob, increasing as it has been described from hour to hour, varied25 but little in its character, save that as the day wore it became more and more respectable in the appearance of its members. At first it had been composed almost without exception of artisans and shop-boys, and mechanics of the lowest order, with not a few of the cheats, bravoes, pickpockets26, and similar ruffians, who then as now formed a fraternity of no mean size in the Parisian world. As the morning advanced, however, many of the burghers of the city, and respectable craftsmen27, might be seen among the crowd; and a little later many of the secondary gentry28 and petite noblesse, with well-dressed women and even children, all showing the same symptoms of sad yet eager expectation. Now, when it lacked but a few minutes of noon, long trains of courtiers with their retinues29 and armed attendants, many a head of a renowned30 and ancient house, many a warrior31 famous for valor32 and for conduct might be seen threading the mazes33 of the crowded thoroughfares toward the royal palace.
A double ceremony of singular and solemn nature was soon to be enacted34 there—the interment of a noble soldier, slain35 lately in an unjust quarrel, and the investiture of an unwilling36 woman with the robes of a holy sisterhood preparatory to her lifelong interment in that sepulchre of the living body—sepulchre of the pining soul—the convent cloisters38. Armand de Laguy!—Marguerite de Vaudreuil!
Many circumstances had united in this matter to call forth much excitement, much grave interest in the minds of all who had heard tell of it!—the singular and wild romance of the story, the furious and cruel combat which had resulted from it—and last not least, the violent, and, as it was generally considered, unnatural40 resentment41 of the king toward the guilty victim168 who survived the ruin she had wrought43.
The story was, in truth, then, but little understood. A thousand rumors44 were abroad, and of course no one accurately45 true; yet in each there was a share of truth, and the amount of the whole was perhaps less wide of the mark than is usual in matters of the kind. And thus they ran: Marguerite de Vaudreuil had been betrothed46 to the youngest of France’s famous warriors47, Charles de La-Hirè, who after a time fell—as it was related by his young friend and kinsman48 Armand de Laguy—covered with wounds and honor. The body had been found outstretched beneath the survivor49, who, himself desperately50 hurt, had alone witnessed and in vain endeavored to prevent his cousin’s slaughter51. The face of Charles de La-Hirè, as all men deemed the corpse52 to be, was mangled53 and defaced so frightfully as to render recognition by the features utterly54 hopeless; yet, from the emblazoned surcoat which it bore, the well-known armor on the limbs, the signet-ring upon the finger, and the accustomed sword clinched in the dead right hand, none doubted the identity of the body, or questioned the truth of Armand’s story.
Armand de Laguy, succeeding by his cousin’s death to all his lands and lordships, returned to the metropolis, and mixed in the gayeties of that gay period, when all the court of France was revelling55 in the celebration of the union of the dauphin with the lovely Mary Stuart, in after-days the hapless queen of Scotland.
He wore no decent and accustomed garb56 of mourning. He suffered no interval57, however brief—due to decorum at least, if not to kindly58 feeling—to elapse, before it was announced that Marguerite de Vaudreuil, the dead man’s late betrothed, was instantly to wed60 his living cousin! Her wondrous61 beauty, her all-seductive manners, her extreme youth, had in vain pleaded against the general censure62 of the court—the world. Men had frowned on her for a while, and women sneered63 and slandered;169 but after a little while, as the novelty of the story wore away, the indignation against her inconstancy ceased, and she was once again installed the leader of the court’s unwedded beauties.
Suddenly, on the very eve of her intended nuptials65, Charles de La-Hirè returned!—ransomed, as it turned out, by Brissac, from the Italian dungeons66 of the prince of Parma, and making fearful charges of treason and intended murder against Armand de Laguy. The king had commanded that the truth should be proved by a solemn combat; had sworn to execute upon the felon37’s block whichever of the two should yield or confess falsehood; had sworn that the inconstant Marguerite—who, on the return of De La-Hirè, had returned instantly to her former feelings, asserting her perfect confidence in the truth of Charles, the treachery of Armand—should either wed the victor, or live and die the inmate67 of the most rigorous convent in his realm.
The battle had been fought yesterday! Armand de Laguy fell, mortally wounded by his wronged cousin’s hand, and with his latest breath declared his treasons, and implored68 pardon from his king, his kinsman, and his God—happy to perish by a brave man’s sword, not by a headman’s axe23. And Marguerite, the victor’s prize—rejected by the man she had betrayed—herself refusing, even if he were willing, to wed with him whom she could but dishonor—had now no option save death or the detested69 cloister39.
And now men pitied—women wept—all frowned, and wondered, and kept silence. That a young, vain, capricious beauty—the pet and spoiled child from her very cradle of a gay and luxurious70 court, worshipped for her charms like a second Aphrodite, intoxicated71 with the love of admiration—that such a one should be inconstant, fickle72—should swerve73 from her fealty170 to the dead—a questionable75 fealty74 always—and be won to a rash second love by the falsehood and treasons of a man young, and brave, and handsome—falsehood which had deceived wise men—that such should be the course of events, men said, was neither strange nor monstrous76! It was a fault, a lapse59, of which she had been guilty—which might indeed make her future faith suspected, which would surely justify77 Charles de La-Hirè in casting back her proffered78 hand—but which at the worst was venial79, and deserving no such doom80 as the soul-chilling cloister.
She had, they said, in no respect participated in the guilt42 or shared the treacheries of Armand. On the contrary, she, the victim of his fraud, had been the first to denounce, to spit at, to defy him.
Moreover, it was understood that, although De La-Hirè had refused her hand, several of equal and even higher birth than he had offered to redeem81 her from the cloister by taking her to wife of their free choice. Jarnac had claimed the beauty, and it was whispered that the duke de Nevers had sued to Henry vainly for the fair hand of the unwilling novice82.
But the king was relentless83. “Either the wife of De La-Hirè, or the bride of God in the cloister!” was his unvarying reply. No further answer would he give—no disclosure of his motives84 would he make, even to his wisest councillors. Some, indeed, augured85 that the good monarch’s anger was but feigned86, and that, deeming her sufficiently87 punished already, he was desirous still of forcing her to be the bride of him to whom she had been destined88, and whom she still, despite her brief inconstancy, unquestionably worshipped in her heart; for all men still supposed that at the last Charles would forgive the hapless girl, and so relieve her from the living tomb that even now seemed yawning to enclose her. But others—and they were those who understood the best mood of France’171s second Henry—vowed that the wrath89 was real; and felt that, though no man could fathom90 the cause of his stern ire, he never would forgive the guilty girl, whose frailty91, as he swore, had caused such strife93 and bloodshed.
But now it was high noon; and forth filed from the palace-gates a long and glittering train—Henry and all his court, with all the rank and beauty of the realm, knights94, nobles, peers and princes, damsels and dames—the pride of France and Europe. But at the monarch’s right walked one, clad in no gay attire—pale, languid, wounded, and warworn—Charles de La-Hirè, the victor. A sad, deep gloom o’ercast his large dark eye, and threw a shadow over his massy forehead. His lip had forgot to smile, his glance to lighten; yet was there no remorse95, no doubt, no wavering in his calm, noble features—only fixed96, settled sorrow. His long and waving hair of the darkest chestnut97, evenly parted on his crown, fell down on either cheek, and flowed over the broad, plain collar of his shirt, which, decked with no embroidery-lace, was folded back over the cape98 of a plain black pourpoint, made of fine cloth indeed, but neither laced nor passemented, nor even slashed99 with velvet100; a broad scarf of black taffeta supported his weapon—a heavy, double-edged, straight broadsword—and served at the same time to support his left arm, the sleeve of which hung open, tied in with points of riband; his trunk-hose and nether101 stocks of plain black silk, black velvet shoes, and a slouched hat, with neither feather nor cockade, completed the suit of melancholy102 mourning which he wore.
In the midst of the train was a yet sadder sight—Marguerite de Vaudreuil, robed in the snow-white vestments of a novice, with all her glorious ringlets flowing in loose redundance over her shoulders and her bosom103, soon to be cut close by the fatal scissors—pale as the monumental stone, and only not as rigid104. A hard-featured, gray-headed monk105 supported her on172 either hand; and a long train of priests swept after, with crucifix, and rosary, and censer.
Scarcely had this strange procession issued from the great gates of Les Tournelles—the death-bells tolling still from every tower and steeple—before another train, gloomier yet and sadder, filed out from the gate of the royal tiltyard, at the farther end of which stood a superb pavilion. Sixteen black Benedictine monks106 led the array, chanting the mournful Miserere. Next behind these (strange contrast!) strode on the grim, gaunt form, clad in his blood-stained tabard, and bearing full displayed his broad, two-handed axe—fell emblem107 of his odious108 calling—the public executioner of Paris. Immediately in the rear of this dark functionary109, not borne by his bold captains, nor followed by his gallant110 vassals111 with arms reversed and signs of martial112 sorrow, but ignominiously113 supported by the grim-visaged ministers of the law, came on the bier of Armand, the last count de Laguy.
Stretched in a coffin114 of the rudest material and construction, with his pale visage bare, displaying still in its distorted lines and sharpened features the agonies of mind and body which had preceded his untimely dissolution, the bad but haughty115 noble was borne to his long home in the graveyard116 of N?tre Dame. His sword, broken in twain, was laid across his breast, his spurs had been hacked117 from his heels by the base cleaver118 of the scullion, and his reversed escutcheon was hung above his head.
Narrowly saved by his wronged kinsman’s intercession from dying by the headman’s weapon ere yet his mortal wounds should have let out his spirit, he was yet destined to the shame of a dishonored sepulchre. Such was the king’s decree—alas! inexorable.
The funeral-train proceeded; the king and his court followed. They reached the graveyard, hard beneath those173 superb gray towers!—they reached the grave, in a remote and gloomy corner, where, in unconsecrated earth, reposed119 the executed felon. The priests attended not the corpse beyond the precincts of that unholy spot; their solemn chant died mournfully away; no rites120 were done, no prayers were said above the senseless clay, but in silence was it lowered into the ready pit—silence disturbed only by the deep, hollow sound of the clods that fell fast and heavy on the breast of the guilty noble! For many a day a headstone might be seen—not raised by the kind hands of sorrowing friends, nor watered by the tears of kinsmen121, but planted there to tell of his disgraceful doom—amid the nameless graves of the self-slain, and the recorded resting-places of well-known thieves and felons122. It was of dark-gray freestone, and it bore these brief words—brief words, but in that situation speaking the voice of volumes:—
“Ci git Armand, Le dernier Comte de Laguy.”
Three forms stood by the grave—stood till the last clod had been heaped upon its kindred clay, and the dark headstone planted: Henry the king; and Charles the baron123 de La-Hirè; and Marguerite de Vaudreuil.
And as the last clod was flattened124 down upon the dead—after the stone was fixed—De La-Hirè crossed the grave to the despairing girl, where she had stood gazing with a fixed, rayless eye on the sad ceremony, and took her by the hand, and spoke125 so loud that all might hear his words, while Henry looked on calmly, but not without an air of wondering excitement:—
“Not that I did not love thee,” he said, “Marguerite! Not that I did not pardon thee thy brief inconstancy, caused as it was by evil arts of which we will say nothing now—since he who plotted them hath suffered even above his merits, and is,174 we trust, now pardoned! Not for these causes, nor for any of them, have I declined thine hand thus far; but that the king commanded, judging it in his wisdom best for both of us. Now Armand is gone hence; and let all doubt and sorrow go hence with him! Let all your tears, all my suspicions, be buried in his grave for ever! I take your hand, dear Marguerite—I take you as mine honored and loved bride—I claim you mine for ever!”
Thus far the girl had listened to him, not blushingly, nor with a melting eye, nor with any sign of renewed hope or rekindled126 happiness in her pale features—but with cold, resolute127 attention. But now she put away his hand very steadily128, and spoke with a firm, unfaltering voice.
“Be not so weak!” she said; “be not so weak, Charles de La-Hirè—nor fancy me so vain! The weight and wisdom of years have passed above my head since yester morning: then was I a vain, thoughtless girl; now am I a stern, wise woman! That I have sinned, is very true—that I have betrayed thee, wronged thee! It may be, had you spoke pardon yesterday—it might have been all well! It may be it had been dishonor in you to take me to your arms; but if to do so had been dishonor yesterday, by what is it made honor now? No! no! Charles de La-Hirè—no! no! I had refused thee yesterday, hadst thou been willing to redeem me, by self-sacrifice, then, from the convent-walls; I had refused thee then, with love warming my heart toward thee—in all honor! Force me not to reject thee now with scorn and hatred129. Nor dare to think that Marguerite de Vaudreuil will owe to man’s compassion130 what she owes not to love! Peace, Charles de La-Hirè!—I say, peace! my last words to thee have been spoken, and never will I hear more from thee! And now, Sir King, hear thou—may God judge between thee and me, as thou hast judged! If I was frail92 and fickle, nature and God made woman weak175 and credulous—but made man not wise, to deceive and ruin her. If I sinned deeply against this baron de La-Hirè, I sinned not knowingly, nor of premeditation! If I sinned deeply, more deeply was I sinned against—more deeply was I left to suffer—even hadst thou heaped no more brands upon the burning! If to bear hopeless love—to pine with unavailing sorrow—to repent131 with continual remorse—to writhe132 with trampled133 pride!—if these things be to suffer, then, Sir King, had I enough suffered without thy just interposition!” As she spoke, a bitter sneer64 curled her lip for a moment; but as she saw Henry again about to speak, a wilder and higher expression flashed over all her features: her form appeared to distend134, her bosom heaved, her eye glared, her ringlets seemed to stiffen135, as if instinct with life.
“Nay!” she cried, in a voice clear as the strain of a silver trumpet—“nay, thou shalt hear me out! And thou didst swear yesterday I should live in a cloister-cell for ever! and I replied to thy words then, ‘Not long!’ I have thought better now; and now I answer, ‘Never!’ Lo here! lo here! ye who have marked the doom of Armand—mark now the doom of Marguerite! Ye who have judged the treason, mark the doom of the traitress!”
And with the words, before any one could interfere136, even had they suspected her intentions, she raised her right hand on high—and all then saw the quick twinkle of a weapon—and struck herself, as it seemed, a quick, slight blow immediately under the left bosom! It seemed a quick, slight blow! but it had been so accurately studied—so steadily aimed and fatally—that the keen blade, scarcely three inches long and very slender, of the best of Milan steel, with nearly a third of the hilt, was driven home into her very heart. She spoke no syllable137 again, nor uttered any cry!—nor did a single spasm138 contract her pallid139 features, a single convulsion distort her176 shapely limbs; but she leaped forward, and fell upon her face, quite dead, at the king’s feet!
