Under the illumination of the shaded lamp and the glowing bank of peat on the study hearth3, Emanuel in his velvet4 jacket and slippered5 ease had seemed a delicately refined creature, of so ethereal a type that life for it outside the atmosphere of books, and of a library’s thought and talk, would be unnatural6, or even impossible. With his back to the afternoon sunshine, however, and with rough, light clothes suggesting fresh-air exercise, Emanuel was a different person.
In stature7 he was a trifle taller than Christian; perhaps he was also something heavier, but what the newcomer noted8 most about the figure was the wiry vigor9 of muscular energy indicated in all its lines and movements. There was apparent no trace of any physical resemblance to his father, the massive Lord Julius, and Christian, as this fact occurred to him, remembered what he had heard about the race from which the mother had come. He could not say that Emanuel’s face was like anything which he had thought of as distinctively10 Jewish. The forehead was both broad and prominent, and at the top, where early baldness exposed the conformation of the skull11, there were curious sutural irregularities of surface which attracted attention. The rest of the face was indefinably distinguished12 in effect, but not so remarkable13. Christian thought now that it was a more virile14 countenance15 than he had imagined it to be. Vague suggestions of the scholarly dreamer flitted through its expressions now and again, but it was still above all things the face of a man of action.
Christian had said to himself, in that crowded instant of analysis, that he had never seen any Jewish face which at all resembled this of his cousin’s. Yet somewhere he had seen a face so like it!—the memory puzzled and absorbed his mind. The same crisping, silky black-brown hair; the same full line of brow and nose; the same wide-open dark eyes, intently comprehending in their steady gaze—how strangely familiar they were to him! He saw them again in his mind’s eye, and they had the same shadow-casting background of sunlight—only as he looked at the mental picture, this sunlight was fiercer and hotter, and there was a golden, hazy16 distance of purple-blue sea. Suddenly he laughed aloud, and his brain was alive with recollections.
“I never recognized you last night,” he declared. “Is it not strange that I should have been so blind? But seeing you in the sunlight—ah, I remember you well enough.”
Emanuel smiled too, a little awkwardly. “Of course I was not making any secret of it,” he said. “It would have come up naturally, sooner or later, in the course of talk.”
But Christian had turned to the lady, and was speaking with gay animation17. “He it is whom I have so often thought of, for years now, as the ‘mysterious stranger’ of my poor little romance. How long is it ago? Oh, ten years perhaps, since I saw him first. It was at Toulon, and I was walking along the quai in the late afternoon, and he stopped me to ask some question, and we fell to walking together and talking—at first about the old town, then of myself, because he wished it so. A long time passed, and lo! I saw him again. This time he came into Salvator’s little shop at Cannes—it was in the Rue18 d’Oran—and I was alone, and we talked again—it seems to me for more than an hour. And I wondered always who he could be—because he made me feel that he had friendly thoughts about me. And then, once more—it was a year ago last summer—he met me again, and came and sat beside me on a seat in the Jardin Public, at Nice. It must have been in June, for the season was ended, and it surprised me that he should be there.”
“Oh, yes, I know all about it,” put in Kathleen. “He told me of his seeing you, and what he thought of you, almost as soon as your back was turned. But at that time, of course—things hadn’t happened.”
“Ah, but he wanted to be kind to me, even then,” the young man broke forth19, with a glow in his eyes. “I felt that in his tone, the very first time, when I was the young boy at school. Oh, I puzzled my brain very often about this young English gentleman who liked to talk to me. And here is a curious thing, that when the Credit Lyonnais gave me my summons to come to England, it was of him that I thought first of all, and wondered if he had not some part in it. And then I was so dull—I come to his own house, and sit at his own table with him as my cousin, and do not know him at all! It is true that he had no beard then—but none the less I am ashamed.” He spread his hands out and smiled a deprecatory gesture at them both as he added: “But then everything has been upside down in my mind since I came to England. It has been as if I were going up the side of a straight cliff in a funicular railway—my heart throbbing20 in terror, my brain whirling—afraid to look down, or out, or to realize where I was. But to-day I am happily at the end of the journey, and the good safe ground is well under my feet—and so I am not confused any more, but only very, very glad.”
