When he came down-stairs he found her dressed in white and looking like a nun1. Her hair was brushed back from her forehead and the silk-figured Japanese shawl was over her shoulders. He recalled the shawl and with it the picture she had made that first night.
At the door he called her name and she looked up quickly, swiftly scanning his face. He crossed to her side.
"You should n't stay in here," he said. "Come outdoors a moment before breakfast. It's bright and warm out there."
She arose, and they went out together to the lawn. Each blade of grass was wearing its morning jewels. The sun petted them and bestowed2 opals, amethysts3, and rubies4 upon them. The hedge was as fresh as if newly created; the neighboring houses appeared as though a Dutch housewife had washed them down and sanded them; the sky was a perfect jewel cut by the Master hand. The peeping and chattering5 of the swallows was music, while a robin6 or two added a longer note to the sharp staccatos.
They stood in the deep porch looking out at it, while the sun showered them with warmth.
"You 've seen Ben?" he asked.
"Yes," she answered, turning her face up to his with momentary7 brightness. "Yes. And he was like this out here! The change is wonderful! It is as though he had risen from the dead!"
Donaldson lifted his head toward the stark8 blue of the sky.
"The dead? There are no dead," he exclaimed passionately9. "Even those we bury are ever ready to open their silent lips to us if only we give them life again. We owe it to them to do that, through our own lives to continue as best we can their lives here on earth. But we can't do that as long as we have them dead, can we? And that is true of dead hopes, of dead loves. We have to face the sun with all those things and through it breathe into them a new spirit. Do you see, Miss Arsdale?"
He did not look at her, but as her voice answered him it seemed to be stronger.
"I think—I think I do."
"Nothing can die, unless we let it die," he ran on, paving the way for what he realized she must in the end know. "Some of it can disappear from our sight. But not much. We can bury our dead, but we need n't bury their glad smiles, we need n't bury the feel of their hands or the brush of their lips, we need n't bury their songs or the brave spirit of them. We can keep all that, the living part of them, so long as our own spirit lives. It is when that dies in us that we truly bury them. And this is even truer of our loves—intangible spirit things as they are at best."
He did not wish that part of him to die utterly10 in her with his doomed11 frame.
"But—" she shivered, "all this talk of graves and the dead?"
"It is all of the sun and the living," he replied earnestly. "You must face the sun with me to-day. Will you?"
"Yes! Yes! But last night you made me afraid. Was it the dark,—did you get afraid of the dark? I know what that means."
"Perhaps," he answered gently. "But if so, it was because I was foolish enough to let it be dark. And you yourself must never do it again. If things get bad at night you must wait until morning and then come out here. So, if you remember what I have said, it will get light again. Will you promise to do that?"
"Yes."
"I 'd like to make this day one that we 'll both remember forever. I 'd like to make it one that we can always turn back to."
"Yes."
"Perhaps after to-day we 'll neither of us be afraid of the dark again."
"I 'm not afraid now."
"Nor I," he smiled.
The voice of Arsdale came to them,
"Oh, Elaine! Oh, Donaldson!"
She led the way into the house with a lighter12 step and Arsdale met them with a beaming face which covered a broad grin.
"I suppose you two can do without food," he exclaimed, "but I can't. Breakfast has been waiting ten minutes."
"It's my fault," apologized Donaldson.
"You can't see stars in the morning, can you?" chuckled13 Arsdale.
"Maybe," answered Donaldson.
Elaine checked the boy's further comments with a frightened pressure as she took his arm and passed into the white and green breakfast room.
There stood the table by the big warm window again, and as she took her place it seemed as though they were stepping into the same picture framed by the hedge. She caught Donaldson's eye with a little smile and saw that he understood.
Arsdale broke in with renewed enthusiasm for his philanthropic project and outlined his ambitions to Elaine.
"You see," he concluded, "some day, little sister, you may see the law sign 'Donaldson & Arsdale, Counsellors at Law.' Not a bad sounding firm name, eh?"
"I think it is great—just great, Ben!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "It's almost worth being a man to make your life count for something like that."
"I want you to make out a list of books for me to get and I 'll go down-town this afternoon. I suppose you 've a pretty good law library yourself?"
"I had the beginning of one. I sold it."
"What did you do that for?"
"My practice was n't big enough to support it. But you—you 'll not be bothered with lack of clients."
With school-boy eagerness Arsdale was anxious to plunge14 into the scheme at once.
"And say," he ran on, "I 'm going to look up some offices. I 'll stake the firm to some good imposing15 rooms in one of the big law buildings. Nothing like looking prosperous at the start. Guess I 'll drop down-town right after breakfast and see what can be had."
Donaldson didn't have the heart to check him. Later on he would write him a letter sustaining him in his project and recommending him to a classmate of his, to whom this partnership16 would be a godsend, as, a week ago, it would have been to himself. That was the best he could think of at the moment and so he let him rattle17 on.
As soon as they had finished breakfast Arsdale was off.
"I 'll leave you two to hunt out new stars as long as that occupation does n't seem to bore you. I 'll be back for dinner."
Miss Arsdale looked a bit worried and questioned Donaldson with her eyes.
"He 'll be all right," the latter assured her. "Good Lord, a man with an idea like that is safe anywhere. It's the best thing in the world for him."
A little later Donaldson went up-stairs to his room. He took out his wallet and counted his money. He had over four hundred dollars. At noon forty-eight hours would be remaining to him. He still had the ample means of a millionaire for his few needs.
He was as cool as a man computing18 what he could spend on a summer vacation. He was not affected19 in the slightest by the details of death or by the mere20 act of dying itself. He was of the stuff which in a righteous cause leads a man to face a rifle with a smile. He would have made a good soldier. The end meant nothing horrible in itself. It meant only the relinquishing21 of this bright sky and that still choicer gift below.
He rose abruptly22 and came down-stairs again to the girl, impatient at being away from her a minute. She was waiting for him.
"This," he said, "is to be our holiday. I think we had better go into the country. I should like to go back to Cranton. Is it too far?"
"Not too far," she answered. "But the memories of the bungalow23—"
"I had forgotten about that. It does n't count with the green fields, does it? We can avoid the house, but I should like to visit the orchard24 and ride behind the old white horse again."
"I am willing," she replied.
"Then you will have to get ready quickly."
They had just time to catch the train and before they knew it they were there.
The old white horse was at the little land-office station to meet them for all the world as though he had been expecting them, and so, for that matter, were the winding25 white road, the stile by the lane, and the orchard itself. It was as though they had been waiting for them ever since their last visit and were out ready to greet them.
The driver nodded to them as if they were old friends.
"Guess ye did n't find no spooks there after all," he remarked.
"Not a spook. Any more been seen there since?"
"H'ain't heern of none. Maybe ye took off the cuss."
"I hope so."
They dismissed the driver at the lane and then went back a little way so as to avoid the bungalow. Donaldson was in the best of spirits, for at the end of the first hour he had solaced26 himself with the belief that Arsdale had been mistaken in his statement. She was nothing but a glad hearted companion in look and speech. They sat down a moment in the orchard and he was very tender of her, very careful into what trend he let their thoughts run. But soon he moved on again. He needed to be active. It was the walk back through the fields to which he had looked forward.
They brushed through the ankle-deep grass, pausing here and there to admire a clump27 of trees, a striking sky line, or a pretty slope.
To Donaldson it did not seem possible that this could ever end, that any act of nature could blot28 this from his mind as though it had never been. It was unthinkable that through an eternity29 he should never know again the meaning of blue sky, of blossoms, of such profligate30 pictures as now met his eye at every step, but above all, that he should be blind to the girl herself and all for which she stood. No matter how long the journey he was about to take, no matter through what new spheres, these things must remain if anything at all of him remained. So his one thought was to fill himself as full of this day as possible, to crowd into his flagging brain the many pictures of her and this setting which so harmonized with her. The deeper joys of love he might not know, save as his silent heart conjured31 them, but all that he could see with his eyes should be his. He would fill his soul so full of light that the unknown trail would be less dark to him. He would carry with him for torches the sun and her bright eyes.
"Let's go back as the crow flies," he suggested. "'Cross country—over hill and dale. We must n't turn out for anything," he explained, "we must go crashing through things—trampling them down."
"My," she cried, mocking his fierceness—little realizing the emotion to which they gave vent32, "my, things had better look out!"
He paused, caught his breath, and turned to her, an almost terrified smile about his tense mouth.
"Oh, little comrade, you 'd best let me be serious."
"No, no. Not to-day. Let us be as glad as we can,—let us celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" he demanded, lest she might think that he had confessed his thoughts to her.
"Spring," she answered, with a laugh that came from deep within her big happy heart. "Just spring."
"Then we must n't trample33 down anything?" he queried34.
"Nothing that we can help. But we can take the straight course just the same. We 'll turn aside for the flowers and little trees."
"And nothing else."
"Nothing else," she agreed.
He led the way, his shoulders drooping35 a trifle and his step not so light as her step. She could have trodden upon violets without harm to them. Still, he marched with a sturdiness that was commendable36 considering the load he carried. They made their way down through the orchard and over the sun-flecked grass until they encountered their first obstacle. It was a stone wall made out of gray field rocks. He gave her his hand. The fingers clung to his like a child's fingers. Their warm, soft caress37 went to his head like wine so that for a moment, as she stood near him, it was a question whether or not he could resist drawing her into his arms which throbbed38 for her. He spoke39 nothing; she spoke nothing. There was no boldness in her, nor any struggle either. With her head thrown back a little, she waited. So for ten seconds they stood, neither moving. Then he motioned and she jumped lightly to the ground. He led the way and they took up their march again, though once behind him she found it difficult to catch her breath again.
They moved on down the green hill, across a field, ankle deep in new grass, into the heavier green of the low lands. So they came to a meadow brook40 running shallow over a pebbly41 bottom but some five yards wide. There were no stepping stones, but a hundred rods to the right a small foot bridge crossed.
Again she waited to see what he would do, while he waited to see what he would dare. With his heart aching in his throat he challenged himself. It was asking superhuman strength of him to venture his lips so near the velvet42 sheen of her cheeks—he who so soon was going out with a hungry heart. Her arms would be about his neck—that would be something to remember at the end—her arms about his neck. He knew that she expected him in even so slight a thing as this to keep true to his undertaking43 and march straight ahead. She realized nothing of the struggle which checked him. Tragic44 triviality—the problem of how to cross a brook with a maid! There was but one way even when it involved the mauling of a man's heart.
He held out his arms to her and she came to them quite as simply as she had taken his proffered45 hand at the wall. He placed one arm about her waist and another about her skirts. She clasped her fingers behind his neck and sat up with as little embarrassment46 as though riding upon a ferry.
He lifted her and the act to him was as though he had condensed a thousand kisses into one. He walked slowly. This was a brief span into which to crowd a lifetime of love. In the middle of the brook he stopped—just a second, to mark the beginning of the end—and then went on again. When he set her down he was breathing heavily. She had become a bit self-conscious. Her cheeks were aflame.
Her low black shoes with their big silk bows tied pertly below her trim ankles were a goodly sight to see against the green grass as he might have observed had he looked at them at all. But he did n't. He wiped his moist forehead as though, instead of a dainty armful, she had been a burden.
She shook the wrinkles from her skirt and looked up at him laughing. Then she frowned.
"Mr. Donaldson," she scolded, "you walked across there with your shoes and stockings on."
"Why, that's so," he exclaimed, looking down at his water-logged shoes as though in as great surprise as she herself.
"What are you going to do about it?"
"I don't know," he answered helplessly.
"You ought to spread them out in the sun to dry."
"You can't spread out shoes, can you? Besides we have n't time. We must hurry right on. Right on, this minute," he added as the motherly concern in her face set his throat to aching again.
With the stride of a pioneer he led off, praying that they might not find in their path another brook. For a stretch of a mile, he pressed on without once looking around, taking a faster pace than he realized. The course was a fairly smooth one over an acre or so of pasture, through a strip of oak woods, and up a stiff slope. It was not until he reached the top of this that he paused. He looked around and saw her about halfway47 up the hill, climbing heavily, her eyes upon the ground. Even as he watched her, he saw her sway, catch herself, and push on again without even looking up. It was the act of a woman almost exhausted48. He reached her side in a couple of strides. He tried to take her arm but she broke free of him and in a final spurt49 reached the top of the hill and threw herself upon the ground to catch her breath.
"I did n't realize how fast I was going," he apologized kneeling by her side. "That was unpardonable, but why did n't you call to me?"
She removed her hat. Then she leaned back upon her hands until she could speak evenly. A light breeze loosened a brown curl and played with it.
"Why did n't you call to me?"
"Because I wished to keep pace with you." He turned away from her.
"When you are rested we will start again," he said.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Then I am ready."
"You will take my arm?"
"No," she answered.
"Then you must keep by my side where I can watch you."
They took the remaining distance in more leisurely50 fashion, now realizing that they were nearing the outskirts51 of this fairy kingdom. With this thought he relaxed a little and instantly the sun and burgeoning52 nature claimed him, making light of every problem save the supreme53 one of bringing together a man and his mate.
They crossed a field or two and so came again into the road which they had left three miles back. Walking a short distance along this, they found themselves on a sharp hill overlooking the station a few hundred yards below. With the same impulse they turned back far enough to be out of sight of this. Twenty minutes still remained to them. They sat down by the side of the road where they had rested before. A light breeze pushing through the top of a big pine made a sound as of running water in the distance.
With her chin in one hand, elbow on knee, she studied him a moment as though endowed with sudden inspiration. A quick frown which had shadowed his face at sight of the railroad had driven home a suspicion which she had long held. Now she dared to voice it.
"Have things been mixed up for you—back there?"
The question startled him. He gave her a swift look as though to divine the reason for it. It was so direct that it was hard to evade54. And he would not lie directly to her. So he replied bluntly,
"Yes."
She waited. He saw her expectant eyes, but he went no further. Part of the price he paid for being here was renunciation of the balm he might have in the sharing of his trouble with her. He knew that she would take his silence for a rebuff, but he could not help that. He said nothing more, the silence eating into him.
But something stronger than her pride drove her on.
"Mr. Donaldson," she said, "you have given a great deal of time to me and mine—if there is anything I may do in return, you will give me the privilege?"
"There is nothing," he answered.
He saw the puzzled hurt in her eyes.
"I know all that you with your big heart would do for me," he declared earnestly, "but honestly there is nothing possible. My worry will cure itself. I can see the end of it even now."
"Will the end of it come within a month?"
"Within a week."
"Perhaps," she said, "I could hasten the end to a day."
"No," he smiled, "I 'd rather you would n't. I 'd rather you would prolong it if you could."
"Is that a riddle55?"
"To you."
"Then I can't answer it for I never guessed one in my life."
So with his knuckles56 kneading the grass by his side, he made light of it until she turned away from the subject to admire the blue seen through the pine needles above their heads.
Soon he heard the distant low whistle of the engine which was coming for them like a sheriff with a warrant.
He was not conscious of very much more until they were back again in the house and he heard Arsdale's voice,
"I 've rented the offices, old man! Swellest in the city. To-morrow you must come down and see them!"
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nun
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n.修女,尼姑 | |
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bestowed
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赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
amethysts
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n.紫蓝色宝石( amethyst的名词复数 );紫晶;紫水晶;紫色 | |
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4
rubies
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红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
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5
chattering
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n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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6
robin
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n.知更鸟,红襟鸟 | |
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momentary
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adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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stark
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adj.荒凉的;严酷的;完全的;adv.完全地 | |
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passionately
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ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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10
utterly
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adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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doomed
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命定的 | |
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12
lighter
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n.打火机,点火器;驳船;v.用驳船运送;light的比较级 | |
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13
chuckled
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轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
plunge
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v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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15
imposing
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adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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16
partnership
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n.合作关系,伙伴关系 | |
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17
rattle
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v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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18
computing
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n.计算 | |
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19
affected
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adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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20
mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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21
relinquishing
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交出,让给( relinquish的现在分词 ); 放弃 | |
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22
abruptly
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adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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23
bungalow
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n.平房,周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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24
orchard
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n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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25
winding
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n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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26
solaced
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v.安慰,慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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clump
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n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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28
blot
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vt.弄脏(用吸墨纸)吸干;n.污点,污渍 | |
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29
eternity
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n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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30
profligate
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adj.行为不检的;n.放荡的人,浪子,肆意挥霍者 | |
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31
conjured
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用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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32
vent
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n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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33
trample
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vt.踩,践踏;无视,伤害,侵犯 | |
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queried
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v.质疑,对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 );询问 | |
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35
drooping
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adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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36
commendable
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adj.值得称赞的 | |
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caress
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vt./n.爱抚,抚摸 | |
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throbbed
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抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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spoke
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n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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brook
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n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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41
pebbly
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多卵石的,有卵石花纹的 | |
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42
velvet
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n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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undertaking
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n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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44
tragic
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adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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45
proffered
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v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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embarrassment
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n.尴尬;使人为难的人(事物);障碍;窘迫 | |
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47
halfway
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adj.中途的,不彻底的,部分的;adv.半路地,在中途,在半途 | |
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48
exhausted
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adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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49
spurt
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v.喷出;突然进发;突然兴隆 | |
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50
leisurely
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adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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51
outskirts
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n.郊外,郊区 | |
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52
burgeoning
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adj.迅速成长的,迅速发展的v.发芽,抽枝( burgeon的现在分词 );迅速发展;发(芽),抽(枝) | |
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supreme
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adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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evade
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vt.逃避,回避;避开,躲避 | |
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55
riddle
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n.谜,谜语,粗筛;vt.解谜,给…出谜,筛,检查,鉴定,非难,充满于;vi.出谜 | |
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56
knuckles
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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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