On August 10th I went out on a little launch to meet the Sicilia, a small Italian ship which had just arrived from Venice. I was especially interested in this vessel2 because she was bringing to Constantinople my daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Maurice Wertheim, and their three little daughters. The greeting proved even more interesting than I had expected. I found the passengers considerably3 excited, for they had witnessed, the day before, a naval4 engagement in the Ionian Sea.
“We were lunching yesterday on deck,” my daughter told me, “when I saw two strange-looking vessels5 just above the horizon. I ran for the glasses and made out two large battleships, the first one with two queer exotic-looking towers, and the other one quite an ordinary-looking battleship. We watched and saw another ship coming up behind them and going very fast. She came nearer and nearer, and then we heard guns booming. Pillars of water sprang up in the air and there were many little puffs6 of white smoke. It took me some time to realise what it was all about, and then it burst upon me that we were actually witnessing an engagement. The ships continually shifted their position, but went on and on. The two big ones turned and rushed furiously for the little one, and then apparently7 they changed their minds and turned back. Then the little one turned around and calmly steamed in our direction. At first I was somewhat alarmed at this, but nothing happened. She circled around us with her tars8 excited and grinning, and somewhat grimy. They signalled to our captain many questions, and then turned and finally disappeared. The captain told us that the two big ships were Germans which had been caught in the Mediterranean9 and which were trying to escape from the British fleet. He says that the British ships are chasing them all over the Mediterranean, and that the German ships are trying to get into Constantinople. Have you seen anything of them? Where do you suppose the British fleet is?”
A few hours afterward11 I happened to meet Wangenheim.{45} When I told him what Mrs. Wertheim had seen, he displayed an agitated12 interest. Immediately after lunch he called at the American Embassy with Pallavicini, the Austrian Ambassador, and asked for an interview with my daughter. The two Ambassadors solemnly planted themselves in chairs before Mrs. Wertheim and subjected her to a most minute, though very polite, cross-examination. “I never felt so important in my life,” she afterwards told me. They would not permit her to leave out a single detail; they wished to know how many shots had been fired, what direction the German ships had taken, what everybody on board had said, and so on. The visit seemed to give these allied13 Ambassadors immense relief and satisfaction, for they left the house in an almost jubilant mood, behaving as though a great weight had been taken off their minds. And certainly they had good reason for their elation14. My daughter had been the means of giving them the news which they had desired to hear above everything else—that the Goeben and the Breslau had escaped the British fleet and were then steaming rapidly in the direction of the Dardanelles.
For it was those famous German ships, the Goeben and the Breslau, which my daughter had seen engaged in battle with a British scout15 ship!
The next day official business called me to the German Embassy. But Wangenheim’s animated16 manner soon disclosed that he had no interest in routine matters. Never had I seen him so nervous and so excited. He could not rest in his chair more than a few minutes at a time; he was constantly jumping up, rushing to the window, and looking anxiously out toward the Bosphorus where his private wireless17 station, the Corcovado, lay about three-quarters of a mile away. Wangenheim’s face was flushed and his eyes were shining; he would stride up and down the room, speaking now of a recent German victory, now giving me a little forecast of Germany’s plans, and then he would stalk to the window again for another look at the Corcovado.
“Something is seriously distracting you,” I said, rising. “I will go, and come again some other time.”
“No, no!” the Ambassador almost shouted. “I want you to stay right where you are. This will be a great day for Germany! If you will only remain for a few minutes you will hear a great piece of news—something that has the utmost bearing upon Turkey’s relation to the war.”
Then he rushed out on the portico18 and leaned over the balustrade. At the same moment I saw a little launch put out from the Corcovado toward the Ambassador’s dock. Wangenheim{46} hurried down, seized an envelope from one of the sailors, and a moment afterward burst into the room again.
“We’ve got them!” he shouted to me.
“Got what?” I asked.
“The Goeben and the Breslau have passed through the Dardanelles!”
He was waving the wireless message with all the enthusiasm of a college boy whose football team has won a victory.
Then, momentarily checking his enthusiasm, he came up to me solemnly, humorously shook his forefinger19, lifted his eyebrows20, and said, “Of course, you understand that we have sold these ships to Turkey!
“And Admiral Souchon,” he added with another wink21, “will enter the Sultan’s service!”
Wangenheim had more than patriotic22 reasons for this exultation23; the arrival of these ships was the greatest day in his diplomatic career. It was really the first diplomatic victory which Germany had won. For years the Chancellorship25 of the Empire had been Wangenheim’s laudable ambition, and he behaved now like a man who saw his prize within his grasp. The voyage of the Goeben and the Breslau was his personal triumph; he had arranged with the Turkish Cabinet for their passage through the Dardanelles, and he had directed their movements by wireless in the Mediterranean. By safely getting the Goeben and the Breslau into Constantinople, Wangenheim had definitely clinched26 Turkey as Germany’s ally. All his intrigues27 and plottings for three years had now finally succeeded.
I doubt if any two ships have exercised a greater influence upon history than these two German cruisers. Not all of us at that time fully28 realised their importance, but subsequent developments have fully justified29 Wangenheim’s exuberant30 satisfaction. The Goeben was a powerful battle-cruiser of recent construction, the Breslau was not so large a ship, but she, like the Goeben, had the excessive speed that made her extremely serviceable in those waters. These ships had spent the few months preceding the war cruising in the Mediterranean, and when the declaration finally came they were taking on supplies at Messina. I have always regarded it as more than a coincidence that these two vessels, both of them having a greater speed than any French or English ships in the Mediterranean, should have been lying not far from Turkey when war broke out. The selection of the Goeben was particularly fortunate, as she had twice before visited Constantinople and her officers and men knew the Dardanelles perfectly31. The behaviour of these crews, when the news of war{47} was received, indicated the spirit with which the German Navy began hostilities32; the men broke out into song and shouting, lifted their admiral upon their shoulders, and held a real German jollification. It is said that Admiral Souchon preserved, as a touching33 souvenir of this occasion, his white uniform bearing the finger-prints of his grimy sailors! For all their joy at the prospect34 of battle, the situation of these ships was still a precarious35 one. They formed no match for the large British and French naval forces which were roaming through the Mediterranean. The Goeben and the Breslau were far from their native bases; with the coaling problem such an acute one, and with England in possession of all important stations, where could they flee for safety? Several Italian destroyers were circling around the German ships at Messina, enforcing neutrality and occasionally reminding them that they could remain in port only twenty-four hours. England had ships stationed at the Gulf36 of Otranto, the head of the Adriatic, to cut them off in case they sought to escape into the Austrian port of Pola. The British Navy also stood guard at Gibraltar and Suez, the only other exits that apparently offered the possibility of escape. There was only one other place in which the Goeben and the Breslau might find a safe and friendly reception. That was Constantinople. Apparently the British Navy dismissed this as an impossibility. At that time, early in August, international law had not entirely37 disappeared as the guiding conduct of nations. Turkey was then a neutral country, and, despite the many evidences of German domination, she seemed likely to maintain her neutrality. The Treaty of Paris, which was signed in 1856, as well as the Treaty of London, signed in 1871, provided that warships38 should not use the Dardanelles except on the special permission of the Sultan, which permission could be granted only in times of peace. In practice the Government had seldom given this permission except for ceremonial occasions. In the existing conditions it would have amounted virtually to an unfriendly act for the Sultan to have removed the ban against war vessels in the Dardanelles, and to permit the Goeben and the Breslau to remain in Turkish waters for more than twenty-four hours would have been nothing less than a declaration of war. It is, perhaps, not surprising that the British in the early days of August, 1914, when Germany had not completely made clear her official opinion that “international law had ceased to exist,” regarded these treaty stipulations as barring the German ships from the Dardanelles and Constantinople. Relying upon the sanctity of these international regulations, the British Navy had shut off every{48} point through which these German ships could have escaped to safety—except the entrance to the Dardanelles. Had England, immediately on the declaration of war, rushed a powerful squadron to this vital spot, how different the history of the last three years might have been!
“His Majesty39 expects the Goeben and the Breslau to succeed in breaking through!” Such was the wireless that reached these vessels at Messina at five o’clock in the evening of August 4th. The twenty-four hours’ stay permitted by the Italian Government had nearly expired. Outside, in the Strait of Otranto, lay the force of British battle-cruisers, sending false radio messages to the Germans instructing them to rush for Pola. With bands playing and flags flying, the officers and crews having had their spirits fired by speeches and champagne40, the two vessels started at full speed head on toward the awaiting British fleet. The little Gloucester, a scout boat, kept in touch, wiring constantly the German movements to the main squadron. Suddenly, when off Cape10 Spartivento, the Goeben and the Breslau let off into the atmosphere all the discordant41 vibrations42 which their wireless could command, jamming the air with such a hullabaloo that the Gloucester was unable to send any intelligible43 messages. Then the German cruisers turned south and made for the ?gean Sea. The plucky44 little Gloucester kept close on their heels, and, as my daughter had related, had even once audaciously offered battle. A few hours behind the British squadron pursued, but uselessly, for the German ships, though far less powerful in battle, were much speedier. Even then the British admiral probably thought that he had spoiled the German plans. The German ships might get first to the Dardanelles, but at that point stood international law across the path and barring the entrance!
Meanwhile Wangenheim had accomplished45 his great diplomatic triumph. From the Corcovado wireless station in the Bosphorus he was sending the most agreeable news to Admiral Souchon. He was telling him to hoist46 the Turkish flag when he reached the Strait, for Admiral Souchon’s cruisers had suddenly become parts of the Turkish Navy, and, therefore, the usual international prohibitions47 did not apply! These cruisers were no longer the Goeben and the Breslau, for, like an oriental magician, Wangenheim had suddenly changed them into the Sultan Selim and the Medilli. The fact was that the German Ambassador had cleverly taken advantage of the existing situation to manufacture a “sale.” As I have already told, Turkey had two dreadnoughts under construction in England
when the war broke out. These ships were not exclusively governmental enterprises; their purchasers represented what, on the surface, appeared to be a popular enthusiasm of the Turkish people. They were to be the agencies through which Turkey was to attack Greece and win back the islands of the ?gean, and the Turkish people had raised the money to build them by a so-called popular subscription48. Agents had gone from house to house, painfully collecting these small subscriptions49; there had been entertainments and fairs, and, in their eagerness for the cause, Turkish women had sold their hair for the benefit of the common fund. These two vessels thus represented a spectacular outburst of patriotism50 that was unusual in Turkey, so unusual, indeed, that many detected signs that the Government had stimulated51 it. At the very moment when the war began Turkey had made her last payment to the English shipyards and the Turkish crews had arrived in England prepared to take the finished vessels home. Then, very soon before the time set to deliver them, the British Government stepped in and commandeered these dreadnoughts for the British Navy.
There is not the slightest question that England had not only a legal, but a moral, right to do this; there is also no question that her action was a proper one, and that, had she been dealing52 with almost any other nation, such proceeding53 would not have aroused any resentment54. But the Turkish people cared nothing for distinctions of this sort; all they saw was that they had two ships in England, which they had greatly strained their resources to purchase, and that England had now stepped in and taken them. Even without external pressure they would have resented the act, but external pressure was exerted in plenty. The transaction gave Wangenheim the greatest opportunity of his life. Violent attacks upon England, all emanating55 from the German Embassy, began to fill the Turkish Press. Wangenheim was constantly discoursing56 to the Turkish leaders on English perfidy57. He now suggested that Germany, Turkey’s good friend, was prepared to make compensation for England’s “unlawful” seizure58. He suggested that Turkey go through the form of “purchasing” the Goeben and the Breslau, which were then wandering around the Mediterranean, perhaps in anticipation59 of this very contingency60, and incorporate them in the Turkish Navy in place of the appropriated ships in England. The very day that these vessels passed through the Dardanelles the Ikdam, a Turkish newspaper published in Constantinople, had a triumphant61 account of this “sale,” with big headlines calling it a “great success for the Imperial Government.”{50}
Thus Wangenheim’s man?uvre accomplished two purposes: it placed Germany before the populace as Turkey’s friend, and it also provided a subterfuge62 for getting the ships through the Dardanelles and enabling them to remain in Turkish waters. All this beguiled63 the more ignorant part of the Turkish people, and gave the Cabinet a plausible64 ground for meeting the objection of Entente65 diplomats66, but it did not deceive any intelligent person. The Goeben and Breslau might change their names, and the German sailors might adorn67 themselves with Turkish fezzes, but we all knew from the beginning that this sale was a sham68. Those who understood the financial condition of Turkey could only be amused at the idea that she could purchase these modern vessels. Moreover, the ships were never incorporated in the Turkish Navy; on the contrary, what really happened was that the Turkish Navy was annexed69 to these German ships. A handful of Turkish sailors was placed on board at one time for appearance’ sake, but their German officers and German crews still retained active charge. Wangenheim, in his talks with me, never made any secret of the fact that the ships still remained German property. “I never expected to have such big cheques to sign,” he remarked one day, referring to his expenditures70 on the Goeben and the Breslau. He always called them “our” ships. Even Talaat told me in so many words that the cruisers did not belong to Turkey.
“The Germans say they belong to the Turks,” he remarked, with his characteristic laugh. “At any rate it’s very comforting for us to have them here. After the war, if the Germans win, they will forget all about it and leave the ships to us. If the Germans lose, they won’t be able to take them away from us!”
The German Government made no real pretension71 that the sale had been bona fide; at least, when the Greek Minister at Berlin protested against the transaction as unfriendly to Greece—na?vely forgetting the American ships which Greece had recently purchased—the German officials soothed72 him by admitting, sotto voce, that the ownership still resided in Germany. Yet when the Entente Ambassadors constantly protested against the presence of the German vessels, the Turkish officials blandly73 kept up the pretence74 that they were integral parts of the Turkish Navy!
The German officers and crews greatly enjoyed this farcical pretence that the Goeben and the Breslau were Turkish ships. They took particular delight in dressing75 themselves up in Turkish uniforms and Turkish fezzes, thereby76 presenting to the world conclusive77 evidence that these loyal soldiers of the Kaiser were{51} now parts of the Sultan’s Navy. One day the Goeben sailed up the Bosphorus, halted in front of the Russian Embassy, and dropped anchor. Then the officers and men lined the deck in full view of the enemy Ambassador. All solemnly removed their Turkish fezzes and put on German caps. The band played “Deutschland uber Alles,” the “Watch on the Rhine,” and other German songs, the German sailors singing loudly to the accompaniment. When they had spent an hour or two serenading the Russian Ambassador, the officers and crews removed their German caps and again put on their Turkish fezzes. The Goeben then picked up her anchor and started south to her station, leaving in the ears of the Russian diplomat24 the gradually dying strains of German war songs as the cruiser disappeared down stream.
I have often speculated on what would have happened if the English battle-cruisers, which pursued the Breslau and Goeben up to the mouth of the Dardanelles, had not been too gentlemanly to have violated international law. Suppose that they had entered the Strait, attacked the German cruisers in the Marmora, and sunk them. They could have done this, and, knowing all that we know now, such an action would have been justified. Not improbably the destruction would have kept Turkey out of the war. For, the arrival of these cruisers made it inevitable78 that Turkey should join her forces with Germany’s when the proper moment came. With them the Turkish Navy became stronger than the Russian Black Sea Fleet, and thus made it certain that Russia could make no attack on Constantinople. The Goeben and the Breslau, that is, practically gave the Ottoman-German naval forces control of the Black Sea. Moreover, these two ships could easily dominate Constantinople, and thus furnish the means by which the German Navy, if the occasion arose, could terrorise the Turks. I am convinced that, when the judicious79 historian reviews this war and its consequences, he will say that the passage of the Strait by these German ships made it inevitable that Turkey should join Germany at the moment that Germany desired her assistance, and that they likewise sealed the doom80 of the Turkish Empire. There were men in the Turkish Cabinet who perceived this, even then. The story was told in Constantinople—though I do not vouch81 for it as authentic82 history—that the Cabinet Meeting at which this momentous83 decision had been made had not been altogether harmonious84. The Grand Vizier and Djemal, it was said, objected to the fictitious85 “sale,” and demanded that it should be made a real one. When the discussion had reached its height Enver, who{52} was playing Germany’s game, announced that he had already practically completed the transaction. In the silence that followed his statement this young Napoleon pulled out his pistol and laid it on the table.
“If anyone here wishes to question this purchase,” he said quietly and icily, “I am ready to meet him.”
A few weeks after the Goeben and the Breslau had taken up permanent headquarters in the Bosphorus, Djavid Bey, Minister of Finance, happened to meet a distinguished86 Belgian jurist, then in Constantinople.
“I have terrible news for you,” said the sympathetic Turkish statesman. “The Germans have captured Brussels.”
The Belgian, a huge figure, more than six feet high, put his arm soothingly87 upon the shoulder of the diminutive88 Turk.
“I have even more terrible news for you,” he said, pointing out to the stream where the Goeben and the Breslau lay anchored. “The Germans have captured Turkey.”
点击收听单词发音
1 smuggles | |
v.偷运( smuggle的第三人称单数 );私运;走私;不按规章地偷带(人或物) | |
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2 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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3 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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4 naval | |
adj.海军的,军舰的,船的 | |
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5 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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6 puffs | |
n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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7 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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8 tars | |
焦油,沥青,柏油( tar的名词复数 ) | |
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9 Mediterranean | |
adj.地中海的;地中海沿岸的 | |
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10 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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11 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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12 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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13 allied | |
adj.协约国的;同盟国的 | |
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14 elation | |
n.兴高采烈,洋洋得意 | |
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15 scout | |
n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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16 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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17 wireless | |
adj.无线的;n.无线电 | |
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18 portico | |
n.柱廊,门廊 | |
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19 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
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20 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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21 wink | |
n.眨眼,使眼色,瞬间;v.眨眼,使眼色,闪烁 | |
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22 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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23 exultation | |
n.狂喜,得意 | |
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24 diplomat | |
n.外交官,外交家;能交际的人,圆滑的人 | |
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25 chancellorship | |
长官的职位或任期 | |
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26 clinched | |
v.(尤指两人)互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 );解决(争端、交易),达成(协议) | |
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27 intrigues | |
n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 );神秘气氛;引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 );激起…的好奇心 | |
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28 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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29 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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30 exuberant | |
adj.充满活力的;(植物)繁茂的 | |
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31 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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32 hostilities | |
n.战争;敌意(hostility的复数);敌对状态;战事 | |
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33 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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34 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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35 precarious | |
adj.不安定的,靠不住的;根据不足的 | |
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36 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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37 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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38 warships | |
军舰,战舰( warship的名词复数 ); 舰只 | |
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39 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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40 champagne | |
n.香槟酒;微黄色 | |
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41 discordant | |
adj.不调和的 | |
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42 vibrations | |
n.摆动( vibration的名词复数 );震动;感受;(偏离平衡位置的)一次性往复振动 | |
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43 intelligible | |
adj.可理解的,明白易懂的,清楚的 | |
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44 plucky | |
adj.勇敢的 | |
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45 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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46 hoist | |
n.升高,起重机,推动;v.升起,升高,举起 | |
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47 prohibitions | |
禁令,禁律( prohibition的名词复数 ); 禁酒; 禁例 | |
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48 subscription | |
n.预订,预订费,亲笔签名,调配法,下标(处方) | |
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49 subscriptions | |
n.(报刊等的)订阅费( subscription的名词复数 );捐款;(俱乐部的)会员费;捐助 | |
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50 patriotism | |
n.爱国精神,爱国心,爱国主义 | |
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51 stimulated | |
a.刺激的 | |
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52 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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53 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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54 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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55 emanating | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的现在分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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56 discoursing | |
演说(discourse的现在分词形式) | |
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57 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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58 seizure | |
n.没收;占有;抵押 | |
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59 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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60 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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61 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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62 subterfuge | |
n.诡计;藉口 | |
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63 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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64 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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65 entente | |
n.协定;有协定关系的各国 | |
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66 diplomats | |
n.外交官( diplomat的名词复数 );有手腕的人,善于交际的人 | |
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67 adorn | |
vt.使美化,装饰 | |
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68 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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69 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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70 expenditures | |
n.花费( expenditure的名词复数 );使用;(尤指金钱的)支出额;(精力、时间、材料等的)耗费 | |
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71 pretension | |
n.要求;自命,自称;自负 | |
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72 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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73 blandly | |
adv.温和地,殷勤地 | |
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74 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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75 dressing | |
n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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76 thereby | |
adv.因此,从而 | |
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77 conclusive | |
adj.最后的,结论的;确凿的,消除怀疑的 | |
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78 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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79 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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80 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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81 vouch | |
v.担保;断定;n.被担保者 | |
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82 authentic | |
a.真的,真正的;可靠的,可信的,有根据的 | |
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83 momentous | |
adj.重要的,重大的 | |
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84 harmonious | |
adj.和睦的,调和的,和谐的,协调的 | |
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85 fictitious | |
adj.虚构的,假设的;空头的 | |
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86 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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87 soothingly | |
adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
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88 diminutive | |
adj.小巧可爱的,小的 | |
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