The elder couple exchanged a frankly21 delighted smile over the enthusiast’s head. “You take him for a stroll about the place,” said the wife. “Perhaps I will come and find you, later on.”
In obedience22 to the suggestion, the two men turned, and went off together across the lawn.
Emanuel began speaking at once. “My father,” he said, “has given me a rough outline of what you have seen and heard. In the nature of things, it could not all be pleasant.”
“Oh, I have quite forgotten the unhappy parts,” the young man declared. “I resolved to do that; it would be folly23 to remember them.”
“They have their uses, though,” persisted the other. “I wanted you to start out with just that impression of the family’s seamy side. We have an immense deal to make up to the people about us, and to humanity in general, have we Torrs. It seemed to me that you could not realize this too early in your experience here. What impressions did Caermere itself make upon you?”
Christian hesitated a little, to give form to his thoughts. “I am imagining it in my mind,” he said at last, slowly, and with extended hands to shape his meaning to the eye, “as a huge canvas, one of the very biggest. As it happens, there is an unpleasant picture on it now, but that can be wiped out, covered over, and then on the vast blank surface a new and splendid picture may be painted—if I have the skill to do it.” He paused, as his companion nodded comprehension of the figure, and then added abruptly25: “I have not put the question direct before—but it is really the case that I am to succeed my grandfather—to be duke of Glastonbury, is it not?”
“Yes,” answered Emanuel, gravely. “That is the case.”
“Lord Julius told me to ask you everything,” Christian went on in defense26 of his curiosity. “But, grand Dieu! there is so much to ask! Shall I be a rich man, also? There are dukes in France who can scarcely give a dinner to a friend—and in Italy who are often in doubt about even their own dinners. I understand that English dukes are different—but it has been said to me that my grandfather, for example, is not a rich man. He would be rich, no doubt, in some other station, but as a duke he is poor. Shall I also be poor?”
Emanuel smiled, more, it seemed, to himself than for the benefit of the young man. With amusing deliberation he took from his pocket a little oblong book with flexible covers. “Have you ever owned a checkbook?” he asked drily.
Christian shook his head.
“Well, this is yours. It came from London this morning. I have written here on the back of the first check, on the part that remains27 in the book, these figures. They show what the bank holds at your disposal at the present moment.”
Christian took the book, and stared with awe28 at the figures indicated. “Three thousand pounds! That is to say, seventy-five thousand francs! But—I do not understand. What portion is this of my entire fortune? There is more besides—to come at some future period—n’est ce pas?”
The sum itself had seemed at first glance to be of bewildering dimensions. Soberer second thoughts, however, told him that he had been lifted into a social stratum29 where such an amount might easily come and go a number of times during one’s life.
“Well,” Emanuel began, hesitating in turn over his phrases, “strictly speaking, you have no fortune at all. This money has been placed to your credit by my father—or if you like, by us both—to put you in a position of independence for the time being. You are quite free to spend it as you like. But—this is a somewhat delicate matter to explain—but we look to you in turn to be more or less guided by us in, say, your mode of life, your choice of associates and—and so on. Don’t think that we wish in the least to hamper30 your individual freedom. I am sure you will feel that that is not our way. But we have formed very high hopes indeed for your career and—how shall I make you understand?—it rests a good deal with us to say how far the realization31 of these hopes warrants us in going on. That isn’t plain to you, I see. Well, to put it frankly, you have nothing of your own, but we turn our money over to you because we believe in you. If unhappily—let us suppose the very improbable case—we should find ourselves no longer believing in you, why then we should feel free to reconsider our financial responsibilities towards you. That is stating it very baldly—not at all as I should like to have put it—but it gives you the essence of the situation.”
They had paused, and Christian regarded him with a troubled face. “Then if you come not to like me, or if I make mistakes, you take everything away from me again? I have never heard of a system like that. It seems to place me in a very strange position.”
The youth’s mobile countenance expressed such wistful dejection, as he faltered32 out these words, that Emanuel hastened to reassure33 him.
“No, no,” he urged, putting a brotherly hand on his shoulder, “it is the fault entirely34 of the way I explained it. No one will ever take anything away from you. In all human probability you will live and die a wealthy and powerful nobleman—and perhaps something a good deal more than that. But let me show you the situation in another way. You have seen your grandfather—so I need say little about him. When he had reached the age of fifty or thereabouts he had come to the end of his resources. Since the estates were entailed36, nothing could be sold or mortgaged, and debts of all sorts were crowding in upon him and his eldest37 son, Lord Porlock. They were at their wits’ end to keep going at all; Porlock could not hold his head up in London, much less marry, as he was expected to do. If it had not been for the invention of life insurance, they could hardly have found money to live from week to week. That was in 1858 or ’9, when I was two or three years old. It was then that my father adopted his policy toward the older branch of the family. As you perhaps know, he was a very rich man. He came forward at this juncture38, and saved the duke and his household from ruin.”
“That was very noble of him. It is what I should have thought he would do,” interposed Christian. They had begun walking again.
“Oh, I don’t know that noble is quite the word,” said Emanuel. “The element of generosity39 was not very conspicuous40 in the transaction. The truth is that the duke and his son were not people that one could be generous to. They had to be bound to a hard-and-fast bargain. They agreed between them to break the entail35, so that all the estates could be dealt with as was deemed best, and bound themselves to sell or mortgage nothing except to my father, unless with his consent. He on his side settled seventy thousand pounds on Porlock and his heirs, thus enabling him to marry, and he not only purchased from the duke the Somerset properties, of which this is a part, but he bought up his debts at the sacrifice of a good many thousands of pounds, so that in practice he became his brother’s only creditor41. No doubt there was generosity in that—since he cut down the rate of interest to something almost nominal42 by comparison with the usury43 that had been going on—but his motive44 was practical enough. It was to get complete financial mastery of the family estates. Nearly forty years have passed since he began; to-day he holds mortgages on practically every acre. If it were not for the mine near Coalbrook, which latterly yields the duke a certain surplus over the outlay45 at Caermere, my father would probably own it all outright46. Well, you have followed it so far, haven’t you?”
Christian thoughtfully nodded his head. “These are not affairs that I have been brought up to understand,” he commented, “but I think I comprehend. Only this—you speak of your father’s adopted policy; that means he has a purpose—an aim. The lady at the castle—Lady Cressage—spoke47 to me about this, and I wish—”
“Ah, yes, you met her,” interposed
Emanuel. “I am not sure she was the best fitted to expound48 our policy to you.”
“Oh, she was very sympathetic,” the young man hastened to insist. “She had the warmest praises for both you and your father. And I could not but feel she wished me well, too.”
Emanuel made no immediate49 reply, but walked slowly along, revolving50 silent thoughts, with a far-away, deliberative look in his eyes. When he spoke at last, it was to revert51 with abruptness52 to the earlier topic. “The policy, as we are calling it,” he said, “can be put in a nutshell. We take that kind of pride in the family which impels53 us to resolve that, if we cannot induce it to do great things, we will at least prevent it doing base things. The position which your grandfather inherited was one of remarkable opportunities, and also of exceptional responsibilities. He was unfit to do anything with the opportunities, and as for the responsibilities, he regarded them with only ignorant contempt. His immediate heirs were very little better. It became a problem with us, therefore, how best to limit their power for harm. Money was the one force they could understand and respect, and we have used it accordingly. I say ‘we’ because as the situation has gradually developed itself, it is hard to say which part of it is my father’s and which mine—and still more impossible to imagine what either of us would have done independently of my mother. I will tell you more about her sometime. It was she, of course, who brought the money to us, but she brought much else besides. However, we will not enter upon that at the moment. Well, suddenly, last summer, the deaths changed everything. Up to that time, what we had been doing had had, so to speak, only a negative purpose. We had been keeping unfit people from parading their unfitness in too scandalously public a fashion. But all at once the possibility of doing something positive—something which might be very fine indeed—was opened up before us. As you know now, we were aware of your existence, but there were inquiries54 to be made as to—well, as to the formal validity of your claim. After that, there was some slight delay in tracing your whereabouts—but now you are here, at last.”
“Now I am here, at last!” Christian repeated softly. He looked up into the sky; somewhere from the blue an invisible lark55 filled the air with its bubbling song. He drew a long breath of amazed content, then turned to his companion.
“That men like you and your father should be making plans and sacrifices for one like myself,” he said—“it is hard for me to realize it. There is nothing for me to say but this—that I will spare no thought or labor56 to be what you want me to be. And you will make it all clear to me, will you not? in every detail what it is I am to do?”
“Oh, hardly to that length,” said Emanuel. He smiled once more—that grave, sweet, introspective smile of his, which suggested humor as little as it did flippancy—and spoke more freely, as if conscious that the irksome part of his task lay behind him. “We dream a great dream of you, but it would be folly to attempt to dictate57 to you at every stage of its realization. That would do you more harm than good, and it would be unfair to both parties, into the bargain. No, what I desire is to show you the practical workings of a system, and to fill you with the principles and spirit of that system. I think it will interest you deeply, and I hope you will see your way to making it, in its essentials at least, your own. It has taken me many years to build it up, and I can’t pretend to suppose that you will grasp it in a week or a year. But you will see at least the aim I have in view, and you will get a notion of how I progress toward it. I shall be satisfied, for the time being, merely to commend it to your judgment58 as the aim which you might do well to set before you. It occurs to me to ask you: have you decided59 opinions in politics?”
Christian shrugged60 his shoulders diffidently. “In France my friends were of many parties, but since I thought never of myself as a Frenchman, I did not take sides with any of them. My brother Salvator is very advanced indeed; he is a Free Mason, and his friends are Carbonari in Italy and Socialists61 in France. But to me, these things had not much meaning. I said always to myself that I was English, and I read journals from London when I could, to learn about English parties. But it was not easy to learn. I stood in the streets often at Cannes in the early spring to see Mr. Gladstone when he passed, and to take off my hat to him, because I read that he was the greatest Englishman. But then I talked with English people on the Riviera about him, and they all cursed and ridiculed62 him, and told me that in England no respectable people would so much as speak to him. So it is very hard to know the truth—when you are born and bred in another country.”
“Even those who are born here do not invariably agree upon definitions of the truth,” commented Emanuel. “But I was not speaking of parties or politicians, so called. Politics, in its bigger sense, means the housekeeping of humanity—the whole mass of interests that the individuals of the human race have in common. But I don’t want to generalize to you. Let us stop here for a few minutes; I have brought you to this point that you may get the view.”
Their leisurely63 stroll through pastures and meadows, and latterly across a strip of grassy64 common dotted with sheep, had brought them by a gradual ascent65 to the summit of a knoll66, crowned by a group of picturesquely67 gnarled and twisted old trees, the boughs68 of which were all pointed69 backward in the direction whence the men had come. Christian, coming to the ridge70 and halting, confronted the unexpected breeze, steady and sustained as an ocean swell71, which he could hear murmuring through the land-ward bent72 branches overhead. In front of him, at the distance of a stone’s throw, the sloping heath abruptly ended in what for the instant he supposed was the sky-line—and then saw to be a vast glittering expanse of water, stretching off to an illimitable horizon.
“Oh, the sea!” he cried out, in surprised delight. “I had never dreamed that we were near it.”
He could distinguish now the faint intermittent73 rustle74 of the waves on the hidden beach far below. Perhaps a mile out the profile of a craft under full sail shone magically white in the sunlight. He knew it to be a yacht, and began watching it with an intuitive appreciation75 of its beauty of line and carriage. Then in a sudden impulse he swung around and faced his companion. “I do not like to look at it,” he broke out nervously76. “I am afraid to see the ghosts of those cousins who were drowned—killed to make room for me. Where their yacht went down on the rocks—was that close by here?”
“At least sixty miles away—in that direction,” and Emanuel gave an indifferent nod towards the west. “I wouldn’t encourage ghosts of any sort, if I were you, but theirs would be least of all worth while. I wanted you to look about you from here—not specially77 seaward, but in all directions. There is a small village at the water’s edge, almost directly under our feet, which can’t be seen from above—we will get round to it, perhaps to-morrow—but look in other directions. As far as you can see along the coast to right and left—and inland, too—the system I spoke of is in operation. It is all my land. Get the scope of it into your mind. Roughly speaking, you can see over some nine or ten thousand acres. Imagine that multiplied by seven or eight, and you will have, an idea of the territory that your grandfather still owns—at least nominally78.”
Christian kept a rapt gaze upon the prospect79, and strove in silence to grasp the meaning of the words.
“On the land that you see before you,” Emanuel went on, “in one capacity or another, nearly two thousand human beings have homes. On your grandfather’s estates there must be nearly if not quite ten times that number. Think what this means. You will be in a position to affect the prosperity, the happiness, the well-being80, body and soul, of fifteen or twenty thousand people. It is a little nation—a small kingdom—of which you will be the head.”
The young man turned slowly and forced himself to look out upon the deep, but still said nothing.
“This position you may make much of, or little, or worse than nothing at all,” the other continued. “It is a simple enough matter to put the work and the responsibility upon other shoulders, if you choose to do it. Many very respectable men born to such positions do wash their hands of the worry and labor in just that fashion. They lead idle lives, they amuse themselves, they take all that is yielded to them and give nothing in return—and because they avoid open grossness and scandal their behavior attracts no particular attention. In fact, it is quite taken for granted that they have done the natural thing. Being born to leisure, why should they toil81? Possessing the title to wealth and dominion82 and the deference83 of those about them, why should they be expected to go to work and earn these things which they already own? That is the public view. Mine is very different. I hold that a man who has been born to a position of power among his fellows, and neglects the duties of that position while he accepts its rewards, is disgraced. It is as dishonest as any action for which less fortunate persons go to prison.”
“Yes, that is my feeling, also,” said Christian in low, earnest tones. “It’s all true—but—”
“Ah, yes, the ‘But,’” commented Emanuel, with his perceptive84 smile. “Now let me explain to you that I have met this ‘But,’ and done battle with it, and put it under my feet. I began planning for this struggle when I was very young. All the good people I knew admitted frankly the evils I speak of; they saw them quite clearly, and talked with eloquence85 and fine feeling about them, and at the finish they said ‘But!’—and changed the subject, and everything went on as before. It became apparent to me that this eternal ‘But’ is the enemy of the human race. There it stood forever in the path, blocking every attempt of benevolent86 and right-minded people to advance in real progress. So I said: at least one life shall be given to the task of proving that there need be no ‘But.’ I have been working here now for years, upon lines which were carefully thought out during other years of preparation. The results are in most respects better than I could have expected; they are certainly many-fold better than any one who had not my faith could have believed possible. Sundry87 limitations in the system I have, no doubt, discovered. Some things which seemed axiomatic88 on paper do not work themselves out the same way in practice—but as a whole the system is recognized now as having justified89 itself. There was an article in the ‘Fortnightly’ on it last November which I will give you to read. I have written some chapters upon certain phases of it, myself, which you might also look at. But the principal thing is that you should see the system itself in full operation.”
“I am eager to begin,” declared the young man, with fervor90.
They had turned by tacit consent, and were sauntering back again over the short, soft grass of the heath.
Emanuel paused and picked from a furze-bush a belated spray of bright yellow blossoms. As he continued his walk, he pulled one of these flowers to pieces, and attentively91 examined the fragments.
“I gather that you are much interested in flowers,” said Christian, to make conversation.
The other laughed briefly92, as he threw the stuff aside, then sighed a little. “Too much so,” he answered. “I wish I had the courage to give it up altogether. It murders my work. I spend sometimes whole hours in my greenhouses when I ought to be doing other things. The worst of it is that I realize perfectly93 the criminal waste of time—and still I persist in it. There is something quite mysterious in plants—especially if you have grown them yourself. You can go and stand among them by the hour, and look from one to another, with your mind entirely closed to thoughts of any description. I used to assume that this mental rest had a recuperative value, but as I get older I suspect that it is a kind of lethargy instead—a mere24 blankness that can grow upon one. I find myself, for example, going incessantly94 to see certain pans of my own hybridized seedlings—and staring aimlessly at them till I get quite empty-headed. Now, I am too busy a man to be able to afford that.”
“But if you get pleasure from it,” expostulated Christian, gently.
“We have no right to think of our pleasure,” Emanuel asserted with decision, “while any duty remains unperformed. And rightly considered, duty is pleasure, the very highest and noblest pleasure. The trouble is that even while our minds quite recognize this, our senses play us tricks. For example, when I saw how much time I was wasting on flowers, I tried to turn the impulse into a useful channel. The blossoms of fruit trees, for instance; the growth and flowering and seeding processes of melons and broad-beans and potatoes and so on, are just as interesting and worthy95 of study, and they mean value to humanity into the bargain. So I said I would concentrate my attention upon them, instead—but there was some perverse96 element in me somewhere; I couldn’t do it. The mere knowledge that these excellent vegetables were of practical utility threw me off altogether. They bored me—so I went shamefacedly back to the roses and fuchsias and dahlias.”
“They have wonderful dahlias at Caermere,” interposed Christian. “I walked for a long time among them with Lady Cressage, and she told me all their names. Poor lady, she is very sad, in spite of the flowers. I—I think I should like to say it to you—I find myself very sorry for her. And—such a bewildering number of things are to be done for me—is there not something that can be done for her?”
Emanuel walked slowly on in silence for some moments, regarding his companion’s profile out of the corner of his eye, his own face showing signs of preoccupation meantime. When at last he spoke, the question seemed to have lost itself in convolution of his thoughts.
“Considering their northern exposure,” he said meditatively97, “they grow an extraordinary amount of fruit at Caermere.”
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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slippered
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unnatural
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stature
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noted
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vigor
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distinctively
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skull
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distinguished
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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virile
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| adj.男性的；有男性生殖力的；有男子气概的；强有力的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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hazy
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animation
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rue
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forth
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throbbing
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frankly
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obedience
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folly
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mere
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abruptly
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defense
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remains
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awe
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stratum
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hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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entail
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| vt.使承担，使成为必要，需要 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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juncture
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| n.时刻，关键时刻，紧要关头 | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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creditor
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| n.债仅人，债主，贷方 | |
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nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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usury
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| n.高利贷 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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outlay
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| n.费用，经费，支出；v.花费 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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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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expound
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| v.详述；解释；阐述 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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revert
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| v.恢复，复归，回到 | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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impels
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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lark
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| n.云雀，百灵鸟；n.嬉戏，玩笑；vi.嬉戏 | |
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labor
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| 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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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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socialists
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| 社会主义者( socialist的名词复数 ) | |
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ridiculed
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| v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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picturesquely
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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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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intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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74
rustle
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| v.沙沙作响；偷盗(牛、马等)；n.沙沙声声 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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77
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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78
nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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79
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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80
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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81
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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82
dominion
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| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
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83
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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84
perceptive
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| adj.知觉的，有洞察力的，感知的 | |
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85
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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86
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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87
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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88
axiomatic
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| adj.不需证明的，不言自明的 | |
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89
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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90
fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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91
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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92
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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93
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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94
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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95
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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96
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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97
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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