It was not an uncommon4 thing in Hamilton for men to pass from house to house in this way, and he was little noted5, but if anyone had been curious enough to watch his eye they would have observed that it had a remarkably6 penetrating7 power, and that but little escaped its notice. Another thing that would also have been noticed was the curious look of recognition which would suddenly creep into his eyes, as if he saw some of these things for the second time; and if anyone had walked near enough to him to listen as well as watch, he would have heard a name drop from his lips now and then as he walked up the phlox-bordered walk of some humble8 garden, or stopped at the back door of one of the more pretentious9 mansions10 on the main street.
Another thing: When he had done this, when he had uttered in his odd, musing11 way, at the threshold of a house, the name of Fisher, Hutton, Brown, Unwin, or what not, he invariably managed in some way, either slyly or by bold question, to ascertain12 if this name really belonged to the family then residing there. If it did, he nodded his head complacently13. If it did not, he frowned as if disappointed in his memory or whatever it was that had played him false.
At one place he showed conclusively14 that he had been in the house before, though no one seemed keen enough to detect the fact. He was passing down a hall, when he turned to the right and came plumb15 up against a wall. This was where there had formerly16 been a door of egress17, but a change which had been made some ten years back in the inner arrangement of the house had placed it farther on, and his face showed surprise when he noted it, though the expression was speedily suppressed. Again at the Fishers’ he was very careful to sit in the deep shadow, and though he eagerly drank in all that was said, he himself made no remark after his first appeal for work. The Fishers were old neighbors of the Earles, and it was with them that Polly was living.
In the afternoon he found himself at the eastern end of the town near the church. As he noticed the venerable building he seemed to call to mind his experiences of the night before, for he glanced eagerly toward the cemetery18, and finally turned his steps in that direction, saying quietly to himself, “Let’s see how it looks by daylight.”
The street, which takes a sharp turn at this point, was headed by the stately house whose dim columns and embowering trees had so struck the wanderer’s attention the night before. Seen by daylight it was less mysterious in appearance but fully19 as imposing20, though there were signs of neglect on its painted front and solitary21 balconies, which spoke22 of long disuse as a dwelling23. It had the name of Izard engraved24 on the tarnished25 door-plate.
“Let me see,” mused26 the tramp, leaning upon one of the old-fashioned gate-posts guarding the entrance, “I should remember how the house looks inside; I was here to a ball once when we were all young folks together. It was a fine old dwelling then, and Mrs. Izard, who always said she could remember Martha Washington, looked like a queen in it.” Lifting his head, he glanced up at the pillared front. “There was a large double drawing-room on this side,” he murmured, “with a big-figured carpet on the floor and panelled paper on the walls. I think I could remember the very tints27 if I tried, for I sat that night for full ten minutes staring at it, while Lillie Unwin chattered29 nonsense in my ear, and—” the rest was lost in his long, dishevelled beard, which was much too gray to be worn by any contemporary of Dr. Izard.
“On the left,” he presently proceeded, “was the library, with one or two windows looking out upon the cemetery, which was then a respectable distance off; and down the hall, which was wide enough to dance a Virginia reel in, there hung a map of the Holy Land, with one corner torn off. I wonder if it is hanging there still, and if I can remember which corner was lacking.” He mused a minute with a sour smile. “Something must be pardoned in one who has been gone fourteen years,” he murmured. “I cannot remember whether it was the left or the right-hand corner.” Shutting his eyes, he leaned his head again on the post, while short, broken sentences issued by fits and starts from amid his beard as he brooded over the past.
“Under the big front staircase,—I remember it well,—there was a smaller circular one, which went down to a certain green door: the same one I noticed in the doctor’s office, though there was no office then,—only a rectangular porch. He must have had the office built in since I left the town, for he used to see his patients in the library. Now, how did that porch look? It was broad and low, and raised but a step or two above the ground. There were two pillars in the opening toward the graveyard30, similar to the big columns in front, but smaller and set further apart. At one end was a wooden seat built in the wood-work, and at the other a green door, the same as that seen in the doctor’s room now. Will these details answer for one recollection? I think they will. And now for a glimpse of that shaft31.”
Lifting his head from the gate-post, he picked his way through the tangled32 weeds to the little gate on the highway which led directly to the doctor’s office. Entering, he approached the tombstone against which he had leaned the night before, and heedless of passers-by, took up his stand before it and began reading the inscription34.
SACRED
TO THE MEMORY
OF
HULDAH EARLE.
Born December Third, 1854.
Died August Ninth, 1878.
“I wonder who put up this monument,” he muttered, and shuddered35 slightly as he recalled the chilliness36 of the stone against which he had pressed his breast the night before. But the emotion was but transitory, and he was soon surveying the small square window through whose panes37 the one light had shone on the previous night. It was near the office door, and was surrounded, as he had so gratefully experienced at that time, by a thick-leaved trumpet-vine, whose long and swaying branches recalled to him the anxious moment when the doctor had stepped to the door, drawn38 by some sound he had made in his curiosity and interest. Just now a curtain hung before the window, sure sign that the doctor was within; but he did not heed33 this, possibly because he did not understand the signal, and remained where he was, musing on the past, till the steps of some advancing visitor advised him that he might better indulge his thoughtful mood in a less conspicuous39 place, and in a solitude40 not so likely to be invaded by curious eyes.
The dog which had joined him at his first appearance in town continued to be his constant companion. All day this faithful animal followed him, and when night came, they went together into the small attic41 chamber42 which was the only room in the house he could afford to pay for. But one journey which the man took was not shared by the dog. It took place at midnight and in the following mysterious way:
He had noticed by a minute inspection43 of the roof stretching below his one small window that by a few daring steps down the first incline one might reach a ledge44 from which descent to the ground would be easy. It was a path which might be taken with safety by a young man or a still vigorous middle-aged45 man. But would it be a feasible one for him? He seemed to decide in the affirmative, for in the small wee hours of the night he rose from his bed, and quieting his ready dog, dressed himself, and took another long survey from the window. Then he proceeded to open the bundle he had brought into town, taking from it a small object, which he hid in the breast of his coat. Then he thrust a box of matches into the pocket of his shirt, and ignoring his hat, which hung on a nail in one corner, he began his daring descent. Throwing one leg out of the window and clinging to the narrow jamb, he whirled himself about, and developing some of the instincts of the cat, soon reached the ledge in safety. Instantly his form, which had hitherto been so bent46 as to present almost the appearance of deformity, straightened itself until his whole person betrayed an agility47 and precision surprising to behold48 in any man past the first flush of youth.
To pass from the eaves to the shed and thence to the ground was the work of a moment. The crooked49 branch of an old apple-tree which grew near the house, was of decided50 use to him and enabled him to make his risky51 descent with comparatively no noise. When he was on the ground, he stopped and listened, then wheeling rapidly about, proceeded to walk up the street.
The night was dark and threatened storm. Everywhere there was a sound of swishing boughs52 and rattling53 panes which served to deaden the noise of his tread on the pavement, but he seemed so anxious not to attract attention even in the darkness and solitude of this midnight hour that he stepped into the grass that bordered the road, and even took off his shoes that no echo might follow his movements.
The course he took led him in an entirely54 different direction from any he had traversed during the day. As soon as he reached the point where the court house stands, he turned east and went up Carberry hill. As there are but two or three houses on this slope, his destination became speedily apparent. On the brow of the hill where the wind blows strongest, stands the old Earle cottage, with its windows closed to every eye and its untrod doorstep hidden amid weeds that had choked up the entrance for many a year. In the daylight it had an utterly55 lonesome and deserted56 look, but at night, especially when the moon was hidden and the winds blew, it possessed57 a forbidding, almost an ominous58 look, which would have deterred59 anyone whose errand was less pressing than that of our midnight wanderer, from approaching, much less examining a spot so given over to solitude. A row of stunted60 oak trees shielded the house on one side, and marked off the limits of the deserted garden, where burdock and thistles grew instead of the homely61 vegetables and old-fashioned flowers of years ago. To-night all these trees were bending one way in the sharp gale62, their whistling leaves and the pat, pat of the long limbs against the clap-boards of the house adding to the lugubriousness63 of the scene.
But to the man who stood in the long grass at the rear of this disused dwelling there was nothing in the hour or place to arouse dread64 or awaken65 apprehension66. He studied the house, but not with the eyes of a dreamer, and when he finally made up his mind to approach the rear door it was with determination in his face and a certain calculation in his movement which proved that he was there with a definite purpose.
One pull at the door evidently satisfied him of the uselessness of endeavoring to enter by force, for he left the spot at once, and began climbing a small shed near by. Reversing the plan he had followed at the tavern, he succeeded in climbing from ledge to ledge, until he reached a certain window which he ruthlessly smashed in. In less time than one would think, he had effected entrance into the house at the very place where there was least likelihood of the attempt being discovered, namely, under the shadow of one of those swishing trees whose branches brushed so close against the wall that a spray of leaves immediately thrust itself into the opening after him, covering up his passage with unnecessary haste, considering that there were no watchers within half a mile or more.
The place in which he found himself on dropping to the floor was so close and dark that he involuntarily opened out his arms to grope his way. But fearing broken floors and open staircases, he presently stopped and drew out the small object he had hidden in his breast, and which proved to be a pocket lantern. Lighting67 this, he looked around him and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. He was in a small attic room whose unfinished beams were so overlaid with cobwebs that he involuntarily ducked his head, though he was in but little danger of thrusting it against these noisome68 objects. A bed covered with a patched quilt was within reach of one hand, and on the other side was a chest of drawers with the articles necessary for making an humble toilet still on it, but so covered by the dust and cobwebs of years that he choked as he looked at it, and hesitated to set down his lantern on it.
Finally he compromised matters by placing it on an old chair; after which he took out a small blank book and began to jot69 down notes of what he saw. When finished with this room, he passed into another and so on into the more roomy living chambers70 in front. Here he paused and took a deeper breath, though the air was still stifling71 and musty.
An opening, square in shape, occupied the middle of this upper floor, from which branched off the three sleeping rooms of this simple but not uncomfortable cottage. In the square were books, many of which this strange intruder took from the shelves and rapidly glanced over. Then he opened the small drawers at the bottom of the shelves, examining the trinkets and knick-knacks thus disclosed, with an eye rapidly brightening into an expression of mingled72 hope and determination. The pictures on the wall were few, but he apparently73 saw them all, nor did he pass the decayed fringes of the window curtains without touching74 them and noting their faded colors. When all that was to be seen in this small place was carefully remarked, the man crossed the threshold of the right-hand door and entered the large west chamber.
Something,—was it the atmosphere of the place, or some train of recollections awakened75 by the objects about him?—seemed to subdue76 him at this point, and he paused for a moment with his head fallen on his breast. Then he raised it again, and with even more resolution than before began to survey the mildewed77 walls and faded furniture, with an eye that missed nothing, from the great four-poster to the mould-covered bellows78 at the side of the open fireplace. It had been Mrs. Earle’s bed-room, and had witnessed the birth of Polly and the long and mysterious illness which had terminated in the death of the mother. Here Ephraim Earle had lavished79 kisses on his babe and laid his icy hand over the scarcely colder lids of his dead wife. Here had he experienced his keenest joys and here had he suffered his greatest sorrows. The room seemed alive with them yet, and from every corner stared mementos80 of the past which were all the more eloquent81 and impressive that no foreign hand had touched them since their owner had passed away from their midst a dozen years before. Even the candle which had lighted her last gasp82 remained where it had been left on a little table in one corner; and beside it was a book from which the finger seemed to have been just withdrawn83, though the dust that covered it lay thick on its browned cover, and the mark which issued from one end of its discolored leaves had lost its pristine84 hue85 and had faded to a tint28 almost beyond recognition. The stranger stopped before this book and seemed to be tempted86 to take it up, but refrained from doing so, as he had already refrained from meddling87 with many another object lying on the high cupboards and the tall mantel-shelf. But before the sticks in the fireplace he showed no such hesitation88. He turned them and twirled them, and examined the ashes in which they had lain, and finally, seeing the end of a piece of paper, he drew it out. It was the fragment of a letter, worthless probably and of no especial interest in itself, but he seemed to regard it as a treasure, and after looking at it for a minute, he thrust it into his pocket.
There were a few articles of apparel hanging in the press at the foot of the bed, and these he looked carefully over. Some of them were men’s clothes, and these he handled with a lingering touch, smiling grimly as he did so. He even took down a coat, and after a moment’s thought put it on, and surveyed himself thus accoutered in the film-covered mirror at the other end of the room. But the latter was too clouded to make a good reflection, and pleased to see that the sleeves came naturally to the wrist, though the buttons failed to fasten over the chest, he muttered stealthily as he drew the garment off, “One’s arms do not lengthen89 with age, though the body often grows larger. A very good test indeed!”
There was a chest under the bed, and this he drew out, though with some evident misgivings90 and many a sly look at the worm-eaten carpet over which he had been obliged to drag it. The lock had been fastened, but he opened it with the crooked nail he drew from his pocket; and plunging91 into the trunk, pulled out one article after another, muttering in an indescribable tone as he handled each:
“My wife’s wedding dress! The locket and chain I gave her! The cashmere shawl she always called her best! The lace folderols Aunt Milicent used to wear, and Grandpa Hallam’s gown in which he died when he was struck with apoplexy while preaching in Brother Burton’s pulpit in Charlestown. A collection of keepsakes all remembered by me, even to this old spectacle case which must have been her grandmother’s.”
Putting the things all back in the exact order in which he found them, he relocked the trunk and thrust it carefully back into its old place. But before leaving the room he stood for several minutes in the doorway92, and let, or seemed to let, the full aspect of the place sink into his consciousness, after which with a half-frightened look at the floor, as if he feared he had left the print of his feet behind him, he stepped again to the hall, and so into a small room adjoining.
Here he remained longer than in the one he had just left; for it had been Mr. Earle’s workroom and it was full of reminiscences of his old labors93. To enumerate94 the various objects which this strange intruder examined would occupy us too long and needlessly encumber95 this narrative96. Enough that he gave the place the same minute inspection he had accorded to every other spot he had previously97 entered, and by force of vivid imagination or a faithful remembrance seemed to live for a short half-hour in a past of hopeful work and mechanical triumphs. There was an inventor’s model in one corner, and to this he gave his closest attention. Though he laid no finger upon it, fearful perhaps of leaving some trace of his presence behind him, he studied its parts with a glistening98 eye and half-sarcastic smile, saying, as he turned away at last:
“This is where the art of making explosives stood in ’63. We have got further than that now.”
There was a secretary in this room and before it he spent most of the remaining time. Some old letters which he found there engrossed99 him completely, and from one small drawer he took an object that interested him so much he failed to replace it on leaving the room. It was the faded miniature of a pale young mother and a blue-eyed babe. The mother had the look of the Lawrence family, and the child the promise of that saucy100 and irresponsible loveliness he had seen the day before in the new-made heiress, Polly Earle. This was not all he carried away. After he had finished the letters, he sat a long time musing with knitted brows and rigid101 hands, then he examined the desk, and sounding it, listened with accustomed ear to the echo made by his knuckles102 on the various partitions.
Suddenly he stopped, and leaning over a certain receptacle, from which he had drawn a small drawer, he tapped again, and seeming to be satisfied with the result, began to manipulate the place with his penknife till the false bottom came out and he found in the shallow space thus disclosed a small box which he eagerly pulled out, opened, and examined. What it held I do not know, but whatever it was, he thrust it with a triumphant103 look into his breast, and then repairing the mischief104 he had done, first closed the drawers and then the desk, shaking visibly as he did so, perhaps with something of the feeling of a thief, though his face had none of the aspects of one, and his step when he moved away had a resolution in it that added height to his stature105, which since he had allowed himself to walk upright was imposing.
In another moment he had carried the lantern from the room, and the sleep of years had descended106 again upon its dark and silent precincts.
点击收听单词发音
1 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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2 credulous | |
adj.轻信的,易信的 | |
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3 decrepitude | |
n.衰老;破旧 | |
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4 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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5 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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6 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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7 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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8 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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9 pretentious | |
adj.自命不凡的,自负的,炫耀的 | |
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10 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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11 musing | |
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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12 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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13 complacently | |
adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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14 conclusively | |
adv.令人信服地,确凿地 | |
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15 plumb | |
adv.精确地,完全地;v.了解意义,测水深 | |
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16 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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17 egress | |
n.出去;出口 | |
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18 cemetery | |
n.坟墓,墓地,坟场 | |
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19 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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20 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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21 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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22 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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23 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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24 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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25 tarnished | |
(通常指金属)(使)失去光泽,(使)变灰暗( tarnish的过去式和过去分词 ); 玷污,败坏 | |
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26 mused | |
v.沉思,冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 );沉思自语说(某事) | |
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27 tints | |
色彩( tint的名词复数 ); 带白的颜色; (淡色)染发剂; 痕迹 | |
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28 tint | |
n.淡色,浅色;染发剂;vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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29 chattered | |
(人)喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 ); 唠叨; (牙齿)打战; (机器)震颤 | |
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30 graveyard | |
n.坟场 | |
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31 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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32 tangled | |
adj. 纠缠的,紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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33 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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34 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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35 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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36 chilliness | |
n.寒冷,寒意,严寒 | |
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37 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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38 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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39 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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40 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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41 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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42 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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43 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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44 ledge | |
n.壁架,架状突出物;岩架,岩礁 | |
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45 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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46 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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47 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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48 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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49 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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50 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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51 risky | |
adj.有风险的,冒险的 | |
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52 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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53 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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54 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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55 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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56 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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57 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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58 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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59 deterred | |
v.阻止,制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 stunted | |
adj.矮小的;发育迟缓的 | |
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61 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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62 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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63 lugubriousness | |
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64 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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65 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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66 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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67 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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68 noisome | |
adj.有害的,可厌的 | |
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69 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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70 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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71 stifling | |
a.令人窒息的 | |
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72 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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73 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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74 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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75 awakened | |
v.(使)醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 );(使)觉醒;弄醒;(使)意识到 | |
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76 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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77 mildewed | |
adj.发了霉的,陈腐的,长了霉花的v.(使)发霉,(使)长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 bellows | |
n.风箱;发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的名词复数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫v.发出吼叫声,咆哮(尤指因痛苦)( bellow的第三人称单数 );(愤怒地)说出(某事),大叫 | |
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79 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80 mementos | |
纪念品,令人回忆的东西( memento的名词复数 ) | |
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81 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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82 gasp | |
n.喘息,气喘;v.喘息;气吁吁他说 | |
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83 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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84 pristine | |
adj.原来的,古时的,原始的,纯净的,无垢的 | |
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85 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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86 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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87 meddling | |
v.干涉,干预(他人事务)( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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88 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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89 lengthen | |
vt.使伸长,延长 | |
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90 misgivings | |
n.疑虑,担忧,害怕;疑虑,担心,恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 );疑惧 | |
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91 plunging | |
adj.跳进的,突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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92 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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93 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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94 enumerate | |
v.列举,计算,枚举,数 | |
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95 encumber | |
v.阻碍行动,妨碍,堆满 | |
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96 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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97 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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98 glistening | |
adj.闪耀的,反光的v.湿物闪耀,闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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99 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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100 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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101 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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102 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
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103 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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104 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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105 stature | |
n.(高度)水平,(高度)境界,身高,身材 | |
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106 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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