From this to midsummer seemed but a step. The factory workmen walked more wearily up the hill in the heat to their noonday dinners; lager-beer kegs advanced all at once to be the chief staple10 of freight traffic at the railway dép?t. People who could afford to take travelling vacations began to make their plans or to fulfil them, and those who could not began musing11 pleasantly upon the charms of hop-picking in September. And then, lo! it was autumn, and young men added with pride another unit to the sum of their age, and their mothers and sisters secretly subtracted such groups or fractions of units as were needful, and felt no more compunction at thus hoodwinking Time than if he had been a customs-officer.
The village of Thessaly, which like a horizon encompassed12 most of the individuals whom we know, could tell little more than this of the months that had passed since Thanksgiving Day, now once again the holiday closest at hand. The seasons of rest and open-air amusement lay behind it, and in front was a vista13 made of toil14. There had been many deaths, and still more numerous births, and none in either class mattered much save under the roof-tree actually blessed or afflicted15. The year had been fairly prosperous, and the legislature had passed the bill which at New Year’s would enable the village to call itself a city.
Of the people with whom this story is concerned, there is scarcely more to record during this lapse16 of time.
Jessica Lawton was perhaps the one most conscious of change. At the very beginning of spring, indeed on the very day when Horace had his momentary17 fright in passing the shop, Miss Minster had visited her, had brought a reasonably comprehensive plan for the Girls’ Resting House, as she wanted it called, and had given her a considerable sum of money to carry out this plan. For a long time it puzzled Jessica a good deal that Miss Minster never came again. The scheme took on tangible18 form; some score of work-girls availed themselves of its privileges, and the result thus far involved less friction19 and more substantial success than Jessica had dared to expect. It seemed passing strange that Miss Minster, who had been so deeply enthusiastic at first, should never have cared to come and see the enterprise, now that it was in working order. Once or twice Miss Tabitha had dropped in, and professed20 to be greatly pleased with everything, but even in her manner there was an indefinable alteration21 which forbade questions about the younger lady.
There were rumors23 about in the town which might have helped Jessica to an explanation had they reached her. The village gossips did not fail to note that the Minster family made a much longer sojourn24 this year at Newport, and then at Brick Church, New Jersey25, than they had ever done before; and gradually the intelligence sifted26 about that young Horace Boyce had spent a considerable portion of his summer vacation with them. Thessaly could put two and two together as well as any other community. The understanding little by little spread its way that Horace was going to marry into the Minster millions.
If there were repinings over this foreseen event, they were carefully dissembled. People who knew the young man liked him well enough. His professional record was good, and he had made a speech on the Fourth of July which pleased everybody except ’Squire Gedney; but then, the spiteful old “Cal” never liked anybody’s speeches save his own. Even more satisfaction was felt, however, on the score of the General. His son was a showy young fellow, smart and well-dressed, no doubt, but perhaps a trifle too much given to patronizing folks who had not been to Europe, and did not scrub themselves all over with cold water, and put on a clean shirt with both collar and cuffs27 attached, every morning. But for the General there was a genuine affection. It pleased Thessaly to note that, since he had begun to visit at the home of the Minsters, other signs of social rehabilitation28 had followed, and that he himself drank less and led a more orderly life than of yore. When his intimates jokingly congratulated him on the rumors of his son’s good fortune, the General tacitly gave them confirmation29 by his smile.
If Jessica had heard these reports, she might have traced at once to its source Miss Minster’s sudden and inexplicable30 coolness. Not hearing them, she felt grieved and perplexed31 for a time, and then schooled herself into resignation as she recalled Reuben Tracy’s warning about the way rich people took up whims32 and dropped them again, just as fancy dictated33.
It was on the first day of November that the popular rumor22 as to Horace’s prospects34 reached her, and this was a day memorable35 for vastly more important occurrences in the history of industrial Thessaly.
The return of cold weather had been marked, among other signs of the season, by a renewed disposition36 on the part of Ben Lawton to drop in to the millinery shop, and sit around by the fire in the inner room. Ben came this day somewhat earlier than usual—the midday meal was in its preliminary stages of preparation under Lucinda’s red hands—and it was immediately evident that he was more excited over something that had happened outside than by his expectation of getting a dinner.
“There’s the very old Nick to pay down in the village!” he said, as he put his feet on the stove-hearth. “Heard about it, any of you?”
Ben had scarcely ascended37 in the social scale during the scant38 year that had passed, though the general average of whiteness in his paper collars had somewhat risen, and his hair and straggling dry-mud-colored beard were kept more duly under the subjection of shears40. His clothes, too, were whole and unworn, but they hung upon his slouching and round-shouldered figure with “poor white” written in every misfitting fold and on every bagging projection41. Jessica had resigned all hope that he would ever be anything but a canal boatman in mien42 or ambition, but her affection for him had grown rather than diminished; and she was glad that Lucinda, in whom there had been more marked personal improvements, seemed also to like him better.
