The lawyer greeted her with formal courtesy. He was newly shaved and bathed, his linen2 was spotless, and his elderly grey eyes looked out with alert watchfulness3 on a world of trickery.
“As your late brother’s legal adviser4 for many years, I felt it incumbent5 upon me to come down,” he said, fixing a grave glance on the distracted lady before him. “It seemed to me that I might be of some use, perhaps, assistance. That is the object of my call.”
The fact that she had not seen Mr. Brimsdown before did not lessen6 the hysterical7 gratitude8 with which Mrs. Pendleton received this piece of information. The events of the last forty-eight hours had shaken her badly. Her brother’s tragic9 death, and the terrible suspicion which enveloped10 Sisily, had stripped her of her strength, and left her with a feminine longing11 to cast her burden on a man’s shoulders. She had discovered to her dismay that a husband who has been snubbed and kept under for twenty years is apt to prove a thing of straw when a woman likes to feel that the male sex was devised by Providence12 to take the wheel from female hands if the barque of life drifts on the breakers. But Mr. Pendleton had revealed no latent capacity to play the part of the strong man at the helm in the crisis. He had shown himself a craven and kept out of the way, leaving his wife to her own resources. The appearance of Mr. Brimsdown was as timely to her as the arrival of a heaven-sent pilot in a storm.
“Thank you,” she murmured incoherently. “Such a dreadful end. Poor dear Robert.” She sobbed13 into her handkerchief.
“A deplorable loss to his family—and England,” assented15 the lawyer. “I am glad to see you. They ascertained16 your address for me at the hotel where I am staying. I have been resting after travelling all night, and I shall go and see the police in the morning. So far I have only read the reports in the London evening papers, and there may be intimate particulars which were not disclosed to the press. If such exist, perhaps you will impart them to me. You need not hesitate to disclose to me all you know. Your late brother honoured me with his confidence for nearly thirty years.” Mr. Brimsdown coughed discreetly17.
His tone invited confidences which Mrs. Pendleton, in her perplexity of spirit, was only too anxious to impart to a sympathetic ear. Mr. Brimsdown, sitting stiffly upright, his eyes fixed18 on a portrait of Royalty19 glimmering20 inanely21 down at them through a dirty glass frame on the opposite wall, listened with unmoved front. Yet the story had its surprises, even for him. Not the least of them was the fact that Mrs. Pendleton’s description of her niece tallied22 with the appearance of the girl whose identity he had tried to recall at Paddington. He was chagrined23 to think he had failed to recognize his late client’s daughter, but he recalled that it was ten years since he had seen Sisily, who was then a dark-eyed little girl. At Norfolk. Oh, yes! he remembered her readily enough now, playing innocently about some forgotten tombstones in a deserted24 graveyard25 on a wild grey coast, while her father wrested26 savagely27 with the dead for his heritage. Strange that he should have met her again at the moment of her flight, when he was setting out for Cornwall in response to her dead father’s letter! Life had such ironical29 mischances.
He said nothing of this chance encounter, or of Robert Turold’s letter, to the dead man’s sister who was now pouring out her fears and suspicions to him. He was a receptacle into which confidences might be emptied, but he gave nothing in return. Mrs. Pendleton did not need that. Her state of mind compelled her to speak, and her impulsiveness30 hurried her along on the high tide of a flood of words. The story she had to tell oppressed her listener with the sense of some great unknown horror. It was like trying to see a dark place by lightning. The flashes of her revelations revealed a distorted surface, but not the hidden depths. Mrs. Pendleton’s agitated32 mind, doubling in and out a maze33 of conjectures34 like a distracted hare, turned again and again to the question of Sisily’s complicity in her father’s death.
“I can hardly believe it even now,” she said with a shudder35. “Such a sweet pretty girl! And yet—there was something strange in her manner. I remarked it to Joseph—my husband—before this happened.” She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
The lawyer, with a sideways glance at the Royal portrait opposite, which seemed in the act of smiling blandly36 at his companion’s grief, reflected, soberly enough, that sweet and pretty girls were as human as the rest of creation, if it came to that.
“Charlie Turold—my nephew, you know—will have it that she is innocent.”
“In spite of her disappearance37?”
“Yes. He came this morning, before I was up, to see if I knew where Sisily had gone. After tea he came again in a terrible state, raving38 against the detective for taking out a warrant for her arrest. He said it was madness on his part to imagine that a girl like Sisily would kill her father. I told him that as Sisily had disappeared he could hardly blame the police for looking for her. He turned on me when I said that, and used such violent language that I was quite frightened of him. But I make allowances, of course.”
“Why?” the lawyer asked, looking at her.
“I think Charlie is very fond of Sisily,” murmured Mrs. Pendleton with womanly intuition.
“Do you mean that they love each other?” said the lawyer, regarding her attentively39.
“I cannot say about Sisily. And I never guessed it of Charlie until this morning. I’m sure poor Robert had no idea of it. He would never have agreed—after what he told us on the day of the funeral, I mean.”
Mr. Brimsdown gave a tacit unspoken assent14 to that. Some men might have welcomed such a solution of an ugly family scandal, but not Robert Turold, with his fierce pride for the honour of the title which he had sought to gain.
“Is your nephew’s belief in Miss Turold’s innocence40 based on anything stronger than assertion? Does he suspect any one else?”
“He did not say so. He was very excited, and talked on and on, without listening to me in the least. He seems very impulsive31 and headstrong. I noticed that on the day of the funeral. When Robert told us about his marriage, Charles said to him that his first duty was to his daughter. Robert looked so angry.”
“I can well believe it,” murmured the lawyer. “The young man must have courage.”
“Oh yes, he served with distinction in the war,” Mrs. Pendleton innocently rejoined. “In temperament41 he takes after me, I think, more than after his father. Austin and I never did think alike. We even disagreed over poor Robert’s terrible death. Austin thought he had … destroyed himself.” Her voice dropped to a shocked whisper.
“On what grounds did he base that belief?” Mr. Brimsdown cautiously asked.
“He thought the circumstances pointed42 to it,” she rejoined. “But I knew better—I knew Robert would never do anything so dreadful. Besides, had I not seen that horrible old man-servant glaring through the door? That is why I went to the police.”
As Mrs. Pendleton showed a tendency to repeat herself, Mr. Brimsdown rose to terminate the interview. Mrs. Pendleton rose, too, but she had not yet reached the end of her surprises for him.
“And then there’s Robert’s will—so strange! Really—”
“The will! What will?” interrupted the lawyer testily43. “Did your brother make his will down here?”
“Yes. A will drawn44 up by a local lawyer—a man with the extraordinary name of Bunkom—a most terrible little creature. Bunkom, indeed!” continued Mrs. Pendleton, shaking her head with a feeble assumption of sprightliness45. “Everything is left to my brother Austin. I do not mind in the least about myself. After all, Robert and I met almost as strangers after many years, and I want nothing from him. But his treatment of this unfortunate girl, his daughter, is really too dreadful. I do not wish to speak ill of the dead, but I must say that much, whether Sisily had anything to do with Robert’s death or not, for, of course, Robert couldn’t have known about that at the time—when he made his will, I mean,” concluded Mrs. Pendleton, in some confusion of mind.
“It is strange that your brother did not consult me before drawing up this will,” said Mr. Brimsdown.
“Perhaps he imagined you might persuade him against it,” sighed Mrs. Pendleton. “It is all very strange. I do not understand it a bit.”
Mr. Brimsdown thought it strange, then and afterwards. Next day, after going to the police station and handing Robert Turold’s letter to Inspector46 Dawfield, he sought out the Penzance lawyer who had drawn up the will. Mr. Bunkom was a spidery little man who spun47 his legal webs in a small dark office at the top of Market Jew Street, a solicitor48 with a servile manner but an eye like a fox, which dwelt on his eminent49 confrère from London, as he perused50 the will, with an expression which it was just as well that Mr. Brimsdown didn’t see, so sly and savage28 was it. The Penzance spider knew his business. The will was watertight and properly attested51. The bulk of the property was bequeathed to Austin Turold unconditionally52. There were only two other bequests53. Robert Turold had placed Thalassa and Sisily (“my illegitimate daughter”) on an equality by bequeathing to them annuities54 of £50 a year each. Austin Turold and Mr. Brimsdown were named as joint55 executors, and that was all.
Mr. Brimsdown would not have occupied such a distinguished56 place in the legal profession if he had not been a firm believer in the sacred English tradition that a man has the right to dispose of his own property as he thinks fit. Moreover, his legal mind realized the folly57 of speculating over the reasons which had prompted this hurried will when the man who had made it was beyond the reach of argument, reproof58, or cross-examination.
But the lack of all mention of the title was a different matter, calling for investigation59. It was remarkable60 that a man like Robert Turold should have gone to the grave without binding61 his heir to prosecute62 the claim for the Turrald title. To that end Robert Turold had devoted63 his life, and to the upkeep of the title he had proposed to devote his fortune. The absence of this precaution puzzled Mr. Brimsdown considerably64 at first, but as he pondered over the matter he began to see the reason. Robert Turold was so close to the summit of his ambition that he had not thought it necessary to take precautions. He was a strong man, and strong men rarely think of death. Once the title was his, it descended65 as a matter of course to his brother, and then to his brother’s son—provided, of course, that the proofs of his daughter’s illegitimacy were in existence.
That conclusion carried another in its wake. If Robert Turold had not safeguarded his dearest ambition because he hoped to carry it out himself, it followed as a matter of course that he did not take his own life. Mr. Brimsdown had never accepted that theory, but it was strange to have it so conclusively66 proved, as it were, by the inference of an omission67. That brought the lawyer back to the position that some foreboding or warning of his murder had caused Robert Turold to summon him to Cornwall by letter. The next step of his investigations68 led Mr. Brimsdown to the dead man’s study, where that frantic69 appeal had been penned.
He engaged a vehicle at the hotel and drove over to Flint House in the afternoon. The impression of that visit remained. Flint House, rising from the basalt summit of the headland like a granite70 vault71, its windows coldly glistening72 down on the frothy green gloom of the Atlantic far beneath, the country trap and lean black horse at the flapping gate, the undertaker’s man (dissolute parasite73 of austere74 Death) slinking out of the house, and Thalassa waiting at the open door for him to approach—all these things were engraved75 on Mr. Brimsdown’s mind, never to be forgotten. Who was it that had staged such a crime in such a proscenium, in that vast amphitheatre of black rocks which stretched dizzily down beneath those gleaming windows?
Then came other impressions: the dead man upstairs, the disordered dusty study, the stopped clock, the litter of papers. It was in the room where Robert Turold had been murdered that Mr. Brimsdown questioned Thalassa about the letter, and heard with a feeling of dismay his declaration that he had not posted it. Where was the nearest pillar box? Nearly a mile away, at the cross-roads. Could his late master have gone there to post it that night? If he had, Thalassa hadn’t heard him go out. Could anybody else have posted it? No; there was nobody else to post it.
It was like questioning a head on an old Roman coin, so expressionless was Thalassa’s face as he delivered himself of these replies. But the lawyer had the feeling that Thalassa was deriving76 a certain grim satisfaction from his questioner’s perplexity, and he dismissed him somewhat angrily. Then, when he had gone, he turned to an examination of some of the papers and documents which littered the room, but that was a search which told him nothing.
When the shades of evening warned him to relinquish77 that task, he told himself that he really ought to go and see Austin Turold before returning to Penzance. But he shrank, with unaccountable reluctance78, from the performance of that obvious duty. He felt very old and tired, and his temples were throbbing79 with a bad nervous headache. He therefore decided80 to postpone81 his visit to Austin Turold until later.
点击收听单词发音
1 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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2 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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3 watchfulness | |
警惕,留心; 警觉(性) | |
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4 adviser | |
n.劝告者,顾问 | |
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5 incumbent | |
adj.成为责任的,有义务的;现任的,在职的 | |
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6 lessen | |
vt.减少,减轻;缩小 | |
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7 hysterical | |
adj.情绪异常激动的,歇斯底里般的 | |
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8 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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9 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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10 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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12 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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13 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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14 assent | |
v.批准,认可;n.批准,认可 | |
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15 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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18 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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19 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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20 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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21 inanely | |
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22 tallied | |
v.计算,清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 );加标签(或标记)于;(使)符合;(使)吻合 | |
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23 chagrined | |
adj.懊恼的,苦恼的v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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25 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
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26 wrested | |
(用力)拧( wrest的过去式和过去分词 ); 费力取得; (从…)攫取; ( 从… ) 强行取去… | |
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27 savagely | |
adv. 野蛮地,残酷地 | |
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28 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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29 ironical | |
adj.讽刺的,冷嘲的 | |
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30 impulsiveness | |
n.冲动 | |
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31 impulsive | |
adj.冲动的,刺激的;有推动力的 | |
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32 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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33 maze | |
n.迷宫,八阵图,混乱,迷惑 | |
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34 conjectures | |
推测,猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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35 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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36 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
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37 disappearance | |
n.消失,消散,失踪 | |
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38 raving | |
adj.说胡话的;疯狂的,怒吼的;非常漂亮的;令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话;疯话adv.胡言乱语地;疯狂地 | |
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39 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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40 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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41 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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42 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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43 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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44 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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45 sprightliness | |
n.愉快,快活 | |
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46 inspector | |
n.检查员,监察员,视察员 | |
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47 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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48 solicitor | |
n.初级律师,事务律师 | |
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49 eminent | |
adj.显赫的,杰出的,有名的,优良的 | |
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50 perused | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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51 attested | |
adj.经检验证明无病的,经检验证明无菌的v.证明( attest的过去式和过去分词 );证实;声称…属实;使宣誓 | |
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52 unconditionally | |
adv.无条件地 | |
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53 bequests | |
n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 );遗产,遗赠物 | |
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54 annuities | |
n.养老金;年金( annuity的名词复数 );(每年的)养老金;年金保险;年金保险投资 | |
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55 joint | |
adj.联合的,共同的;n.关节,接合处;v.连接,贴合 | |
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56 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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57 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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58 reproof | |
n.斥责,责备 | |
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59 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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60 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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61 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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62 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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63 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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64 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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65 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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66 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
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67 omission | |
n.省略,删节;遗漏或省略的事物,冗长 | |
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68 investigations | |
(正式的)调查( investigation的名词复数 ); 侦查; 科学研究; 学术研究 | |
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69 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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70 granite | |
adj.花岗岩,花岗石 | |
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71 vault | |
n.拱形圆顶,地窖,地下室 | |
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72 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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73 parasite | |
n.寄生虫;寄生菌;食客 | |
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74 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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75 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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76 deriving | |
v.得到( derive的现在分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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77 relinquish | |
v.放弃,撤回,让与,放手 | |
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78 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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79 throbbing | |
a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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80 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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81 postpone | |
v.延期,推迟 | |
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