True, her old master, Loni, whom she had met at Regensburg, permitted her to join his band, but when she perceived that he was far less prosperous than before, and that she could not be useful to him in any way, she left him at Cologne because a kindhearted captain offered to take her to Vlissingen without pay. Thence she really did set out upon the pilgrimage to Santiago di Compostella; but St. James, the patron saint of the Spaniards, whose untiring mercy so many praised, did not prove specially2 favourable3 to her. The voyage to Compostella, the principal place where he was reverenced4, which annually5 attracted thousands of pilgrims, cost her her last penny, and the cold nights which she was obliged to spend on deck increased her cough until it became almost unendurably violent.
In Santiago di Compostella both her means and her strength were exhausted6. After vainly expecting for a long time some token of the saint's helpful kindness, only two courses were left: either she must remain in Compostella and join the beggars in the crowded road to the place of pilgrimage, or she must accept the proposal made by tongueless Cyriax and go back with him to Germany. At first she had been afraid of the brutal7 fellow, who feigned8 insanity9 and was led about by his wife with a chain; but once, when red-haired Gitta was seized by the Inquisition, and spent two days and two nights in jail, and Kuni nursed her child in her place, she had found him more friendly. Besides, in Compostella, the swearer had been in his most cheerful mood. Every day had filled his purse, because there was no lack of people and he understood how to extort10 money by the terror which horrible outbreaks of his feigned malady11 inspired among the densely12 crowded pilgrims. His wife possessed13 a remedy which would instantly calm his ravings, but it was expensive, and she had not the money to buy it. Not only in Compostella, but also on the long journey from Bavaria through the Swiss mountains, France, Navarre, and the whole of northern Spain, there were always kind-hearted or timid people from whom the money for the "dear prescription14" could be obtained.
A cart drawn15 by a donkey conveyed the child of this worthy16 couple. When Kuni met her at Compostella she was a sickly little girl about two years old, with an unnaturally17 large head and thin, withered18 legs, who seemed to be mute because she used her mouth only to eat and to make a movement of the lips which sounded like "Baba." This sound, Cyriax explained, was a call that meant "papa." That was the name aristocratic children gave their fathers, and it meant him alone, because the little girl resembled him and loved him better than she did any one else. He really believed this, and the stammering19 of the fragile child's livid lips won the rough fellow's tender love.
The man who, when drunk, beat his wife till the blood came, and committed plenty of cruel deeds, trembled, wept, and could even pray with fervent20 piety21, when—which often happened—the frail22 little creature, shaken by convulsions, seemed at the point of death. He had undertaken the long journey to the "world's end," not only because the pilgrimage to Compostella promised large profits, but also to urge St. James to cure his child. For his "sweet little Juli's" sake, and to obtain for her a cheap nurse who would be entirely23 dependent upon him, he burdened himself with the lame24 ropedancer. But he had no reason to repent25 this; Gitta had enough to do to lead him by the chain and answer the questions of the people, while Kuni nursed her charge with rare fidelity26, mended the clothing of the father, mother, and child, as well or as badly as she could, and also helped Gitta with the cooking. The sickly, obstinate27 little girl certainly did not deserve the name of a "sweet" child, yet Kuni devoted28 herself to it with warm, almost passionate29 affection.
The vagabond couple did not fail to notice this, and, on the whole, it pleased them. If Cyriax was vexed30 when little Juli began to show plainly enough that she preferred her nurse even to him, he submitted because the lame girl watched the child through severe attacks of convulsions and fever as if it were her own, and willingly sacrificed her night's rest for its sake. True, he often talked loudly enough in Kuni's presence of the witch potion which the lame girl mixed in the porridge of his child, who loved him better than anything in the world, to estrange31 it from him and win it to herself.
Kuni paid little heed32 to these offensive words; she knew that she had gained the child's love by very different means from the "black art." With far more reason, she dimly felt, the sick child might have been reproached for exerting a secret spell upon her. Her name, "Julie," which she owed to her patron saint, Kuni supposed was the same as "Juliane." Besides, the daughter of the vagabond with the mutilated tongue was born a few days after the death of little Fraulein Peutinger, and this circumstance, when Kuni knew it, seemed significant. Soon after meeting the vagrant33 pair she had listened to a conversation between two travelling scholars, and learned some strange things. One believed that the old sages34 were right when they taught that the soul of a dead person continued its existence in other living creatures; for instance, the great Pythagoras had known positively35, and proved that his own had dwelt, in former ages, in the breast of the hero Palamedes.
The ropedancer remembered this statement, questioned other Bacchantes about these things, and heard the doctrine36 of the transmigration of the soul confirmed. Hence, during many a solitary37 ride, while the cart rolled slowly along, she pondered over the thought that Juliane's soul had lived again in foolish Julie. How? Why? She did not rack her brains on those points. What had been a fancy, slowly became a fixed38 belief in the mind thus constantly dwelling39 upon one idea. At last she imagined that whatever she did for Cyriax's child benefited the soul of the little Augsburg girl, whose life had been shortened by her wicked prayer on the rope.
Yet she had not bought the indulgence in vain. But for that, she believed that Juliane's soul would still be burning in the flames of purgatory40. The indulgence of the "Inquisitor" Tetzel had proved its power, and rescued her from the fire. To demonstrate this fact she devised many a proof. For instance, one day the idea entered her mind that foolish Juli's brain was so weak because Juliane, during her brief existence, had used more of hers than was fair.
At first this had been a mere41 fancy; but, true to her nature, she reverted42 to it again and again, while in the cart which she alone shared with the child, until it had matured to an immovable conviction. During her changeful, wandering life, she had had no fixed religious principles. But, since the notion had entered her mind that Lienhard would reward her for her love by giving her a share, even though a very small one, of his heart, she had clung tenaciously44 to it, in spite of all rebuffs and the offensive indifference45 with which he had treated her. On her sick bed and during her convalescence46, she had dwelt upon the fear that her sinful prayer had killed the little wearer of the laurel wreath, until she could say to herself that events had proved it. With the same firmness she now held to the belief that she had found the right idea concerning little Juli's soul.
With the passionate desire to atone47 to the patrician's daughter for the wrong which she had inflicted49 upon her, she clasped the vagabond's child to her heart with the love of the most faithful mother, and her affectionate care seemed to benefit herself as well as the ailing50 little one. Juli was as devoted to her Kuni as a faithful dog. The kindness which the lame ropedancer showed to the fragile child was lavishly52 returned to her by a thousand proofs of the warmest attachment53.
So Kuni had found one heart which kept its whole treasure of love for her alone, one creature who could not do without her, one fragile human plant to which she could be useful and helpful day and night.
Under the care of a faithful nurse little Juli gradually grew stronger, both physically54 and mentally. The little girl's wan43 cheeks began to be rosy55, the convulsions and fever attacked her less frequently. Besides the faint "Baba," she learned to babble56 "Duni," (instead of Kuni) and afterward57 "Mother," and many other words. At last she talked nearly as well as other children of her age. All this afforded the lame girl a wealth of sweet joys wholly new to her, which afforded her heart such warmth and solace58 that, in spite of the cough which tormented59 her during many an hour of the day and night, she felt happier during her homeward journey with the fierce blasphemer Cyriax, from whom she expected the worst things, than in the brilliant days of her fame as an artist. Doubtless, as they approached Germany, she often wondered what Lienhard would think of her, if he should meet her amid such surroundings, as the companion of so worthless a couple; but the terror that overpowered her was transformed into pleasant satisfaction at the thought that he would approve, nay60, praise her conduct, when she could show him the child, and tell him what she had done for it.
This state of affairs had continued until two months before. Then, at Schaffhausen, her darling had suddenly been attacked with violent convulsions, and the feeble intellect, which her love had so toilsomely and faithfully waked from its slumber61, only too soon attained62 eternal peace. In all Kuni's sorrowful life she had scarcely experienced any grief so bitter. When she closed the little eyes which had gazed into her pale face so often and so tenderly, it seemed as if the sun, moon, and stars had lost their light, and henceforth she was condemned63 to live in dreary64 gloom.
What terrible days had followed the child's death! Cyriax raved65 as if he had really been seized with the lunacy whose pretence66 helped him to beg his bread. Besides, he gave himself up to unbridled indulgence in brandy, and, when drunk, he was capable of the most brutal acts. The dead Juli's mother, who, spite of an evil youth and a lenient67 conscience, was by no means one of the worst of women, had to endure the harshest treatment from her profligate68 companion.
The blow which had fallen upon him filled him with savage69 rage, and he longed to inflict48 some pain upon all who came in his way that they, too, might feel what it was to suffer.
The death of his "sweet little Juli" appeared to have hardened the last tender spot in his brutal soul.
Kuni was the only person toward whom at first he imposed some restraint upon himself. True, without any consideration for the girl's presence, he sometimes asked Gitta why they still burdened themselves with the useless hobbler and did not sell the cart and the donkey. But though there was no lack of good offers for the excellent Spanish beast of burden, he allowed matters to remain as before. If the rage seething70 in his heart led him, in his drunken frenzy71, to make Kuni feel its effects, too, the pleading glance of the blue eyes, still large and expressive72, with which she had so often hushed the wailing73 child, sufficed to soothe74 him.
Yesterday, for the first time, he had seriously threatened to drive the ropedancer away, and she knew that Cyriax was capable of anything. True, his wife was attached to Kuni, but she had little influence over her vicious husband. So the sick cripple might only too easily find herself left on the highway.
Still, she had given Cyriax cause for the threat. All day and during the night she had been busy with the unfortunate mother and her twins, and therefore had frequently neglected to fill his brandy bottle. But this could not be helped, and she was not accustomed to think of the future. Whatever her heart urged she did, no matter what might happen. If Cyriax left her in the lurch75, she must beg or starve unless chance, which so often mingled76 in her existence, willed otherwise.
With the child's life the modest happiness which Kuni had enjoyed during the last few months had vanished, not only because the tongueless blasphemer had become a different person, and she sorely missed the delicate little creature who had filled and cheered her heart, but she had also lost the peace of mind which she enjoyed during the existence of her charge.
The young Augsburg maiden77, whom she thought she had bought out of the flames of purgatory, did not appear to her again, but the vagrant's child came all the more frequently, and whenever she showed herself she wailed78 and wept bitterly. Sweet little Juli's soul must now—whether it had been Juliane's or not—endure the tortures of purgatory, and this pierced Kuni's heart the more deeply the more affectionately she remembered the sickly-child.
Ever since she had used a black plaster, given to her at Singen by a quack79, the stump80 of her foot had become sore again, and sharp pain tortured her so cruelly that, especially when the cough racked her emaciated81 body and she was jolted82 to and fro in the springless cart over stony83 roads, she was afraid that she should lose her reason.
At Pforzheim a barber had examined the wound and, shaking his head, pronounced the black plaster a malignant84 blood poisoner, and when she refused to have the leg amputated, applied85 a yellow one, which proved no better. When Cyriax counted up his receipts in the evening, called to red-haired Gitta his favourite maxim86, "Fools never die," and handed to her—Kuni—the larger brandy bottle to fill, she had often summoned up her courage and begged him to buy an indulgence for his sweet little Juli. The result was certain—she knew it from her own experience.
Shortly after the child's death he had thrust his hand into his purse more than once at such an appeal and given money for a few candles, but it had not been possible to persuade him to purchase the paper.
This refusal was by no means due to mere parsimony87. Kuni knew what induced him to maintain his resistance so obstinately88, for in her presence he had told pock-marked Ratz that he would not take the indulgence gratis89. Wherever he might be, his family ought to go, and he did not wish to be anywhere that he would not find Juli.
He did not doubt the continued life of the soul after death, but precisely90 because he was sure that the gates of paradise would remain closed to him throughout eternity91 he would not help to open them for the dead child. When his imagination tortured him with fancies that mice and beetles92 were leaping and running out of his pockets and the breast of his doublet, he thought that his end was drawing near. If the devil then had power over his soul, his imps93 might drag him wherever they pleased, if only he might see little Juli there and hear her call "Baba" and "Father." It would lessen94 the tortures of hell, however severe they might be. Was it possible for him to conceive of any greater folly95 than to rob himself of this consolation96 by transporting the child, through the indulgence, to the kingdom of heaven, where he could never see her again. He had accumulated a goodly sum by begging, it is true, but, strangely enough, he did not think of purchasing salvation97 for himself in order to meet his child again in heaven, instead of amid the flames of purgatory. Though he had become as rich as the Fuggers, paradise, he knew, would still be closed to him. He was not fit for it.
He hated everybody who was rich and respectable. He would rather be with his child in the mire98 of hell than to go with her to a magnificent garden of paradise where swearing was forbidden, where there was no brandy and no highroad, and which offered only pleasures which were none to him.
So Kuni was forced to see the child remain in the fires of purgatory, which hurt her little less than her aching limb.
At her entrance into The Blue Pike pain and mental suffering had driven her to the verge99 of despair. But the day which began so sorrowfully was followed by an evening of delight—she owed to it her new meeting with Lienhard.
From childhood she had been homeless, and every quarter of the globe to which a highroad led was her native land. Yet in Spain and during the journey back she had felt a gnawing100 longing101 for Germany, nay, nothing had troubled her more than the thought of dying and being buried outside of its frontier. Her mother, a native of the Rhine country, had given her birth during the fair at Cologne on the Spree; but, whenever homesickness assailed102 her, it was always the steeples of St. Sebald and St. Ulrich which beckoned103 to her, and she had longed for the Frank country, the Main, or the richly wooded banks of the Pegnitz. Was this because, in Nuremberg, for the only time in her life, she had been a member of a decorous household, or had the love which, wherever Cyriax's cart and donkey carried her, always drew her heart back to the same ancient city, made it so dear to her?
Probably the latter, for yesterday she had yearned104 ardently105 to reach Nuremberg; but since she had seen Lienhard again, she rejoiced that she was in Miltenberg and at The Blue Pike.
Never had he seemed to her so handsome, so manly106. Besides, he had spoken to her, listened to her reply, and even given her money with lavish51 generosity108. It was like him! No one else would have been capable of it.
She could live a long time on his three gold florins, if Cyriax abandoned her; yet the unexpected wealth burned in her hand and perplexed109 her. Did Lienhard no longer know that she would not accept money from him? Had she robbed herself of the certainty that beautified existence; had she failed to show him her superiority to other vagrant girls? Yet no! What he gave her was more, far more, than even a prince bestowed110 upon an ordinary mendicant111. He must measure her by a special standard. If he had only given her the gold with a kind word, not flung it silently into her lap. This half destroyed her pleasure in the present, and the ample supply of money clouded her already disturbed peace of mind still more. Had it been possible, she would have returned the gift as she did the alms at Augsburg. But how was this to be accomplished112 in the over-crowded inn?
Yet, if she kept the florins, the sacrifice at the convent would lose a large portion of its value, and the good opinion which her act at Augsburg must have inspired might be shadowed.
For some time before leaving the room in the tavern113 she had turned the coins restlessly over and over under her kerchief, and meanwhile, as if in a dream, made but evasive answers to the questions and demands of Cyriax and Gitta.
Then she glided114 nearer to the gentlemen at the table, intending to return Lienhard's gift; but the landlord of The Pike followed her suspiciously, and drove her back to her companions.
Thence she had been called to the sick woman and went out of doors. She found the mother of the twins in the meadow by the Main and eagerly devoted herself to them.
The widow's burning head and gasping115 breath were no favourable symptoms. She herself felt that her end was approaching. Her tongue was parched116. The water in the jug117 was warm and flat, yet she longed for a cool drink. During the day Kuni had noticed a well in the kitchen garden, and, in spite of her aching foot, hastened to it at once to draw the cool water. While doing so, the red and white pinks which she had noticed at noon again caught her eye in the starlight night. The sick woman could enjoy their fragrance118 now, and to-morrow, feast her eyes upon their bright colours.
From childhood she had always been fond of flowers. Stealing was prohibited by her father as wicked and dangerous, and she had never transgressed119 his commands. When she picked up the costly120 rosary in Nuremberg, she had intended to return it to the owner. But to pluck the flowers and fruit which the Lord caused to grow and ripen121 for every one was a different thing, and had never troubled her conscience. So she carelessly gathered a few pinks. Three should go to the sick woman, but Lienhard Groland would have the largest and finest. She would try to slip the flowers into his hand, with the money, as a token of her gratitude122. But even while saying to herself that these blossoms should be her last greeting to him, she felt the red spots burning more hotly on her cheeks. Ah, if only he would accept the pinks! Then the most cruel things might happen, she could bear them.
While kneeling before the bed, the waiter, Dietel, noticed her. As she saw him also, she hurried back to the suffering mother as fast as her lame limb would carry her, and raised the jug of fresh water to her parched lips.
This had been a delicious refreshment123 to the sick woman, and when Kuni saw how much comfort her little service afforded the invalid124, her heart grew lighter125. Had it been possible she, who was of no importance to any one, would willingly have lain down on the heap of straw in the place of the mother upon whom two young lives depended.
How delightful126 it was to bring aid! And she possessed the means of being helpful.
So, with sparkling eyes, she pressed the three gold coins into the sufferer's burning hand, and told her that the village authorities would rear the twins for such a sum. Then the parched lips of the fevered woman lauded127 the merciful kindness bestowed by the lame ropedancer—who at that moment seemed to her as powerful as a queen—so warmly and tenderly that Kuni felt the blood again mount into her cheeks—this time with shame at the praise which she deserved so little, yet which rendered her so happy. Finally, the sufferer expressed a desire for a priest, that she might not pass from earth without a sacrament. Her sins oppressed her sorely. She, and she alone, was to blame for Nickel's being hanged. Never in all her life had she been a glutton128; but before the birth of the twins the devil had tormented her with a strange longing for roast fowl129, which she had been unable to repress and keep to herself. Solely130 for her gratification, Nickel stole the goose and the hens. In spite of many a bad business in which his reckless nature had involved him, he was a good fellow, with a loving heart.
For her sake he would have tried to steal the ring from the executioner's finger. Now he had gone into the other world unshriven, with the rope about his neck, for though the benefit of the sacrament was usually granted even to the worst criminals, the peasants strung Nickel up to the nearest tree as soon as they caught him, without heeding131 his entreaties132. This made death even harder for her than the thought of the poor little creatures yonder in the bundle of rags. Kuni's charity had provided for the orphans133, but her Nickel would find no mercy from the heavenly Judge throughout eternity.
She had sobbed134 aloud as she spoke107, and then writhed135 in such violent convulsions that Kuni with difficulty prevented her from throwing herself out of the hot straw in the cart upon the damp meadow.
When she grew somewhat calmer, she repeated Nickel's name again and again till it was heartrending to hear her.
点击收听单词发音
1 derived | |
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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2 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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3 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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4 reverenced | |
v.尊敬,崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 );敬礼 | |
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5 annually | |
adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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6 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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7 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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8 feigned | |
a.假装的,不真诚的 | |
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9 insanity | |
n.疯狂,精神错乱;极端的愚蠢,荒唐 | |
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10 extort | |
v.勒索,敲诈,强要 | |
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11 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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12 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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13 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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14 prescription | |
n.处方,开药;指示,规定 | |
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15 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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16 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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17 unnaturally | |
adv.违反习俗地;不自然地;勉强地;不近人情地 | |
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18 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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19 stammering | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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20 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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21 piety | |
n.虔诚,虔敬 | |
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22 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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23 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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24 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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25 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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26 fidelity | |
n.忠诚,忠实;精确 | |
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27 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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28 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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29 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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30 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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31 estrange | |
v.使疏远,离间,使离开 | |
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32 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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33 vagrant | |
n.流浪者,游民;adj.流浪的,漂泊不定的 | |
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34 sages | |
n.圣人( sage的名词复数 );智者;哲人;鼠尾草(可用作调料) | |
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35 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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36 doctrine | |
n.教义;主义;学说 | |
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37 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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38 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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39 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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40 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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41 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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42 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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43 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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44 tenaciously | |
坚持地 | |
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45 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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46 convalescence | |
n.病后康复期 | |
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47 atone | |
v.赎罪,补偿 | |
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48 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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49 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50 ailing | |
v.生病 | |
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51 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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52 lavishly | |
adv.慷慨地,大方地 | |
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53 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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54 physically | |
adj.物质上,体格上,身体上,按自然规律 | |
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55 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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56 babble | |
v.含糊不清地说,胡言乱语地说,儿语 | |
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57 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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58 solace | |
n.安慰;v.使快乐;vt.安慰(物),缓和 | |
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59 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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60 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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61 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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62 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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63 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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64 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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65 raved | |
v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 );愤怒地说;咆哮;痴心地说 | |
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66 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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67 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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68 profligate | |
adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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69 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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70 seething | |
沸腾的,火热的 | |
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71 frenzy | |
n.疯狂,狂热,极度的激动 | |
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72 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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73 wailing | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的现在分词 );沱 | |
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74 soothe | |
v.安慰;使平静;使减轻;缓和;奉承 | |
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75 lurch | |
n.突然向前或旁边倒;v.蹒跚而行 | |
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76 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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77 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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78 wailed | |
v.哭叫,哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79 quack | |
n.庸医;江湖医生;冒充内行的人;骗子 | |
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80 stump | |
n.残株,烟蒂,讲演台;v.砍断,蹒跚而走 | |
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81 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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82 jolted | |
(使)摇动, (使)震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83 stony | |
adj.石头的,多石头的,冷酷的,无情的 | |
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84 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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85 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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86 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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87 parsimony | |
n.过度节俭,吝啬 | |
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88 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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89 gratis | |
adj.免费的 | |
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90 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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91 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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92 beetles | |
n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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93 imps | |
n.(故事中的)小恶魔( imp的名词复数 );小魔鬼;小淘气;顽童 | |
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94 lessen | |
vt.减少,减轻;缩小 | |
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95 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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96 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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97 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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98 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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99 verge | |
n.边,边缘;v.接近,濒临 | |
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100 gnawing | |
a.痛苦的,折磨人的 | |
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101 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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102 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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103 beckoned | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105 ardently | |
adv.热心地,热烈地 | |
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106 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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107 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 | |
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108 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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109 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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110 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111 mendicant | |
n.乞丐;adj.行乞的 | |
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112 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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113 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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114 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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115 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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116 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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117 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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118 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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119 transgressed | |
v.超越( transgress的过去式和过去分词 );越过;违反;违背 | |
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120 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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121 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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122 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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123 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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124 invalid | |
n.病人,伤残人;adj.有病的,伤残的;无效的 | |
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125 lighter | |
n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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126 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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127 lauded | |
v.称赞,赞美( laud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128 glutton | |
n.贪食者,好食者 | |
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129 fowl | |
n.家禽,鸡,禽肉 | |
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130 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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131 heeding | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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132 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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133 orphans | |
孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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134 sobbed | |
哭泣,啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 ); 哭诉,呜咽地说 | |
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135 writhed | |
(因极度痛苦而)扭动或翻滚( writhe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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