No, Jessica said, she had heard nothing.
“Well, the Minster furnaces was all shut down this morning, and so was the work out at the ore-beds at Juno, and the men, boys, and girls in the Thessaly Company’s mills all got word that wages was going to be cut down. You can bet there’s a buzz around town, with them three things coming all together, smack43!”
“I suppose so,” answered Jessica, still bending over her work of cleaning and picking out some plumes44. “That looks bad for business this winter, doesn’t it?”
Ben’s relations with business, or with industry generally, were of the most remote and casual sort, but he had a lively objective interest in the topic.
“Why, it’s the worst thing that ever happened,” he said, with conviction. “There’s seven hundred men thrown out already” (the figure was really two hundred and twelve), “and more than a thousand more got to git unless they’ll work for starvation wages.”
“It seems very hard,” the girl made reply. The idea came to her that very possibly this would put an extra strain upon the facilities and financial strength of the Resting House.
“Hard!” her father exclaimed, stretching his hands over the stove-top; “them rich people are harder than Pharaoh’s heart. What do them Minsters care about poor folks, whether they starve or freeze to death, or anything?”
“Oh, it is the Minsters, you say!” Jessica looked up now, with a new interest. “Sure enough, they own the furnaces. How could they have done such a thing, with winter right ahead of us?”
“It’s all to make more money,” put in Lucinda. “Them that don’t need it’ll do anything to get it. What do they care? That Kate Minster of yours, for instance, she’ll wear her sealskin and eat pie just the same. What does it matter to her?”
“No; she has a good heart. I know she has,” said Jessica. “She wouldn’t willingly do harm to any one. But perhaps she has nothing to do with managing such things. Yes, that must be it.”
“I guess Schuyler Tenney and Hod Boyce about run the thing, from what I hear,” commented the father. “Tenney’s been bossing around since summer begun, and Boyce is the lawyer, so they say.”
Ben suddenly stopped, and looked first at Jessica, then at Lucinda. Catching45 the latter’s eye, he made furtive46 motions to her to leave the room; but she either did not or would not understand them, and continued stolidly47 at her work.
“That Kate you spoke48 about,” he went on stum-blingly, nodding hints at Lucinda to go away as he spoke, “she’s the tall girl, with the black eyes and her chin up in the air, ain’t she?”
“Yes,” the two sisters answered, speaking together.
“Well, as I was saying about Hod Boyce,” Ben said, and then stopped in evident embarrassment49. Finally he added, confusedly avoiding Jessica’s glance, “‘Cindy, won’t you jest step outside for a minute? I want to tell your sister something—something you don’t know about.”
“She knows about Horace Boyce, father,” said Jessica, flushing, but speaking calmly. “There is no need of her going.”
Lucinda, however, wiped her hands on her apron50, and went out into the store, shutting the door behind her. Then Ben, ostentatiously regarding the hands he held out over the stove, and turning them as if they had been fowls51 on a spit, sought hesitatingly for words with which to unbosom himself.
“You see,” he began, “as I was a-saying, Hod Boyce is the lawyer, and he’s pretty thick with Schuyler Tenney, his father’s partner, which, of course, is only natural; and Tenney he kind of runs the whole thing—and—and that’s it, don’t you see!”
“You didn’t send Lucinda out in order to tell me that, surely?”
“Well, no. But Hod being the lawyer, as I said, why, don’t you see, he has a good deal to say for himself with the women-folks, and he’s been off with them down to the sea-side, and so it’s come about that they say—”
“They say what?” The girl had laid down her work altogether.
“They say he’s going to marry the girl you call Kate—the big one with the black eyes.”
The story was out. Jessica sat still under the revelation for a moment, and held up a restraining hand when her father offered to speak further. Then she rose and walked to and fro across the little room, in front of the stove where Ben sat, her hands hanging at her side and her brows bent52 with thought. At last she stopped before him and said:
“Tell me all over again about the stopping of the works—all you know about it.”
Ben Lawton complied, and re-stated, with as much detail as he could command, the facts already exposed.
The girl listened carefully, but with growing disappointment.
Somehow the notion had arisen in her mind that there would be something important in this story—something which it would be of use to understand. But her brain could make nothing significant out of this commonplace narrative53 of a lockout and a threatened dispute about wages. Gradually, as she thought, two things rose as certainties upon the surface of her reflections.
“That scoundrel is to blame for both things. He advised her to avoid me, and he advised her to do this other mischief54.”
“I thought you’d like to know,” Ben put in, deferentially55. He felt a very humble56 individual indeed when his eldest57 daughter paced up and down and spoke in that tone.
“Yes, I’m glad I know,” she said, swiftly. She eyed her father in an abstracted way for an instant, and then added, as if thinking aloud: “Well, then, my fine gentleman, you—simply—shall—not—marry Miss Minster!”
Ben moved uneasily in his seat, as if this warning had been personally addressed to him. “It would be pretty rough, for a fact, wouldn’t it?” he said.
“Well, it won’t be at all!” she made emphatic58 answer.
“I don’t know as you can do much to pervent it, Jess,” he ventured to say.
“Can’t I? Cant39 I!” she exclaimed, with grim earnestness. “Wait and see.”
Ben had waited all his life, and he proceeded now to take her at her word, sitting very still, and fixing a ruminative59 gaze on the side of the little stove. “All right,” he said, wrapped in silence and the placidity60 of contented61 suspense62.
But Jessica was now all eagerness and energy. She opened the store door, and called out to Lucinda with business-like decision of tone: “Come in now, and hurry dinner up as fast as you can. I want to catch the 1.20 train for Tecumseh.”
The other two made no comment on this hasty resolve, but during the brief and not over-inviting meal which followed, watched their kinswoman with side-glances of uneasy surprise. The girl herself hastened through her dinner without a word of conversation, and then disappeared within the little chamber63 where she and Lucinda slept together.
It was only when she came out again, with her hat and cloak on and a little travelling-bag in her hand, that she felt impelled64 to throw some light on her intention. She took from her purse a bank-note and gave it to her sister.
“Shut up the store at half-past four or five today,” she said; “and there are two things I want you to do for me outside. Go around the furniture stores, and get some kind of small sofa that will turn into a bed at night, and whatever extra bed-clothes we need for it—as cheap as you can. We’ve got a pillow to spare, haven’t we? You can put those two chairs out in the Resting House; that will make a place for the bed in this room. You must have it all ready when I get back to-morrow night. You needn’t say anything to the girls, except that I am away for a day. And then—or no: you can do it better, father.”
The girl had spoken swiftly, but with ready precision. As she turned now to the wondering Ben, she lost something of her collected demeanor65, and hesitated for a moment.
“I want you—I want you to see Reuben Tracy, and ask him to come here at six to-morrow,” she said. She deliberated upon this for an instant, and held out her hand as if she had changed her mind. Then she nodded, and said: “Or no: tell him I will come to his office, and at six sharp. It will be better that way.”
When she had perfunctorily kissed them both, and gone, silence fell upon the room. Ben took his pipe out of his pocket and looked at it with tentative longing66, and then at the stove.
“You can go out in the yard and smoke, if you want to, but not in here,” said Lucinda, promptly67. “You wouldn’t dare think of such a thing if she were here,” she added, with reproach.
Ben put back his pipe and seated himself again by the fire. “Mighty queer girl, that, eh?” he said. “When she gets stirred up, she’s a hustler, eh?”
“It must be she takes it from you,” said Lucinda, with a modified grin of irony68.
The sarcasm69 fell short of its mark. “No,” said Ben, with quiet candor70, “she gets it from my father. He used to count on licking a lock-tender somewhere along the canal every time he made a trip. I remember there was one particular fellow on the Montezuma Ma’ash that he used to whale for choice, but any of ’em would do on a pinch. He was jest blue-mouldy for a fight all the while, your grandfather was. He was Benjamin Franklin Lawton, the same as me, but somehow I never took much to rassling round or fighting. It’s more in my line to take things easy.”
Lucinda bore an armful of dishes out into the kitchen, without making any reply, and Ben, presently wearying of solitude71, followed to where she bent over the sink, enveloped72 in soap-suds and steam.
“I suppose you’ve got an idea what she’s gone for?” he propounded73, with caution.
“It’s a ‘who’ she’s gone for,” said Lucinda.
Pronouns were not Ben’s strong point, and he said, “Yes, I suppose it is,” rather helplessly. He waited in patience for more information, and by and by it came.
“If I was her, I wouldn’t do it,” said Lucinda, slapping a plate impatiently with the wet cloth.
“No, I don’t suppose you would. In some ways you always had more sense than people give you credit for, ‘Cindy,” remarked the father, with guarded flattery. “Jess, now, she’s one of your hoity-toity kind—flare up and whirl around like a wheel on a tree in the Fourth of July fireworks.”
“She’s head and shoulders above all the other Lawtons there ever was or ever will be, and don’t you forget it!” declared the loyal Lucinda, with fervor74.
“That’s what I say always,” assented75 Ben. “Only—I thought you said you didn’t think she was quite right in doing what she’s going to do.”
“It’s right enough; only she was happy here, and this’ll make her miserable76 again—though, of course, she was always letting her mind run on it, and perhaps she’ll enjoy having it with her—only the girls may talk—and—”
Lucinda let her sentence die off unfinished in a rattle77 of knives and spoons in the dish-pan. Her mind was sorely perplexed.
“Well, Cindy,” said Ben, in the frankness of despair, “I’m dot-rotted if I know what you are talking about.” He grew pathetic as he went on: “I’m your father and I’m her father, and there ain’t neither of you got a better friend on earth than I be; but you never tell me anything, any more’n as if I was a last year’s bird’s-nest.”
Lucinda’s reserve yielded to this appeal. “Well, dad,” she said, with unwonted graciousness of tone, “Jess has gone to Tecumseh to bring back—to bring her little boy. She hasn’t told me so, but I know it.”
The father nodded his head in comprehension, and said nothing. He had vaguely78 known of the existence of the child, and he saw more or less clearly the reason for this present step. The shame and sorrow which were fastened upon his family through this grandson whom he had never seen, and never spoken of above a whisper, seemed to rankle79 in his heart with a new pain of mingled80 bitterness and compassion81.
He mechanically took out his pipe, filled it from loose tobacco in his pocket, and struck a match to light it. Then he recalled that the absent daughter! objected to his smoking in the house, on account of the wares82 in her shop, and let the flame burn itself out in the coal-scuttle. A whimsical query83 as to whether this calamitous84 boy had also been named Benjamin Franklin crossed his confused mind, and then it perversely85 raised the question whether the child, if so named, would be a “hustler” or not. Ben leaned heavily against the door-sill, and surrendered himself to humiliation86.
“What I don’t understand,” he heard Lucinda saying after a time, “is why she took this spurt87 all of a sudden.”
“It’s all on account of that Gawd-damned Hod Boyce!” groaned88 Ben.
“Yes; you told her something about him. What was it?”
“Only that they all say that he’s going to marry that big Minster girl—the black-eyed one.”
Lucinda turned away from the sink, threw down her dish-cloth with a thud, and put her arms akimbo and her shoulders well back. Watching her, Ben felt that somehow this girl, too, took after her grandfather rather than him.
“Oh, is he!” she said, her voice high-pitched and vehement89. “I guess we’ll have something to say about that!”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
sloppy
|
|
| adj.邋遢的，不整洁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
wreaked
|
|
| 诉诸（武力），施行（暴力），发（脾气）( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
softening
|
|
| 变软，软化 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
hummocks
|
|
| n.小丘，岗( hummock的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
foliage
|
|
| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
staple
|
|
| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
musing
|
|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
encompassed
|
|
| v.围绕( encompass的过去式和过去分词 )；包围；包含；包括 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
vista
|
|
| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
toil
|
|
| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
afflicted
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
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： |
|
|
|
|
17
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
tangible
|
|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
friction
|
|
| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
alteration
|
|
| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rumor
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
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： |
|
|
|
|
24
sojourn
|
|
| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
jersey
|
|
| n.运动衫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
sifted
|
|
| v.筛( sift的过去式和过去分词 )；筛滤；细查；详审 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
cuffs
|
|
| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
rehabilitation
|
|
| n.康复，悔过自新，修复，复兴，复职，复位 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
confirmation
|
|
| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
WHIMS
|
|
| 虚妄，禅病 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
dictated
|
|
| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
prospects
|
|
| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
scant
|
|
| adj.不充分的，不足的；v.减缩，限制，忽略 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
cant
|
|
| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
shears
|
|
| n.大剪刀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
projection
|
|
| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
mien
|
|
| n.风采；态度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
smack
|
|
| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
plumes
|
|
| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
furtive
|
|
| adj.鬼鬼崇崇的，偷偷摸摸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
stolidly
|
|
| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
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： |
|
|
|
|
49
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
apron
|
|
| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
fowls
|
|
| 鸟( fowl的名词复数 )； 禽肉； 既不是这； 非驴非马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
narrative
|
|
| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
deferentially
|
|
| adv.表示敬意地，谦恭地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
humble
|
|
| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
eldest
|
|
| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
emphatic
|
|
| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
ruminative
|
|
| adj.沉思的，默想的，爱反复思考的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
placidity
|
|
| n.平静，安静，温和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
demeanor
|
|
| n.行为；风度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
sarcasm
|
|
| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
candor
|
|
| n.坦白，率真 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
enveloped
|
|
| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
propounded
|
|
| v.提出（问题、计划等）供考虑[讨论]，提议( propound的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
fervor
|
|
| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
assented
|
|
| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
rattle
|
|
| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
vaguely
|
|
| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
rankle
|
|
| v.（怨恨，失望等）难以释怀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
mingled
|
|
| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
compassion
|
|
| n.同情，怜悯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
wares
|
|
| n. 货物, 商品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
query
|
|
| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
calamitous
|
|
| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
perversely
|
|
| adv. 倔强地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
spurt
|
|
| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
groaned
|
|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
vehement
|
|
| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |