As far as land will let me, by your side.
—Shakspeare.
The passage of the Pawnee to his village was interrupted by no scene of violence. His vengeance1 had been as complete as it was summary. Not even a solitary2 scout3 of the Siouxes was left on the hunting grounds he was obliged to traverse, and of course the journey of Middleton's party was as peaceful as if made in the bosom4 of the States. The marches were timed to meet the weakness of the females. In short, the victors seemed to have lost every trace of ferocity with their success, and appeared disposed to consult the most trifling5 of the wants of that engrossing6 people, who were daily encroaching on their rights, and reducing the Red-men of the west, from their state of proud independence to the condition of fugitives7 and wanderers.
Our limits will not permit a detail of the triumphal entry of the conquerors8. The exultation9 of the tribe was proportioned to its previous despondency. Mothers boasted of the honourable10 deaths of their sons; wives proclaimed the honour and pointed11 to the scars of their husbands, and Indian girls rewarded the young braves with songs of triumph. The trophies12 of their fallen enemies were exhibited, as conquered standards are displayed in more civilised regions. The deeds of former warriors14 were recounted by the aged15 men, and declared to be eclipsed by the glory of this victory. While Hard-Heart himself, so distinguished16 for his exploits from boyhood to that hour, was unanimously proclaimed and re-proclaimed the worthiest17 chief and the stoutest18 brave that the Wahcondah had ever bestowed19 on his most favoured children, the Pawnees of the Loup.
Notwithstanding the comparative security in which Middleton found his recovered treasure, he was not sorry to see his faithful and sturdy artillerists standing20 among the throng21, as he entered in the wild train, and lifting their voices, in a martial22 shout, to greet his return. The presence of this force, small as it was, removed every shadow of uneasiness from his mind. It made him master of his movements, gave him dignity and importance in the eyes of his new friends, and would enable him to overcome the difficulties of the wide region which still lay between the village of the Pawnees and the nearest fortress23 of his countrymen. A lodge24 was yielded to the exclusive possession of Inez and Ellen; and even Paul, when he saw an armed sentinel in the uniform of the States, pacing before its entrance, was content to stray among the dwellings25 of the “Red-skins,” prying27 with but little reserve into their domestic economy, commenting sometimes jocularly, sometimes gravely, and always freely, on their different expedients28, or endeavouring to make the wondering housewives comprehend his quaint29 explanations of what he conceived to be the better customs of the whites.
This enquiring30 and troublesome spirit found no imitators among the Indians. The delicacy31 and reserve of Hard-Heart were communicated to his people. When every attention, that could be suggested by their simple manners and narrow wants, had been fulfilled, no intrusive32 foot presumed to approach the cabins devoted33 to the service of the strangers. They were left to seek their repose34 in the manner which most comported35 with their habits and inclinations36. The songs and rejoicings of the tribe, however, ran far into the night, during the deepest hours of which, the voice of more than one warrior13 was heard, recounting from the top of his lodge, the deeds of his people and the glory of their triumphs.
Every thing having life, notwithstanding the excesses of the night, was abroad with the appearance of the sun. The expression of exultation, which had so lately been seen on every countenance37, was now changed to one better suited to the feeling of the moment. It was understood by all, that the Pale-faces, who had befriended their chief were about to take their final leave of the tribe. The soldiers of Middleton, in anticipation38 of his arrival, had bargained with an unsuccessful trader for the use of his boat, which lay in the stream ready to receive its cargo39, and nothing remained to complete the arrangements for the long journey.
Middleton did not see this moment arrive entirely40 without distrust. The admiration41 with which Hard-Heart regarded Inez, had not escaped his jealous eye, any more than had the lawless wishes of Mahtoree. He knew the consummate42 manner in which a savage43 could conceal44 his designs, and he felt that it would be a culpable45 weakness to be unprepared for the worst. Secret instructions were therefore given to his men, while the preparations they made were properly masked behind the show of military parade, with which it was intended to signalise their departure.