Henry smiled not again for many a day thereafter. Charles de La-Hirè died very old, a Carthusian monk of the strictest order, having mourned sixty years and prayed in silence for the sorrows and the sins of that most hapless being.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vapors
|
|
| n.水汽，水蒸气，无实质之物( vapor的名词复数 )；自夸者；幻想 [药]吸入剂 [古]忧郁（症）v.自夸，（使）蒸发( vapor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
metropolis
|
|
| n.首府；大城市 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
adorned
|
|
| [计]被修饰的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
seethed
|
|
| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
sluggish
|
|
| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
watery
|
|
| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
rime
|
|
| n.白霜；v.使蒙霜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
inclement
|
|
| adj.严酷的，严厉的，恶劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
Augmented
|
|
| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
tolling
|
|
| [财]来料加工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
din
|
|
| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
dame
|
|
| n.女士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
congregating
|
|
| （使）集合，聚集( congregate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
isle
|
|
| n.小岛，岛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
demesne
|
|
| n.领域，私有土地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
archers
|
|
| n.弓箭手，射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
axe
|
|
| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
clinched
|
|
| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
varied
|
|
| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
pickpockets
|
|
| n.扒手( pickpocket的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
craftsmen
|
|
| n. 技工 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
gentry
|
|
| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
retinues
|
|
| n.一批随员( retinue的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
renowned
|
|
| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
valor
|
|
| n.勇气，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
mazes
|
|
| 迷宫( maze的名词复数 )； 纷繁复杂的规则； 复杂难懂的细节； 迷宫图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
enacted
|
|
| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
slain
|
|
| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
felon
|
|
| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
cloisters
|
|
| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
cloister
|
|
| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
guilt
|
|
| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
rumors
|
|
| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
accurately
|
|
| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
warriors
|
|
| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
kinsman
|
|
| n.男亲属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
survivor
|
|
| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
desperately
|
|
| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
slaughter
|
|
| n.屠杀，屠宰；vt.屠杀，宰杀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
corpse
|
|
| n.尸体，死尸 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
mangled
|
|
| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
revelling
|
|
| v.作乐( revel的现在分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
garb
|
|
| n.服装，装束 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
lapse
|
|
| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
wed
|
|
| v.娶，嫁，与…结婚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
censure
|
|
| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sneered
|
|
| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
sneer
|
|
| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
nuptials
|
|
| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
dungeons
|
|
| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
inmate
|
|
| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
implored
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
detested
|
|
| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
fickle
|
|
| adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的，不坚定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
swerve
|
|
| v.突然转向，背离；n．转向，弯曲，背离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
fealty
|
|
| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
questionable
|
|
| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
monstrous
|
|
| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
proffered
|
|
| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
venial
|
|
| adj.可宽恕的；轻微的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
doom
|
|
| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
novice
|
|
| adj.新手的，生手的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
relentless
|
|
| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
motives
|
|
| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
augured
|
|
| v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
feigned
|
|
| a.假装的，不真诚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
fathom
|
|
| v.领悟，彻底了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
frailty
|
|
| n.脆弱；意志薄弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
frail
|
|
| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
strife
|
|
| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
chestnut
|
|
| n.栗树，栗子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
cape
|
|
| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
slashed
|
|
| v.挥砍( slash的过去式和过去分词 )；鞭打；割破；削减 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
nether
|
|
| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
monk
|
|
| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
monks
|
|
| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
emblem
|
|
| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
odious
|
|
| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
functionary
|
|
| n.官员；公职人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
vassals
|
|
| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
martial
|
|
| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
ignominiously
|
|
| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
114
coffin
|
|
| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
haughty
|
|
| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
graveyard
|
|
| n.坟场 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
hacked
|
|
| 生气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
cleaver
|
|
| n.切肉刀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
reposed
|
|
| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
rites
|
|
| 仪式，典礼( rite的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
kinsmen
|
|
| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
felons
|
|
| n.重罪犯( felon的名词复数 )；瘭疽；甲沟炎；指头脓炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
flattened
|
|
| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
rekindled
|
|
| v.使再燃( rekindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
127
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
hatred
|
|
| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
writhe
|
|
| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
trampled
|
|
| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
distend
|
|
| vt./vi.（使）扩大，（使）扩张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
stiffen
|
|
| v.(使)硬，(使)变挺，(使)变僵硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
interfere
|
|
| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
spasm
|
|
| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
pallid
|
|
| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |