Black was the mouth of Twynham Castle, though a pair of torches burning at the further end of the gateway2 cast a red glare over the outer bailey, and sent a dim, ruddy flicker3 through the rough-hewn arch, rising and falling with fitful brightness. Over the door the travellers could discern the escutcheon of the Montacutes, a roebuck gules on a field argent, flanked on either side by smaller shields which bore the red roses of the veteran constable4. As they passed over the drawbridge, Alleyne marked the gleam of arms in the embrasures to right and left, and they had scarce set foot upon the causeway ere a hoarse6 blare burst from a bugle7, and, with screech8 of hinge and clank of chain, the ponderous9 bridge swung up into the air, drawn10 by unseen hands. At the same instant the huge portcullis came rattling11 down from above, and shut off the last fading light of day. Sir Nigel and his lady walked on in deep talk, while a fat under-steward12 took charge of the three comrades, and led them to the buttery, where beef, bread, and beer were kept ever in readiness for the wayfarer13. After a hearty14 meal and a dip in the trough to wash the dust from them, they strolled forth15 into the bailey, where the bowman peered about through the darkness at wall and at keep, with the carping eyes of one who has seen something of sieges, and is not likely to be satisfied. To Alleyne and to John, however, it appeared to be as great and as stout16 a fortress17 as could be built by the hands of man.
Erected18 by Sir Balwin de Redvers in the old fighting days of the twelfth century, when men thought much of war and little of comfort, Castle Twynham had been designed as a stronghold pure and simple, unlike those later and more magnificent structures where warlike strength had been combined with the magnificence of a palace. From the time of the Edwards such buildings as Conway or Caernarvon castles, to say nothing of Royal Windsor, had shown that it was possible to secure luxury in peace as well as security in times of trouble. Sir Nigel's trust, however, still frowned above the smooth-flowing waters of the Avon, very much as the stern race of early Anglo-Normans had designed it. There were the broad outer and inner bailies, not paved, but sown with grass to nourish the sheep and cattle which might be driven in on sign of danger. All round were high and turreted19 walls, with at the corner a bare square-faced keep, gaunt and windowless, rearing up from a lofty mound20, which made it almost inaccessible21 to an assailant. Against the bailey-walls were rows of frail22 wooden houses and leaning sheds, which gave shelter to the archers24 and men-at-arms who formed the garrison25. The doors of these humble26 dwellings28 were mostly open, and against the yellow glare from within Alleyne could see the bearded fellows cleaning their harness, while their wives would come out for a gossip, with their needlework in their hands, and their long black shadows streaming across the yard. The air was full of the clack of their voices and the merry prattling29 of children, in strange contrast to the flash of arms and constant warlike challenge from the walls above.
“Methinks a company of school lads could hold this place against an army,” quoth John.
“And so say I,” said Alleyne.
“Nay30, there you are wide of the clout,” the bowman said gravely. “By my hilt! I have seen a stronger fortalice carried in a summer evening. I remember such a one in Picardy, with a name as long as a Gascon's pedigree. It was when I served under Sir Robert Knolles, before the days of the Company; and we came by good plunder31 at the sacking of it. I had myself a great silver bowl, with two goblets32, and a plastron of Spanish steel. Pasques Dieu! there are some fine women over yonder! Mort de ma vie! see to that one in the doorway33! I will go speak to her. But whom have we here?”
“Is there an archer23 here hight Sam Aylward?” asked a gaunt man-at-arms, clanking up to them across the courtyard.
“My name, friend,” quoth the bowman.
“Then sure I have no need to tell thee mine,” said the other.
“By the rood! if it is not Black Simon of Norwich!” cried Aylward. “A mon coeur, camarade, a mon coeur! Ah, but I am blithe34 to see thee!” The two fell upon each other and hugged like bears.
“And where from, old blood and bones?” asked the bowman.
“I am in service here. Tell me, comrade, is it sooth that we shall have another fling at these Frenchmen? It is so rumored36 in the guard-room, and that Sir Nigel will take the field once more.”
“It is like enough, mon gar., as things go.”
“Now may the Lord be praised!” cried the other. “This very night will I set apart a golden ouche to be offered on the shrine37 of my name-saint. I have pined for this, Aylward, as a young maid pines for her lover.”
“Art so set on plunder then? Is the purse so light that there is not enough for a rouse? I have a bag at my belt, camarade, and you have but to put your fist into it for what you want. It was ever share and share between us.”
“Nay, friend, it is not the Frenchman's gold, but the Frenchman's blood that I would have. I should not rest quiet in the grave, coz, if I had not another turn at them. For with us in France it has ever been fair and honest war—a shut fist for the man, but a bended knee for the woman. But how was it at Winchelsea when their galleys38 came down upon it some few years back? I had an old mother there, lad, who had come down thither39 from the Midlands to be the nearer her son. They found her afterwards by her own hearthstone, thrust through by a Frenchman's bill. My second sister, my brother's wife, and her two children, they were but ash-heaps in the smoking ruins of their house. I will not say that we have not wrought40 great scath upon France, but women and children have been safe from us. And so, old friend, my heart is hot within me, and I long to hear the old battle-cry again, and, by God's truth! if Sir Nigel unfurls his pennon, here is one who will be right glad to feel the saddle-flaps under his knees.”
“We have seen good work together, old war-dog,” quoth Aylward; “and, by my hilt! we may hope to see more ere we die. But we are more like to hawk41 at the Spanish woodcock than at the French heron, though certes it is rumored that Du Guesclin with all the best lances of France have taken service under the lions and towers of Castile. But, comrade, it is in my mind that there is some small matter of dispute still open between us.”
“'Fore God, it is sooth!” cried the other; “I had forgot it. The provost-marshal and his men tore us apart when last we met.”
“On which, friend, we vowed42 that we should settle the point when next we came together. Hast thy sword, I see, and the moon throws glimmer44 enough for such old night-birds as we. On guard, mon gar.! I have not heard clink of steel this month or more.”
“Out from the shadow then,” said the other, drawing his sword. “A vow43 is a vow, and not lightly to be broken.”
“A vow to the saints,” cried Alleyne, “is indeed not to be set aside; but this is a devil's vow, and, simple clerk as I am, I am yet the mouthpiece of the true church when I say that it were mortal sin to fight on such a quarrel. What! shall two grown men carry malice45 for years, and fly like snarling46 curs at each other's throats?”
“No malice, my young clerk, no malice,” quoth Black Simon. “I have not a bitter drop in my heart for mine old comrade; but the quarrel, as he hath told you, is still open and unsettled. Fall on, Aylward!”
“Not whilst I can stand between you,” cried Alleyne, springing before the bowman. “It is shame and sin to see two Christian47 Englishmen turn swords against each other like the frenzied48 bloodthirsty paynim.”
“And, what is more,” said Hordle John, suddenly appearing out of the buttery with the huge board upon which the pastry49 was rolled, “if either raise sword I shall flatten50 him like a Shrovetide pancake. By the black rood! I shall drive him into the earth, like a nail into a door, rather than see you do scath to each other.”
“'Fore God, this is a strange way of preaching peace,” cried Black Simon. “You may find the scath yourself, my lusty friend, if you raise your great cudgel to me. I had as lief have the castle drawbridge drop upon my pate51.”
“Tell me, Aylward,” said Alleyne earnestly, with his hands outstretched to keep the pair asunder52, “what is the cause of quarrel, that we may see whether honorable settlement may not be arrived at?”
The bowman looked down at his feet and then up at the moon, “Parbleu!” he cried, “the cause of quarrel? Why, mon petit, it was years ago in Limousin, and how can I bear in mind what was the cause of it? Simon there hath it at the end of his tongue.”
“Not I, in troth,” replied the other; “I have had other things to think of. There was some sort of bickering53 over dice54, or wine, or was it a woman, coz?”
“Pasques Dieu! but you have nicked it,” cried Aylward. “It was indeed about a woman; and the quarrel must go forward, for I am still of the same mind as before.”
“What of the woman, then?” asked Simon. “May the murrain strike me if I can call to mind aught about her.”
“It was La Blanche Rose, maid at the sign of the 'Trois Corbeaux' at Limoges. Bless her pretty heart! Why, mon gar., I loved her.”
“So did a many,” quoth Simon. “I call her to mind now. On the very day that we fought over the little hussy, she went off with Evan ap Price, a long-legged Welsh dagsman. They have a hostel55 of their own now, somewhere on the banks of the Garonne, where the landlord drinks so much of the liquor that there is little left for the customers.”
“So ends our quarrel, then,” said Aylward, sheathing56 his sword. “A Welsh dagsman, i' faith! C'etait mauvais gout, camarade, and the more so when she had a jolly archer and a lusty man-at-arms to choose from.”
“True, old lad. And it is as well that we can compose our differences honorably, for Sir Nigel had been out at the first clash of steel; and he hath sworn that if there be quarrelling in the garrison he would smite57 the right hand from the broilers. You know him of old, and that he is like to be as good as his word.”
“Mort-Dieu! yes. But there are ale, mead58, and wine in the buttery, and the steward a merry rogue59, who will not haggle60 over a quart or two. Buvons, mon gar., for it is not every day that two old friends come together.”
The old soldiers and Hordle John strode off together in all good fellowship. Alleyne had turned to follow them, when he felt a touch upon his shoulder, and found a young page by his side.
“The Lord Loring commands,” said the boy, “that you will follow me to the great chamber61, and await him there.”
“But my comrades?”
“His commands were for you alone.”
Alleyne followed the messenger to the east end of the courtyard, where a broad flight of steps led up to the doorway of the main hall, the outer wall of which is washed by the waters of the Avon. As designed at first, no dwelling27 had been allotted62 to the lord of the castle and his family but the dark and dismal63 basement story of the keep. A more civilized64 or more effeminate generation, however, had refused to be pent up in such a cellar, and the hall with its neighboring chambers65 had been added for their accommodation. Up the broad steps Alleyne went, still following his boyish guide, until at the folding oak doors the latter paused, and ushered66 him into the main hall of the castle.
On entering the room the clerk looked round; but, seeing no one, he continued to stand, his cap in his hand, examining with the greatest interest a chamber which was so different to any to which he was accustomed. The days had gone by when a nobleman's hall was but a barn-like, rush-strewn enclosure, the common lounge and eating-room of every inmate67 of the castle. The Crusaders had brought back with them experiences of domestic luxuries, of Damascus carpets and rugs of Aleppo, which made them impatient of the hideous68 bareness and want of privacy which they found in their ancestral strongholds. Still stronger, however, had been the influence of the great French war; for, however well matched the nations might be in martial69 exercises, there could be no question but that our neighbors were infinitely70 superior to us in the arts of peace. A stream of returning knights71, of wounded soldiers, and of unransomed French noblemen, had been for a quarter of a century continually pouring into England, every one of whom exerted an influence in the direction of greater domestic refinement73, while shiploads of French furniture from Calais, Rouen, and other plundered74 towns, had supplied our own artisans with models on which to shape their work. Hence, in most English castles, and in Castle Twynham among the rest, chambers were to be found which would seem to be not wanting either in beauty or in comfort.
In the great stone fireplace a log fire was spurting75 and crackling, throwing out a ruddy glare which, with the four bracket-lamps which stood at each corner of the room, gave a bright and lightsome air to the whole apartment. Above was a wreath-work of blazonry, extending up to the carved and corniced oaken roof; while on either side stood the high canopied76 chairs placed for the master of the house and for his most honored guest. The walls were hung all round with most elaborate and brightly colored tapestry78, representing the achievements of Sir Bevis of Hampton, and behind this convenient screen were stored the tables dormant79 and benches which would be needed for banquet or high festivity. The floor was of polished tiles, with a square of red and black diapered Flemish carpet in the centre; and many settees, cushions, folding chairs, and carved bancals littered all over it. At the further end was a long black buffet80 or dresser, thickly covered with gold cups, silver salvers, and other such valuables. All this Alleyne examined with curious eyes; but most interesting of all to him was a small ebony table at his very side, on which, by the side of a chess-board and the scattered81 chessmen, there lay an open manuscript written in a right clerkly hand, and set forth with brave flourishes and devices along the margins82. In vain Alleyne bethought him of where he was, and of those laws of good breeding and decorum which should restrain him: those colored capitals and black even lines drew his hand down to them, as the loadstone draws the needle, until, almost before he knew it, he was standing83 with the romance of Garin de Montglane before his eyes, so absorbed in its contents as to be completely oblivious84 both of where he was and why he had come there.
He was brought back to himself, however, by a sudden little ripple85 of quick feminine laughter. Aghast, he dropped the manuscript among the chessmen and stared in bewilderment round the room. It was as empty and as still as ever. Again he stretched his hand out to the romance, and again came that roguish burst of merriment. He looked up at the ceiling, back at the closed door, and round at the stiff folds of motionless tapestry. Of a sudden, however, he caught a quick shimmer86 from the corner of a high-backed bancal in front of him, and, shifting a pace or two to the side, saw a white slender hand, which held a mirror of polished silver in such a way that the concealed87 observer could see without being seen. He stood irresolute88, uncertain whether to advance or to take no notice; but, even as he hesitated, the mirror was whipped in, and a tall and stately young lady swept out from behind the oaken screen, with a dancing light of mischief89 in her eyes. Alleyne started with astonishment90 as he recognized the very maiden91 who had suffered from his brother's violence in the forest. She no longer wore her gay riding-dress, however, but was attired93 in a long sweeping94 robe of black velvet95 of Bruges, with delicate tracery of white lace at neck and at wrist, scarce to be seen against her ivory skin. Beautiful as she had seemed to him before, the lithe35 charm of her figure and the proud, free grace of her bearing were enhanced now by the rich simplicity96 of her attire92.
“Ah, you start,” said she, with the same sidelong look of mischief, “and I cannot marvel97 at it. Didst not look to see the distressed99 damosel again. Oh that I were a minstrel, that I might put it into rhyme, with the whole romance—the luckless maid, the wicked socman, and the virtuous100 clerk! So might our fame have gone down together for all time, and you be numbered with Sir Percival or Sir Galahad, or all the other rescuers of oppressed ladies.”
“What I did,” said Alleyne, “was too small a thing for thanks; and yet, if I may say it without offence, it was too grave and near a matter for mirth and raillery. I had counted on my brother's love, but God has willed that it should be otherwise. It is a joy to me to see you again, lady, and to know that you have reached home in safety, if this be indeed your home.”
“Yes, in sooth, Castle Twynham is my home, and Sir Nigel Loring my father. I should have told you so this morning, but you said that you were coming thither, so I bethought me that I might hold it back as a surprise to you. Oh dear, but it was brave to see you!” she cried, bursting out a-laughing once more, and standing with her hand pressed to her side, and her half-closed eyes twinkling with amusement. “You drew back and came forward with your eyes upon my book there, like the mouse who sniffs101 the cheese and yet dreads102 the trap.”
“I take shame,” said Alleyne, “that I should have touched it.”
“Nay, it warmed my very heart to see it. So glad was I, that I laughed for very pleasure. My fine preacher can himself be tempted103 then, thought I; he is not made of another clay to the rest of us.”
“God help me! I am the weakest of the weak,” groaned104 Alleyne. “I pray that I may have more strength.”
“And to what end?” she asked sharply. “If you are, as I understand, to shut yourself forever in your cell within the four walls of an abbey, then of what use would it be were your prayer to be answered?”
“The use of my own salvation105.”
She turned from him with a pretty shrug106 and wave. “Is that all?” she said. “Then you are no better than Father Christopher and the rest of them. Your own, your own, ever your own! My father is the king's man, and when he rides into the press of fight he is not thinking ever of the saving of his own poor body; he recks little enough if he leave it on the field. Why then should you, who are soldiers of the Spirit, be ever moping or hiding in cell or in cave, with minds full of your own concerns, while the world, which you should be mending, is going on its way, and neither sees nor hears you? Were ye all as thoughtless of your own souls as the soldier is of his body, ye would be of more avail to the souls of others.”
“There is sooth in what you say, lady,” Alleyne answered; “and yet I scarce can see what you would have the clergy107 and the church to do.”
“I would have them live as others and do men's work in the world, preaching by their lives rather than their words. I would have them come forth from their lonely places, mix with the borel folks, feel the pains and the pleasures, the cares and the rewards, the temptings and the stirrings of the common people. Let them toil108 and swinken, and labor77, and plough the land, and take wives to themselves——”
“Alas109! alas!” cried Alleyne aghast, “you have surely sucked this poison from the man Wicliffe, of whom I have heard such evil things.”
“Nay, I know him not. I have learned it by looking from my own chamber window and marking these poor monks110 of the priory, their weary life, their profitless round. I have asked myself if the best which can be done with virtue111 is to shut it within high walls as though it were some savage112 creature. If the good will lock themselves up, and if the wicked will still wander free, then alas for the world!”
Alleyne looked at her in astonishment, for her cheek was flushed, her eyes gleaming, and her whole pose full of eloquence113 and conviction. Yet in an instant she had changed again to her old expression of merriment leavened114 with mischief.
“Wilt115 do what I ask?” said she.
“What is it, lady?”
“Oh, most ungallant clerk! A true knight72 would never have asked, but would have vowed upon the instant. 'Tis but to bear me out in what I say to my father.”
“In what?”
“In saying, if he ask, that it was south of the Christchurch road that I met you. I shall be shut up with the tire-women else, and have a week of spindle and bodkin, when I would fain be galloping117 Troubadour up Wilverley Walk, or loosing little Roland at the Vinney Ridge5 herons.”
“I shall not answer him if he ask.”
“Not answer! But he will have an answer. Nay, but you must not fail me, or it will go ill with me.”
“But, lady,” cried poor Alleyne in great distress98, “how can I say that it was to the south of the road when I know well that it was four miles to the north.”
“You will not say it?”
“Surely you will not, too, when you know that it is not so?”
“Oh, I weary of your preaching!” she cried, and swept away with a toss of her beautiful head, leaving Alleyne as cast down and ashamed as though he had himself proposed some infamous118 thing. She was back again in an instant, however, in another of her varying moods.
“Look at that, my friend!” said she. “If you had been shut up in abbey or in cell this day you could not have taught a wayward maiden to abide119 by the truth. Is it not so? What avail is the shepherd if he leaves his sheep.”
“A sorry shepherd!” said Alleyne humbly120. “But here is your noble father.”
“And you shall see how worthy121 a pupil I am. Father, I am much beholden to this young clerk, who was of service to me and helped me this very morning in Minstead Woods, four miles to the north of the Christchurch road, where I had no call to be, you having ordered it otherwise.” All this she reeled off in a loud voice, and then glanced with sidelong, questioning eyes at Alleyne for his approval.
Sir Nigel, who had entered the room with a silvery-haired old lady upon his arm, stared aghast at this sudden outburst of candor122.
“Maude, Maude!” said he, shaking his head, “it is more hard for me to gain obedience123 from you than from the ten score drunken archers who followed me to Guienne. Yet, hush124! little one, for your fair lady-mother will be here anon, and there is no need that she should know it. We will keep you from the provost-marshal this journey. Away to your chamber, sweeting, and keep a blithe face, for she who confesses is shriven. And now, fair mother,” he continued, when his daughter had gone, “sit you here by the fire, for your blood runs colder than it did. Alleyne Edricson, I would have a word with you, for I would fain that you should take service under me. And here in good time comes my lady, without whose counsel it is not my wont125 to decide aught of import; but, indeed, it was her own thought that you should come.”
“For I have formed a good opinion of you, and can see that you are one who may be trusted,” said the Lady Loring. “And in good sooth my dear lord hath need of such a one by his side, for he recks so little of himself that there should be one there to look to his needs and meet his wants. You have seen the cloisters126; it were well that you should see the world too, ere you make choice for life between them.”
“It was for that very reason that my father willed that I should come forth into the world at my twentieth year,” said Alleyne.
“Then your father was a man of good counsel,” said she, “and you cannot carry out his will better than by going on this path, where all that is noble and gallant116 in England will be your companions.”
“You can ride?” asked Sir Nigel, looking at the youth with puckered127 eyes.
“Yes, I have ridden much at the abbey.”
“Yet there is a difference betwixt a friar's hack128 and a warrior's destrier. You can sing and play?”
“On citole, flute129 and rebeck.”
“Good! You can read blazonry?”
“Indifferent well.”
“Then read this,” quoth Sir Nigel, pointing upwards130 to one of the many quarterings which adorned131 the wall over the fireplace.
“Argent,” Alleyne answered, “a fess azure132 charged with three lozenges dividing three mullets sable133. Over all, on an escutcheon of the first, a jambe gules.”
“A jambe gules erased,” said Sir Nigel, shaking his head solemnly. “Yet it is not amiss for a monk-bred man. I trust that you are lowly and serviceable?”
“I have served all my life, my lord.”
“Canst carve too?”
“I have carved two days a week for the brethren.”
“A model truly! Wilt make a squire134 of squires135. But tell me, I pray, canst curl hair?”
“No, my lord, but I could learn.”
“It is of import,” said he, “for I love to keep my hair well ordered, seeing that the weight of my helmet for thirty years hath in some degree frayed136 it upon the top.” He pulled off his velvet cap of maintenance as he spoke137, and displayed a pate which was as bald as an egg, and shone bravely in the firelight. “You see,” said he, whisking round, and showing one little strip where a line of scattered hairs, like the last survivors138 in some fatal field, still barely held their own against the fate which had fallen upon their comrades; “these locks need some little oiling and curling, for I doubt not that if you look slantwise at my head, when the light is good, you will yourself perceive that there are places where the hair is sparse139.”
“It is for you also to bear the purse,” said the lady; “for my sweet lord is of so free and gracious a temper that he would give it gayly to the first who asked alms of him. All these things, with some knowledge of venerie, and of the management of horse, hawk and hound, with the grace and hardihood and courtesy which are proper to your age, will make you a fit squire for Sir Nigel Loring.”
“Alas! lady,” Alleyne answered, “I know well the great honor that you have done me in deeming me worthy to wait upon so renowned140 a knight, yet I am so conscious of my own weakness that I scarce dare incur141 duties which I might be so ill-fitted to fulfil.”
“Modesty and a humble mind,” said she, “are the very first and rarest gifts in page or squire. Your words prove that you have these, and all the rest is but the work of use and time. But there is no call for haste. Rest upon it for the night, and let your orisons ask for guidance in the matter. We knew your father well, and would fain help his son, though we have small cause to love your brother the Socman, who is forever stirring up strife142 in the county.”
“We can scare hope,” said Nigel, “to have all ready for our start before the feast of St. Luke, for there is much to be done in the time. You will have leisure, therefore, if it please you to take service under me, in which to learn your devoir. Bertrand, my daughter's page, is hot to go; but in sooth he is over young for such rough work as may be before us.”
“And I have one favor to crave143 from you,” added the lady of the castle, as Alleyne turned to leave their presence. “You have, as I understand, much learning which you have acquired at Beaulieu.”
“Little enough, lady, compared with those who were my teachers.”
“Yet enough for my purpose, I doubt not. For I would have you give an hour or two a day whilst you are with us in discoursing144 with my daughter, the Lady Maude; for she is somewhat backward, I fear, and hath no love for letters, save for these poor fond romances, which do but fill her empty head with dreams of enchanted145 maidens146 and of errant cavaliers. Father Christopher comes over after nones from the priory, but he is stricken with years and slow of speech, so that she gets small profit from his teaching. I would have you do what you can with her, and with Agatha my young tire-woman, and with Dorothy Pierpont.”
And so Alleyne found himself not only chosen as squire to a knight but also as squire to three damosels, which was even further from the part which he had thought to play in the world. Yet he could but agree to do what he might, and so went forth from the castle hall with his face flushed and his head in a whirl at the thought of the strange and perilous paths which his feet were destined147 to tread.
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1 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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2 gateway | |
n.大门口,出入口,途径,方法 | |
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3 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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4 constable | |
n.(英国)警察,警官 | |
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5 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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6 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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7 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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8 screech | |
n./v.尖叫;(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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9 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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10 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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11 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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12 steward | |
n.乘务员,服务员;看管人;膳食管理员 | |
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13 wayfarer | |
n.旅人 | |
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14 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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17 fortress | |
n.堡垒,防御工事 | |
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18 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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19 turreted | |
a.(像炮塔般)旋转式的 | |
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20 mound | |
n.土墩,堤,小山;v.筑堤,用土堆防卫 | |
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21 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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22 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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23 archer | |
n.射手,弓箭手 | |
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24 archers | |
n.弓箭手,射箭运动员( archer的名词复数 ) | |
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25 garrison | |
n.卫戍部队;驻地,卫戍区;vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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26 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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27 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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28 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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29 prattling | |
v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话( prattle的现在分词 );发出连续而无意义的声音;闲扯;东拉西扯 | |
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30 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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31 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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32 goblets | |
n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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33 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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34 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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35 lithe | |
adj.(指人、身体)柔软的,易弯的 | |
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36 rumored | |
adj.传说的,谣传的v.传闻( rumor的过去式和过去分词 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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37 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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38 galleys | |
n.平底大船,战舰( galley的名词复数 );(船上或航空器上的)厨房 | |
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39 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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40 wrought | |
v.引起;以…原料制作;运转;adj.制造的 | |
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41 hawk | |
n.鹰,骗子;鹰派成员 | |
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42 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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43 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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44 glimmer | |
v.发出闪烁的微光;n.微光,微弱的闪光 | |
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45 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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46 snarling | |
v.(指狗)吠,嗥叫, (人)咆哮( snarl的现在分词 );咆哮着说,厉声地说 | |
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47 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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48 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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49 pastry | |
n.油酥面团,酥皮糕点 | |
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50 flatten | |
v.把...弄平,使倒伏;使(漆等)失去光泽 | |
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51 pate | |
n.头顶;光顶 | |
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52 asunder | |
adj.分离的,化为碎片 | |
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53 bickering | |
v.争吵( bicker的现在分词 );口角;(水等)作潺潺声;闪烁 | |
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54 dice | |
n.骰子;vt.把(食物)切成小方块,冒险 | |
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55 hostel | |
n.(学生)宿舍,招待所 | |
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56 sheathing | |
n.覆盖物,罩子v.将(刀、剑等)插入鞘( sheathe的现在分词 );包,覆盖 | |
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57 smite | |
v.重击;彻底击败;n.打;尝试;一点儿 | |
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58 mead | |
n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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59 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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60 haggle | |
vi.讨价还价,争论不休 | |
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61 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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62 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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64 civilized | |
a.有教养的,文雅的 | |
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65 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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66 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 inmate | |
n.被收容者;(房屋等的)居住人;住院人 | |
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68 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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69 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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70 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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71 knights | |
骑士; (中古时代的)武士( knight的名词复数 ); 骑士; 爵士; (国际象棋中)马 | |
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72 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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73 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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74 plundered | |
掠夺,抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 spurting | |
(液体,火焰等)喷出,(使)涌出( spurt的现在分词 ); (短暂地)加速前进,冲刺; 溅射 | |
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76 canopied | |
adj. 遮有天篷的 | |
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77 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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78 tapestry | |
n.挂毯,丰富多采的画面 | |
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79 dormant | |
adj.暂停活动的;休眠的;潜伏的 | |
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80 buffet | |
n.自助餐;饮食柜台;餐台 | |
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81 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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82 margins | |
边( margin的名词复数 ); 利润; 页边空白; 差数 | |
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83 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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84 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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85 ripple | |
n.涟波,涟漪,波纹,粗钢梳;vt.使...起涟漪,使起波纹; vi.呈波浪状,起伏前进 | |
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86 shimmer | |
v./n.发微光,发闪光;微光 | |
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87 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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88 irresolute | |
adj.无决断的,优柔寡断的,踌躇不定的 | |
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89 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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90 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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91 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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92 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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93 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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95 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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96 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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97 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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98 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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99 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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100 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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101 sniffs | |
v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的第三人称单数 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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102 dreads | |
n.恐惧,畏惧( dread的名词复数 );令人恐惧的事物v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103 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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104 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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105 salvation | |
n.(尤指基督)救世,超度,拯救,解困 | |
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106 shrug | |
v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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107 clergy | |
n.[总称]牧师,神职人员 | |
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108 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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109 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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110 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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111 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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112 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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113 eloquence | |
n.雄辩;口才,修辞 | |
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114 leavened | |
adj.加酵母的v.使(面团)发酵( leaven的过去式和过去分词 );在…中掺入改变的因素 | |
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115 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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116 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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117 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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118 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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119 abide | |
vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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120 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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121 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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122 candor | |
n.坦白,率真 | |
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123 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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124 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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125 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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126 cloisters | |
n.(学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的)走廊( cloister的名词复数 );回廊;修道院的生活;隐居v.隐退,使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127 puckered | |
v.(使某物)起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128 hack | |
n.劈,砍,出租马车;v.劈,砍,干咳 | |
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129 flute | |
n.长笛;v.吹笛 | |
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130 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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131 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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132 azure | |
adj.天蓝色的,蔚蓝色的 | |
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133 sable | |
n.黑貂;adj.黑色的 | |
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134 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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135 squires | |
n.地主,乡绅( squire的名词复数 ) | |
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136 frayed | |
adj.磨损的v.(使布、绳等)磨损,磨破( fray的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137 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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138 survivors | |
幸存者,残存者,生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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139 sparse | |
adj.稀疏的,稀稀落落的,薄的 | |
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140 renowned | |
adj.著名的,有名望的,声誉鹊起的 | |
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141 incur | |
vt.招致,蒙受,遭遇 | |
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142 strife | |
n.争吵,冲突,倾轧,竞争 | |
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143 crave | |
vt.渴望得到,迫切需要,恳求,请求 | |
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144 discoursing | |
演说(discourse的现在分词形式) | |
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145 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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146 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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147 destined | |
adj.命中注定的;(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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