The conscience of the young soldier reproached him, when he saw the whole tribe accompanying his party to the margin46 of the stream, with unarmed hands and sorrowful countenances47. They gathered in a circle around the strangers and their chief, and became not only peaceful, but highly interested observers of what was passing. As it was evident that Hard-Heart intended to speak, the former stopped, and manifested their readiness to listen, the trapper performing the office of interpreter. Then the young chief addressed his people, in the usual metaphorical48 language of an Indian. He commenced by alluding49 to the antiquity50 and renown51 of his own nation. He spoke52 of their successes in the hunts and on the war-path; of the manner in which they had always known how to defend their rights and to chastise53 their enemies. After he had said enough to manifest his respect for the greatness of the Loups, and to satisfy the pride of the listeners, he made a sudden transition to the race of whom the strangers were members. He compared their countless54 numbers to the flights of migratory55 birds in the season of blossoms, or in the fall of the year. With a delicacy, that none know better how to practise than an Indian warrior, he made no direct mention of the rapacious56 temper, that so many of them had betrayed, in their dealings with the Red-men. Feeling that the sentiment of distrust was strongly engrafted in the tempers of his tribe, he rather endeavoured to soothe57 any just resentment58 they might entertain, by indirect excuses and apologies. He reminded the listeners that even the Pawnee Loups had been obliged to chase many unworthy individuals from their villages. The Wahcondah sometimes veiled his countenance from a Red-man. No doubt the Great Spirit of the Pale-faces often looked darkly on his children. Such as were abandoned to the worker of evil could never be brave or virtuous60, let the colour of the skin be what it might. He bade his young men look at the hands of the Big-knives. They were not empty, like those of hungry beggars. Neither were they filled with goods, like those of knavish61 traders. They were, like themselves, warriors, and they carried arms which they knew well how to use—they were worthy59 to be called brothers!
Then he directed the attention of all to the chief of the strangers. He was a son of their great white father. He had not come upon the prairies to frighten the buffaloes62 from their pastures, or to seek the game of the Indians. Wicked men had robbed him of one of his wives; no doubt she was the most obedient, the meekest63, the loveliest of them all. They had only to open their eyes to see that his words must be true. Now, that the white chief had found his wife, he was about to return to his own people in peace. He would tell them that the Pawnees were just, and there would be a line of wampum between the two nations. Let all his people wish the strangers a safe return to their towns. The warriors of the Loups knew both how to receive their enemies, and how to clear the briars from the path of their friends.
The heart of Middleton beat quick, as the young partisan64[*] alluded65 to the charms of Inez, and for an instant he cast an impatient glance at his little line of artillerists; but the chief from that moment appeared to forget he had ever seen so fair a being. His feelings, if he had any on the subject, were veiled behind the cold mask of Indian self-denial. He took each warrior by the hand, not forgetting the meanest soldier, but his cold and collected eye never wandered, for an instant, towards either of the females. Arrangements had been made for their comfort, with a prodigality66 and care that had not failed to excite some surprise in his young men, but in no other particular did he shock their manly67 pride, by betraying any solicitude68 in behalf of the weaker sex.
[*] The Americans and the Indians have adopted several words, which
each believe peculiar69 to the language of the others. Thus “squaw,”
“papoose,” or child, wigwam, &c. &c., though it is doubtful
whether they belonged at all to any Indian dialect, are much used
by both white and red men in their Intercourse70. Many words are
derived71 from the French, in this species of prairie nomaic.
Partisan, brave, &c. are of the number.
The leave-taking was general and imposing72. Each male Pawnee was sedulous73 to omit no one of the strange warriors in his attentions, and of course the ceremony occupied some time. The only exception, and that was not general, was in the case of Dr. Battius. Not a few of the young men, it is true, were indifferent about lavishing74 civilities on one of so doubtful a profession, but the worthy naturalist75 found some consolation76 in the more matured politeness of the old men, who had inferred, that though not of much use in war, the medicine of the Big-knives might possibly be made serviceable in peace.
When all of Middleton's party had embarked77, the trapper lifted a small bundle, which had lain at his feet during the previous proceedings78, and whistling Hector to his side, he was the last to take his seat. The artillerists gave the usual cheers, which were answered by a shout from the tribe, and then the boat was shoved into the current, and began to glide79 swiftly down its stream.
A long and a musing80, if not a melancholy81, silence succeeded this departure. It was first broken by the trapper, whose regret was not the least visible in his dejected and sorrowful eye—
“They are a valiant82 and an honest tribe,” he said; “that will I say boldly in their favour; and second only do I take them to be to that once mighty83 but now scattered84 people, the Delawares of the Hills. Ah's me, Captain, if you had seen as much good and evil as I have seen in these nations of Red-skins, you would know of how much value was a brave and simple-minded warrior. I know that some are to be found, who both think and say that an Indian is but little better than the beasts of these naked plains. But it is needful to be honest in one's self, to be a fitting judge of honesty in others. No doubt, no doubt they know their enemies, and little do they care to show to such any great confidence, or love.”
“It is the way of man,” returned the Captain; “and it is probable they are not wanting in any of his natural qualities.”
“No, no; it is little that they want, that natur' has had to give. But as little does he know of the temper of a Red-skin, who has seen but one Indian, or one tribe, as he knows of the colour of feathers who has only looked upon a crow. Now, friend steersman, just give the boat a sheer towards yonder, low, sandy point, and a favour will be granted at a short asking.”
“For what?” demanded Middleton; “we are now in the swiftest of the current, and by drawing to the shore we shall lose the force of the stream.”
“Your tarry will not be long,” returned the old man, applying his own hand to the execution of that which he had requested. The oarsmen had seen enough of his influence, with their leader, not to dispute his wishes, and before time was given for further discussion on the subject, the bow of the boat had touched the land.
“Captain,” resumed the other, untying86 his little wallet with great deliberation, and even in a manner to show he found satisfaction in the delay, “I wish to offer you a small matter of trade. No great bargain, mayhap; but still the best that one, of whose hand the skill of the rifle has taken leave, and who has become no better than a miserable87 trapper, can offer before we part.”
“Part!” was echoed from every mouth, among those who had so recently shared his dangers, and profited by his care.
“What the devil, old trapper, do you mean to foot it to the settlements, when here is a boat that will float the distance in half the time, that the jackass, the Doctor has given the Pawnee, could trot88 along the same.”
“Settlements, boy! It is long sin' I took my leave of the waste and wickedness of the settlements and the villages. If I live in a clearing, here, it is one of the Lord's making, and I have no hard thoughts on the matter; but never again shall I be seen running wilfully89 into the danger of immoralities.”
“I had not thought of parting,” answered Middleton, endeavouring to seek some relief from the uneasiness he felt, by turning his eyes on the sympathising countenances of his friends; “on the contrary, I had hoped and believed that you would have accompanied us below, where I give you a sacred pledge, nothing shall be wanting to make your days comfortable.”
“Yes, lad, yes; you would do your endeavours; but what are the strivings of man against the working of the devil! Ay, if kind offers and good wishes could have done the thing, I might have been a congress man, or perhaps a governor, years agone. Your grand'ther wished the same, and there are them still lying in the Otsego mountains, as I hope, who would gladly have given me a palace for my dwelling26. But what are riches without content! My time must now be short, at any rate, and I hope it's no mighty sin for one, who has acted his part honestly near ninety winters and summers, to wish to pass the few hours that remain in comfort. If you think I have done wrong in coming thus far to quit you again, Captain, I will own the reason of the act, without shame or backwardness. Though I have seen so much of the wilderness90, it is not to be gainsayed, that my feelings, as well as my skin, are white. Now it would not be a fitting spectacle, that yonder Pawnee Loups should look upon the weakness of an old warrior, if weakness he should happen to show in parting for ever from those he has reason to love, though he may not set his heart so strongly on them, as to wish to go into the settlements in their company.”
“Harkee, old trapper,” said Paul, clearing his throat with a desperate effort, as if determined91 to give his voice a clear exit; “I have just one bargain to make, since you talk of trading, which is neither more or less than this. I offer you, as my side of the business, one half of my shanty92, nor do I much care if it be the biggest half; the sweetest and the purest honey that can be made of the wild locust93; always enough to eat, with now and then a mouthful of venison, or, for that matter, a morsel94 of buffaloe's hump, seeing that I intend to push my acquaintance with the animal, and as good and as tidy cooking as can come from the hands of one like Ellen Wade95, here, who will shortly be Nelly somebody-else, and altogether such general treatment as a decent man might be supposed to pay to his best friend, or for that matter, to his own father; in return for the same, you ar' to give us at odd moments some of your ancient traditions, perhaps a little wholesome96 advice on occasions, in small quantities at a time, and as much of your agreeable company as you please.”
“It is well—it is well, boy,” returned the old man, fumbling97 at his wallet; “honestly offered, and not unthankfully declined—but it cannot be; no, it can never be.”
“Venerable venator,” said Dr. Battius; “there are obligations, which every man owes to society and to human nature. It is time that you should return to your countrymen, to deliver up some of those stores of experimental knowledge that you have doubtless obtained by so long a sojourn98 in the wilds, which, however they may be corrupted99 by preconceived opinions, will prove acceptable bequests100 to those whom, as you say, you must shortly leave for ever.”
“Friend physicianer,” returned the trapper, looking the other steadily101 in the face, “as it would be no easy matter to judge of the temper of the rattler by considering the fashions of the moose, so it would be hard to speak of the usefulness of one man by thinking too much of the deeds of another. You have your gifts like others, I suppose, and little do I wish to disturb them. But as to me, the Lord has made me for a doer and not a talker, and therefore do I consider it no harm to shut my ears to your invitation.”
“It is enough,” interrupted Middleton, “I have seen and heard so much of this extraordinary man, as to know that persuasions102 will not change his purpose. First we will hear your request, my friend, and then we will consider what may be best done for your advantage.”
“It is a small matter, Captain,” returned the old man, succeeding at length in opening his bundle. “A small and trifling matter is it, to what I once used to offer in the way of bargain; but then it is the best I have, and therein not to be despised. Here are the skins of four beavers103, that I took, it might be a month afore we met, and here is another from a racoon, that is of no great matter to be sure, but which may serve to make weight atween us.”
“And what do you propose to do with them?”
“I offer them in lawful104 barter105. Them knaves106 the Siouxes, the Lord forgive me for ever believing it was the Konzas! have stolen the best of my traps, and driven me altogether to make-shift inventions, which might foretell107 a dreary108 winter for me, should my time stretch into another season. I wish you therefore to take the skins, and to offer them to some of the trappers you will not fail to meet below in exchange for a few traps, and to send the same into the Pawnee village in my name. Be careful to have my mark painted on them; a letter N, with a hound's ear, and the lock of a rifle. There is no Red-skin who will then dispute my right. For all which trouble I have little more to offer than my thanks, unless my friend, the bee-hunter here, will accept of the racoon, and take on himself the special charge of the whole matter.”
“If I do, may I b—!” The mouth of Paul was stopped by the hand of Ellen, and he was obliged to swallow the rest of the sentence, which he did with a species of emotion that bore no slight resemblance to the process of strangulation.
“Well, well,” returned the old man, meekly109; “I hope there is no heavy offence in the offer. I know that the skin of a racoon is of small price, but then it was no mighty labour that I asked in return.”
“You entirely mistake the meaning of our friend,” interrupted Middleton, who observed, that the bee-hunter was looking in every direction but the right one, and that he was utterly110 unable to make his own vindication111. “He did not mean to say that he declined the charge, but merely that he refused all compensation. It is unnecessary, however, to say more of this; it shall be my office to see that the debt we owe, is properly discharged, and that all your necessities shall be anticipated.”
“Anan!” said the old man, looking up enquiringly into the other's face, as if to ask an explanation.
“It shall all be as you wish. Lay the skins with my baggage. We will bargain for you as for ourselves.”
“Thankee, thankee, Captain; you grand'ther was of a free and generous mind. So much so, in truth, that those just people, the Delawares, called him the 'Openhand.' I wish, now, I was as I used to be, in order that I might send in the lady a few delicate martens for her tippets and overcoats, just to show you that I know how to give courtesy for courtesy. But do not expect the same, for I am too old to give a promise! It will all be just as the Lord shall see fit. I can offer you nothing else, for I haven't liv'd so long in the wilderness, not to know the scrupulous112 ways of a gentleman.”
“Harkee, old trapper,” cried the bee-hunter, striking his own hand into the open palm which the other had extended, with a report but little below the crack of a rifle, “I have just two things to say—Firstly, that the Captain has told you my meaning better than I can myself; and, secondly113, if you want a skin, either for your private use or to send abroad, I have it at your service, and that is the skin of one Paul Hover114.”
The old man returned the grasp he received, and opened his mouth to the utmost, in his extraordinary, silent, laugh.
“You couldn't have given such a squeeze, boy, when the Teton squaws were about you with their knives! Ah! you are in your prime, and in your vigour115 and happiness, if honesty lies in your path.” Then the expression of his rugged116 features suddenly changed to a look of seriousness and thought. “Come hither, lad,” he said, leading the bee-hunter by a button to the land, and speaking apart in a tone of admonition and confidence; “much has passed atween us on the pleasures and respectableness of a life in the woods, or on the borders. I do not now mean to say that all you have heard is not true, but different tempers call for different employments. You have taken to your bosom, there, a good and kind child, and it has become your duty to consider her, as well as yourself, in setting forth117 in life. You are a little given to skirting the settlements but, to my poor judgment118, the girl would be more like a flourishing flower in the sun of a clearing, than in the winds of a prairie. Therefore forget any thing you may have heard from me, which is nevertheless true, and turn your mind on the ways of the inner country.”
Paul could only answer with a squeeze, that would have brought tears from the eyes of most men, but which produced no other effect on the indurated muscles of the other, than to make him laugh and nod, as if he received the same as a pledge that the bee-hunter would remember his advice. The trapper then turned away from his rough but warm-hearted companion; and, having called Hector from the boat, he seemed anxious still to utter a few words more.
“Captain,” he at length resumed, “I know when a poor man talks of credit, he deals in a delicate word, according to the fashions of the world; and when an old man talks of life, he speaks of that which he may never see; nevertheless there is one thing I will say, and that is not so much on my own behalf as on that of another person. Here is Hector, a good and faithful pup, that has long outlived the time of a dog; and, like his master, he looks more to comfort now, than to any deeds in running. But the creatur' has his feelings as well as a Christian119. He has consorted120 latterly with his kinsman121, there, in such a sort as to find great pleasure in his company, and I will acknowledge that it touches my feelings to part the pair so soon. If you will set a value on your hound, I will endeavour to send it to you in the spring, more especially should them same traps come safe to hand; or, if you dislike parting with the animal altogether, I will just ask you for his loan through the winter. I think I can see my pup will not last beyond that time, for I have judgment in these matters, since many is the friend, both hound and Red-skin, that I have seen depart in my day, though the Lord hath not yet seen fit to order his angels to sound forth my name.”
“Take him, take him,” cried Middleton; “take all, or any thing!”
The old man whistled the younger dog to the land; and then he proceeded to the final adieus. Little was said on either side. The trapper took each person solemnly by the hand, and uttered something friendly and kind to all. Middleton was perfectly122 speechless, and was driven to affect busying himself among the baggage. Paul whistled with all his might, and even Obed took his leave with an effort that bore the appearance of desperate philosophical123 resolution. When he had made the circuit of the whole, the old man, with his own hands, shoved the boat into the current, wishing God to speed them. Not a word was spoken, nor a stroke of the oar85 given, until the travellers had floated past a knoll124 that hid the trapper from their view. He was last seen standing on the low point, leaning on his rifle, with Hector crouched125 at his feet, and the younger dog frisking along the sands, in the playfulness of youth and vigour.
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1
vengeance
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n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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2
solitary
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adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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3
scout
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n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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4
bosom
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n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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5
trifling
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adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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6
engrossing
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adj.使人全神贯注的,引人入胜的v.使全神贯注( engross的现在分词 ) | |
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7
fugitives
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n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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8
conquerors
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征服者,占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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9
exultation
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n.狂喜,得意 | |
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10
honourable
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adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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11
pointed
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adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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12
trophies
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n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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13
warrior
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n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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14
warriors
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武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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15
aged
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adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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16
distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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17
worthiest
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应得某事物( worthy的最高级 ); 值得做某事; 可尊敬的; 有(某人或事物)的典型特征 | |
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18
stoutest
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粗壮的( stout的最高级 ); 结实的; 坚固的; 坚定的 | |
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19
bestowed
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赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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21
throng
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n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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22
martial
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adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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23
fortress
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n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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24
lodge
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v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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dwellings
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n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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dwelling
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n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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prying
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adj.爱打听的v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的现在分词 );撬开 | |
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expedients
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n.应急有效的,权宜之计的( expedient的名词复数 ) | |
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quaint
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adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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30
enquiring
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a.爱打听的,显得好奇的 | |
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31
delicacy
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n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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intrusive
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adj.打搅的;侵扰的 | |
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33
devoted
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adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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repose
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v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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comported
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v.表现( comport的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
inclinations
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倾向( inclination的名词复数 ); 倾斜; 爱好; 斜坡 | |
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37
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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38
anticipation
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n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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39
cargo
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n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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40
entirely
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ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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41
admiration
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n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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42
consummate
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adj.完美的;v.成婚;使完美 [反]baffle | |
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43
savage
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adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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44
conceal
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v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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45
culpable
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adj.有罪的,该受谴责的 | |
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46
margin
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n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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47
countenances
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n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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48
metaphorical
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a.隐喻的,比喻的 | |
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49
alluding
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提及,暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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50
antiquity
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n.古老;高龄;古物,古迹 | |
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51
renown
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n.声誉,名望 | |
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52
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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53
chastise
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vt.责骂,严惩 | |
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54
countless
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adj.无数的,多得不计其数的 | |
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55
migratory
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n.候鸟,迁移 | |
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56
rapacious
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adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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57
soothe
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v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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58
resentment
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n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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59
worthy
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adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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60
virtuous
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adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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61
knavish
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adj.无赖(似)的,不正的;刁诈 | |
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62
buffaloes
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n.水牛(分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种)( buffalo的名词复数 );(南非或北美的)野牛;威胁;恐吓 | |
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63
meekest
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adj.温顺的,驯服的( meek的最高级 ) | |
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64
partisan
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adj.党派性的;游击队的;n.游击队员;党徒 | |
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65
alluded
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提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
prodigality
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n.浪费,挥霍 | |
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67
manly
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adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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68
solicitude
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n.焦虑 | |
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69
peculiar
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adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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70
intercourse
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n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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71
derived
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vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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72
imposing
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adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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73
sedulous
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adj.勤勉的,努力的 | |
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74
lavishing
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v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的现在分词 ) | |
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75
naturalist
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n.博物学家(尤指直接观察动植物者) | |
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76
consolation
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n.安慰,慰问 | |
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77
embarked
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乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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78
proceedings
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n.进程,过程,议程;诉讼(程序);公报 | |
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79
glide
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n./v.溜,滑行;(时间)消逝 | |
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80
musing
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n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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81
melancholy
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n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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82
valiant
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adj.勇敢的,英勇的;n.勇士,勇敢的人 | |
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83
mighty
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adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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84
scattered
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adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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85
oar
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n.桨,橹,划手;v.划行 | |
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86
untying
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untie的现在分词 | |
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87
miserable
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adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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88
trot
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n.疾走,慢跑;n.老太婆;现成译本;(复数)trots:腹泻(与the 连用);v.小跑,快步走,赶紧 | |
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89
wilfully
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adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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90
wilderness
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n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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91
determined
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adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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92
shanty
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n.小屋,棚屋;船工号子 | |
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93
locust
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n.蝗虫;洋槐,刺槐 | |
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94
morsel
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n.一口,一点点 | |
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95
wade
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v.跋涉,涉水;n.跋涉 | |
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96
wholesome
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adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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97
fumbling
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n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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98
sojourn
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v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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99
corrupted
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(使)败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)腐化; 引起(计算机文件等的)错误; 破坏 | |
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100
bequests
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n.遗赠( bequest的名词复数 );遗产,遗赠物 | |
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101
steadily
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adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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102
persuasions
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n.劝说,说服(力)( persuasion的名词复数 );信仰 | |
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103
beavers
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海狸( beaver的名词复数 ); 海狸皮毛; 棕灰色; 拼命工作的人 | |
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104
lawful
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adj.法律许可的,守法的,合法的 | |
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105
barter
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n.物物交换,以货易货,实物交易 | |
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106
knaves
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n.恶棍,无赖( knave的名词复数 );(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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107
foretell
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v.预言,预告,预示 | |
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108
dreary
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adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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109
meekly
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adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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110
utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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111
vindication
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n.洗冤,证实 | |
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112
scrupulous
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adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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113
secondly
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adv.第二,其次 | |
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114
hover
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vi.翱翔,盘旋;徘徊;彷徨,犹豫 | |
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115
vigour
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(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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116
rugged
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adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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117
forth
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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118
judgment
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n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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119
Christian
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adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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120
consorted
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v.结伴( consort的过去式和过去分词 );交往;相称;调和 | |
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121
kinsman
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n.男亲属 | |
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122
perfectly
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adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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123
philosophical
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adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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124
knoll
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n.小山,小丘 | |
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125
crouched
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v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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