The old squire1 and Cummiskey lost little time in getting over the ground to the town of Sligo, and, in order to reach it the more quickly, they took a short cut by the old road which we have described at the beginning of this narrative2. On arriving at that part of it from which they could view the spot where Reilly rescued them from the murderous violence of the Red Rapparee, Cummiskey pointed4 to it.
“Does your honor remember that place, where you see the ould buildin'?”
“Yes, I think so. Is not that the place where the cursed Rapparee attacked us?”
“It is, sir; and where poor Reilly saved both our lives; and yet your honor is goin' to hang him.”
“You know nothing about it, you old blockhead. It was all a plan got up by Reilly and the Rapparee for the purpose of getting introduced to my daughter, for his own base and selfish purposes. Yes, I'll hang him certainly—no doubt of that.”
“Well, sir,” replied Cummiskey, “it's one comfort that he won't hang by himself.”
“No,” said the other, “he and the Rapparee will stretch the same rope.”
“The Rapparee! faith, sir, hell have worse company.”
“What do you mean, sirra?”
“Why, Sir Robert Whitecraft, sir; he always had gallows6 written in his face; but, upon my soul, he'll soon have it about his neck, please God.”
“Faith, I'm afraid you are not far from the truth, Cummiskey,” replied his master; “however, I am going to make arrangements with him, to see what can be done for the unfortunate man.”
“If you'll take my advice, sir, you'll have nothing to do with him. Keep your hand out o' the pot; there's no man can skim boiling lead with his hand and not burn his fingers—but a tinker.”
“Don't be saucy7, you old dog; but ride on, for I must put Black Tom to his speed.”
On arriving at the prison, the squire found Sir Robert pent up in a miserable8 cell, with a table screwed to the floor, a pallet bed, and a deal form. Perhaps his comfort might have been improved through the medium of his purse, were it not that the Prison Board had held a meeting that very day, subsequent to his committal, in which, with some dissentients, they considered it their duty to warn the jailer against granting him any indulgence beyond what he was entitled to as a felon9, and this under pain of their earnest displeasure.
When the squire entered he found the melancholy10 baronet and priest-hunter sitting upon the hard form, his head hanging down upon his breast, or, indeed, we might say much farther; for, in consequence of the almost unnatural11 length of his neck, it appeared on that occasion to be growing out of the middle of his body, or of that fleshless vertebral column which passed for one.
“Well, baronet,” exclaimed Folliard pretty loudly, “here's an exchange! from the altar to the halter; from the matrimonial noose12 to honest Jack13 Ketch's—and a devilish good escape it would be to many unfortunate wretches14 in this same world.”
“Oh, Mr. Folliard,” said the baronet, “is not this miserable? What will become of me?”
“Now, I tell you what, Whitecraft, I am come to speak to you upon your position; but before I go farther, let me say a word or two to make you repent15, if possible, for what you have done to others.”
“For what I have done, Mr. Folliard! why should I not repent, when I find I am to be hanged for it?”
“Oh, hanged you will be, there is no doubt of that; but now consider a little; here you are with a brown loaf, and—is that water in the jug16?”
“It is.”
“Very well; here you are, hard and fast, you who were accustomed to luxuries, to the richest meats, and the richest wines—here you are with a brown loaf, a jug of water, and the gallows before you! However, if you wish to repent truly and sincerely, reflect upon the numbers that you and your bloodhounds have consigned17 to places like this, and sent from this to the gibbet, while you were rioting in luxury and triumph. Good God, sir, hold up your head, and be a man. What if you are hanged? Many a better man was. Hold up your head, I say.”
“I can't, my dear Folliard; it won't stay up for me.”
“Egad! and you'll soon get a receipt for holding it up. Why the mischief19 can't you have spunk20?”
“Spunk; how the deuce could you expect spunk from any man in my condition? It is difficult to understand you, Mr. Folliard; you told me a minute ago to repent, and now you tell me to have spunk; pray what do you mean by that?”
“Why, confound it, I mean that you should repent with spunk. However, let us come to more important matters; what can be done for you?”
“I know not; I am incapable21 of thinking on any thing but that damned gallows without; yet I should wish to make my will.”
“Your will! Why, I think you have lost your senses; don't you know that when you're hanged every shilling and acre you are possessed22 of will be forfeited23 to the crown?”
“True,” replied the other, “I had forgotten that. Could Hastings be induced to decline prosecuting24?”
“What! to compromise a felony, and be transported himself. Thank you for nothing baronet; that's rather a blue look up. No, our only plan is to try and influence the grand jury to throw out the bills; but then, again, there are indictments25 against you to no end. Hastings' case is only a single one, and, even if he failed, it would not better your condition a whit5. Under the late Administration we could have saved you by getting a packed jury; but that's out of the question now. All we can do, I think, is to get up a memorial strongly signed, supplicating26 the Lord Lieutenant27 to commute28 your sentence from hanging to transportation for life. I must confess, however, there is little hope even there. They will come down with their cursed reasoning and tell us that the rank and education of the offender29 only aggravate30 the offence; and that, if they allow a man so convicted to escape, in consequence of his high position in life, every humble31 man found guilty and executed for the same crime—is murdered. They will tell us it would be a prostitution of the prerogative32 of the Crown to connive33 at crime in the rich and punish it in the poor. And, again, there's the devil of it; your beggarly want of hospitality in the first place, and the cursed swaggering severity with which you carried out your loyalty34, by making unexpected domiciliary visits to the houses of loyal but humane35 Protestant families, with the expectation of finding a priest or a Papist under their protection: both these, I say, have made you the most unpopular man in the county; and, upon my soul, Sir Robert, I don't think there will be a man upon the grand jury whose family you have not insulted by your inveterate36 loyalty. No one, I tell! you, likes a persecutor37. Still, I say, I'll try what I can do with the grand jury. I'll see my friends and yours—if you have any now; make out a list of them in a day or two—and you may rest assured that I will leave nothing undone38 to extricate39 you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Folliard; but do you know why I am here?”
“To be sure I do.”
“No, you don't, sir. William Reilly, the Jesuit and Papist, is the cause of it, and will be the cause of my utter ruin and ignominious40 death.”
“How is that? Make it plain to me; only make that plain to me.”
“He is the bosom41 friend of Hastings, and can sway him and move him and manage him as a father would a child, or, rather, as a child would a doting42 father. Reilly, sir, is at the bottom of this, his great object always having been to prevent a marriage between me and your beautiful daughter; I, who, after all, have done so much for Protestantism, am the victim of that Jesuit and Papist.”
This vindictive43 suggestion took at once, and the impetuous old squire started as if a new light had been let in upon his mind. We call him impetuous, because, if he had reflected only for a moment upon the diabolical44 persecution45, both in person and property, which Reilly had sustained at the baronet's hands, he ought not to have blamed him had! he shot the scoundrel as if he had been one of the most rabid dogs that ever ran frothing across a country. We say the suggestion, poisoned as it was by the most specious46 falsehood, failed not to accomplish the villain47's object.
Folliard grasped him by the hand. “Never-mind,” said he; “keep yourself quiet, and leave Reilly to me; I have him,that's enough.”
“No,” replied the baronet, “it is not enough, because I know what will happen: Miss Folliard's influence over you is a proverb; now she will cajole and flatter and beguile48 you until she prevails upon you to let the treacherous49 Jesuit slip through your fingers, and then he will get off to the Continent, and laugh at you all, after having taken her with him; for there is nothing more certain, if he escapes death through your indulgence, than that you will, in the course of a few years, find yourself grandfather to a brood of young Papists; and when I say Papists, need I add rebels?”
“Come,” replied the hot-headed old man, “don't insult me; I am master of my own house, and, well as I love my daughter, I would not for a moment suffer her to interfere50 in a public matter of this or any other kind. Now good-by; keep your spirits up, and if you are to die, why die like a man.”
They then separated; and as Folliard was passing through the hatch, he called the jailer into his own office, and strove to prevail upon him, not ineffectually, to smuggle51 in some wine and other comforts to the baronet. The man told him that he would with pleasure do so if he dared; but that the caution against it which he had got that very day from the Board rendered the thing impossible. Ere the squire left him, however, his scruples52 were overcome, and the baronet, before he went to bed that night, had a rost duck for supper, with two bottles of excellent claret to wash it down and lull53 his conscience into slumber54.
“Confound it,” the squire soliloquized, on their way home, “I am as stupid as Whitecraft himself, who was never stupid until now; there have I been with him in that cursed dungeon55, and neither of us ever thought of taking measures for his defence. Why, he must have the best lawyers at the Bar, and fee them like princes. Gad18! I have a great notion to ride back and speak to him on the subject; he's in such a confounded trepidation56 about his life that he can think of nothing else. No matter, I shall write to him by a special messenger early in the morning. It would be a cursed slap in the face to have one of our leading men hanged—only, after all, for carrying out the wishes of an anti-Papist Government, who connived57 at his conduct, and encouraged him in it. I know he expected a coronet, and I have no doubt but he'd have got one had his party remained in; but now all the unfortunate devil is likely to get is a rope—and be hanged to them! However, as to my own case about Reilly—I must secure a strong bar against him; and if we can only prevail upon Helen to state the facts as they occurred, there is little doubt that he shall suffer; for hang he must, in consequence of the disgrace he has brought upon my daughter's name and mine. Whatever I might have forgiven, I will never forgive him that.”
He then rode on at a rapid pace, and did not slacken his speed until he reached home. Dinner was ready, and he sat down with none but Helen, who could scarcely touch a morsel58. Her father saw at once the state of her mind, and felt that it would be injudicious to introduce any subject that might be calculated to excite her. They accordingly talked upon commonplace topics, and each assumed as much cheerfulness, and more than they could command. It was a miserable sight, when properly understood, to see the father and daughter forced, by the painful peculiarity60 of their circumstances, thus to conceal62 their natural sentiments from each other. Love, however, is often a disturber of families, as in the case of Reilly and Cooleen Bawn; and so is an avaricious63 ambition, when united to a selfish and a sensual attachment64, as in the case of Whitecraft.
It is unnecessary now, and it would be only tedious, to dwell upon the energetic preparations that were made for the three approaching trials. Public rumor65 had taken them up and sent them abroad throughout the greater portion of the kingdom. The three culprits were notorious—Sir Robert Whitecraft, the priest-hunter and prosecutor66; the notorious Red Rapparee, whose exploits had been commemorated67 in a thousand ballads68; and “Willy Reilly,” whose love for the far-famed Cooleen Bawn, together with her unconquerable passion for him, had been known throughout the empire. In fact, the interest which the public felt in the result of the approaching trials was intense, not only in Ireland, but throughout England and Scotland, where the circumstances connected with them were borne on the wings of the press. Love, however, especially the romance of it—and here were not only romance but reality enough—love, we say, overcomes all collateral69 interests—and the history of the loves of Willy Reilly and his “dear Cooleen Bawn” even then touched the hearts of thousands, and moistened many a young eye for his calamities70 and early fate, and the sorrows of his Cooleen Bawn.
Helen's father, inspired by the devilish suggestions of Whitecraft, now kept aloof71 from her as much as he could with decency72 do. He knew his own weakness, and felt that if he suffered her to gain that portion of his society to which she had been accustomed, his resolution might break down, and the very result prognosticated by Whitecraft might be brought about. Indeed his time was so little his own, between his activity in defence of that villain and his energetic operations for the prosecution73 of Reilly, that he had not much to spare her, except at meals. It was not, however, through himself that he wished to win her over to prosecute74 Reilly. No; he felt his difficulty, and knew that he could not attempt to influence her with a good grace, or any force of argument. He resolved, therefore, to set his attorney to work, who, as he understood all the quirks75 and intricacy of the law, might be able to puzzle her into compliance76. This gentleman, however, who possessed at once a rapacious77 heart and a stupid head, might have fleeced half the country had the one been upon a par3 with the other. He was, besides, in his own estimation, a lady-killer, and knew not how these interviews with the fair Cooleen Bawn might end. He, at all events, was a sound Protestant, and if it were often said that you might as well ask a Highlander78 for a knee-buckle as an attorney for religion, he could conscientiously79 fall back upon the fact that political Protestantism and religion were very different things—for an attorney.
Instructed by Folliard, he accordingly waited upon her professionally, in her father's study, during his absence, and opened his case as follows:
“I have called upon you, Miss Folliard, by the direction of your father, professionally, and indeed I thank my stars that any professional business should give me an opportunity of admiring so far-famed a beauty.”
“Are you not Mr. Doldrum,” she asked, “the celebrated80 attorney?”
“Doldrum is certainly my name, my lovely client.”
“Well, Mr. Doldrum, I think I have heard of you; but permit me to say that before you make love, as you seem about to do, I think it better you should mention your professional business.”
“It is very simple, Miss Folliard; just to know whether you have any objection to appearing as an evidence against—he—hem—against Mr. Reilly.”
“Oh, then your business and time with me will be very brief, Mr. Doldrum. It is my intention to see justice done, and for that purpose I shall attend the trial, and if I find that my evidence will be necessary, I assure you I shall give it. But, Mr. Doldrum, one word with you before you go.”
“A hundred—a thousand, my dear lady.”
“It is this: I beg as a personal favor that you will use your great influence with my father to prevent him from talking to me on this subject until the day of trial comes. By being kind enough to do this you will save me from much anxiety and annoyance81.”
“I pledge you my honor, madam, that your wishes shall be complied with to the letter, as far, at least, as any influence of mine can accomplish them.”
“Thank you, sir; I wish you a good-morning.”
“Good-morning, madam; it shall not be my fault if you are harassed82 upon this most painful subject; and I pledge you my reputation that I never contributed to hang a man in my life with more regret than I experience in this unfortunate case.”
It is quite a common thing to find vanity and stupidity united in the same individual, as they were in Mr. Doldrum. He was Mr. Folliard's country attorney, and, in consequence of his strong Protestant politics, was engaged as the law agent of his property; and for the same reason—that is, because he was a violent, he was considered a very able man.
There is a class of men in the world who, when they once engage in a pursuit or an act of any importance, will persist in working it out, rather than be supposed, by relinquishing83 it, when they discover themselves wrong, to cast an imputation84 on their own judgments85. To such a class belonged Mr. Folliard, who never, in point of fact, acted upon any fixed86 or distinct principle whatsoever87; yet if he once took a matter into his head, under the influence of caprice or impulse, no man could evince more obstinacy88 or perseverance89, apart from all its justice or moral associations, so long, at least, as that caprice or impulse lasted. The reader may have perceived from his dialogue with Helen, on the morning appointed for her marriage with Whitecraft, that the worthy90 baronet, had he made appearance, stood a strong chance of being sent about his business as rank a bachelor as he had come. And yet, because he was cunning enough to make the hot-brained and credulous91 old man believe that Reilly was at the bottom of the plan for his destruction, and Hastings only the passive agent in his hands; we say, because he succeeded in making this impression, which he knew to be deliberately92 false, upon his plastic nature, he, Folliard, worked himself up into a vindictive bitterness peculiar61 to little minds, as well as a fixed determination that Reilly should die; not by any means so much because he took away his daughter as that his death might be marked in this conflict of parties as a set-off against that of Whitecraft.
In the meantime he and Helen entertained each a different apprehension93; he dreaded95 that she might exercise her influence over him for the purpose of softening96 him against Reilly, whom, if he had suffered himself to analyze97 his own heart, he would have found there in the shape of something very like a favorite. Helen, on the contrary, knew that she was expected to attend the trial, in order to give evidence against her lover; and she lived for a few days after his committal under the constant dread94 that her father would persecute98 her with endless arguments to induce her attendance at the assizes. Such, besides, was her love of truth and candor99, and her hatred100 of dissimulation101 in every shape, that, if either her father or the attorney had asked her, in explicit102 terms, what the tendency of her evidence was to be, she would at once have satisfied them that it should be in favor of her lover. In the meantime she felt that, as they did not press her on this point, it would have been madness to volunteer a disclosure of a matter so important to the vindication103 of Reilly's conduct. To this we may add her intimate knowledge of her father's whimsical character and unsteadiness of purpose. She was not ignorant that, even if he were absolutely aware that the tenor104 of her evidence was to go against Reilly, his mind might change so decidedly as to call upon her to give evidence in his defence. Under these circumstances she acted with singular prudence106, in never alluding107 to a topic of such difficulty, and which involved a contingency108 that might affect her lover in a double sense.
Her father's conduct, however, on this occasion, saved them both a vast deal of trouble and annoyance, and the consequence was that they met as seldom as possible. In addition to this, we may state that Doldrum communicated the successful result of his interview with Miss Folliard—her willingness to attend the trial and see justice done, upon condition that she should not have the subject obtruded109 on her, either by her father or any one else, until the appointed day should arrive, when she would punctually attend. In this state were the relative positions and feelings of father and daughter about a month before the opening of the assizes.
In the meantime the squire set himself to work for the baronet. The ablest lawyers were obtained, but Whitecraft most positively110 objected to Folliard's proposal of engaging Doldrum as his attorney; he knew the stupidity and ignorance of the man, and would have nothing to do with him as the conductor of his case. His own attorney, Mr. Sharply, was engaged; and indeed his selection of a keen and able man such as he was did credit both to his sagacity and foresight111.
Considering the state of the country at that particular period, the matter began to assume a most important aspect, A portion of the Protestant party, by which we mean those who had sanctioned all Whitecraft's brutal112 and murderous excesses, called every energy and exertion113 into work, in order to defeat the Government and protect the leading man of their own clique114. On the other hand, there was the Government, firm and decided105, by the just operation of the laws, to make an example of the man who had not only availed himself of those laws when they were with him, but who scrupled115 not to set them aside when they were against him, and to force his bloodthirsty instincts upon his own responsibility. The Government, however, were not without large and active support from those liberal Protestants, who had been disgusted and sickened by the irresponsible outrages117 of such persecutors as Whitecraft and Smellpriest. Upon those men the new Government relied, and relied with safety. The country was in a tumult118, the bigoted119 party threatened an insurrection; and they did so, not because they felt themselves in a position to effect it, but in order to alarm and intimidate120 the Government. On the other hand, the Catholics, who had given decided proofs of their loyalty by refusing to join the Pretender, now expressed their determination to support the Government if an outbreak among that section of the Protestant party to which we have just alluded122 should take place.
But perhaps the real cause of the conduct of the Government might be traced to Whitecraft's outrage116 upon a French subject in the person of the Abbe ———. The matter, as we have stated, was seriously taken up by the French Ambassador, in the name, and by the most positive instructions, of his Court. The villain Whitecraft, in consequence of that wanton and unjustifiable act, went far to involve the two nations in a bitter and bloody123 war. England was every day under the apprehension of a French invasion, which, of course, she dreaded; something must be done to satisfy the French Court. Perhaps, had it not been for this, the general outrages committed upon the unfortunate Catholics of Ireland would never have become the subject of a detailed124 investigation125. An investigation, however, took place, by which a system of the most incredible persecution was discovered, and a milder administration of the laws was found judicious59, in order to conciliate the Catholic party, and prevent them from embracing the cause of the Pretender. At all events, what between the necessity of satisfying the claims of the French Government, and in apprehension of a Catholic defection, the great and principal criminal was selected for punishment. The Irish Government, however, who were already prepared with their charges, found themselves already anticipated by Mr. Hastings, a fact which enabled them to lie on their oars126 and await the result.
Such was the state and condition of affairs as the assizes were within ten days of opening.
One evening about this time the old squire, who never remained long in the same mode of feeling, sent for his daughter to the dining-room, where he was engaged at his Burgundy. The poor girl feared that he was about to introduce the painful subject which she dreaded so much—that is to say, the necessity of giving her evidence against Reilly, After some conversation, however, she was relieved, for he did not allude121 to it; but he did to the fate of Reilly himself, the very subject which was wringing127 her heart with agony.
“Helen,” said he, “I have been thinking of Reilly's affair, and it strikes me that he may be saved, and become your husband still; because, you know, that if Whitecraft was acquitted128, now that he has been publicly disgraced, I'd see the devil picking his bones—and very hard picking he'd find them—before I'd give you to him as a wife.”
“Thank you, my dear papa; but let me ask why it is that you are so active in stirring up his party to defend such a man?”
“Foolish girl,” he replied; “it is not the man, but the cause and principle, we defend.”
“What, papa, the cause! bloodshed and persecution! I believe you to be possessed of a humane heart, papa; but, notwithstanding his character and his crimes, I do not wish the unfortunate man to be struck into the grave without repentance129.”
“Repentance, Helen! How the deuce could a man feel repentance who does not believe the Christian130 religion?”
“But then, sir, has he not the reputation of being a sound and leading Protestant?”
“Oh, hang his reputation; it is not of him I wish to speak to you, but Reilly.”
Helen's heart beat rapidly and thickly, but she spoke131 not.
“Yes,” said he, “I have a project in my head that I think may save Reilly.”
“Pray, what is it, may I ask, papa?”
“No, you may not; but to-morrow I will give him an early call, and let you know how I succeed, after my return to dinner; yes, I will tell you after dinner. But listen, Helen, it is the opinion of the baronet's friends that they will be able to save him.”
“I hope they may, sir; I should not wish to see any fellow-creature brought to an ignominious death in the midst of his offences, and in the prime of life.”
“But, on the contrary, if he swings, we are bound to sacrifice one of the Papist party for him, and Reilly is the man. Now don't look so pale, Helen—don't look as if death was settled in your face; his fate may be avoided; but ask me nothing—the project's my own, and I will communicate it to no one until after I shall have ascertained132 whether I fail in it or not.”
“I trust, sir, it will be nothing that will involve him in anything dishonorable; but why do I ask? He is incapable of that.”
“Well, well, leave the matter in my hand; and now, upon the strength of my project, I'll take another bumper133 of Burgundy, and drink to its success.”
Helen pleaded some cause for withdrawing, as she entertained an apprehension that he might introduce the topic which she most dreaded—that of her duty to give evidence against Reilly. When she was gone he began to ponder over several subjects connected with the principal characters of this narrative until he became drowsy134, during which period halters, gibbets, gallowses, hangmen, and judges jumbled135 each other alternately through his fancy, until he fell fast asleep in his easy-chair.
点击收听单词发音
1 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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2 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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3 par | |
n.标准,票面价值,平均数量;adj.票面的,平常的,标准的 | |
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4 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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5 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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6 gallows | |
n.绞刑架,绞台 | |
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7 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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8 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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9 felon | |
n.重罪犯;adj.残忍的 | |
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10 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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11 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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12 noose | |
n.绳套,绞索(刑);v.用套索捉;使落入圈套;处以绞刑 | |
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13 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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14 wretches | |
n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 );可怜的人;恶棍;坏蛋 | |
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15 repent | |
v.悔悟,悔改,忏悔,后悔 | |
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16 jug | |
n.(有柄,小口,可盛水等的)大壶,罐,盂 | |
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17 consigned | |
v.把…置于(令人不快的境地)( consign的过去式和过去分词 );把…托付给;把…托人代售;丟弃 | |
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18 gad | |
n.闲逛;v.闲逛 | |
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19 mischief | |
n.损害,伤害,危害;恶作剧,捣蛋,胡闹 | |
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20 spunk | |
n.勇气,胆量 | |
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21 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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22 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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23 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 prosecuting | |
检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 ); 对某人提起公诉; 继续从事(某事物); 担任控方律师 | |
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25 indictments | |
n.(制度、社会等的)衰败迹象( indictment的名词复数 );刑事起诉书;公诉书;控告 | |
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26 supplicating | |
v.祈求,哀求,恳求( supplicate的现在分词 ) | |
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27 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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28 commute | |
vi.乘车上下班;vt.减(刑);折合;n.上下班交通 | |
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29 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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30 aggravate | |
vt.加重(剧),使恶化;激怒,使恼火 | |
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31 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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32 prerogative | |
n.特权 | |
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33 connive | |
v.纵容;密谋 | |
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34 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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35 humane | |
adj.人道的,富有同情心的 | |
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36 inveterate | |
adj.积习已深的,根深蒂固的 | |
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37 persecutor | |
n. 迫害者 | |
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38 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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39 extricate | |
v.拯救,救出;解脱 | |
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40 ignominious | |
adj.可鄙的,不光彩的,耻辱的 | |
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41 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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42 doting | |
adj.溺爱的,宠爱的 | |
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43 vindictive | |
adj.有报仇心的,怀恨的,惩罚的 | |
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44 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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45 persecution | |
n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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46 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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47 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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48 beguile | |
vt.欺骗,消遣 | |
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49 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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50 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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51 smuggle | |
vt.私运;vi.走私 | |
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52 scruples | |
n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 );顾虑,顾忌v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53 lull | |
v.使安静,使入睡,缓和,哄骗;n.暂停,间歇 | |
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54 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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55 dungeon | |
n.地牢,土牢 | |
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56 trepidation | |
n.惊恐,惶恐 | |
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57 connived | |
v.密谋 ( connive的过去式和过去分词 );搞阴谋;默许;纵容 | |
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58 morsel | |
n.一口,一点点 | |
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59 judicious | |
adj.明智的,明断的,能作出明智决定的 | |
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60 peculiarity | |
n.独特性,特色;特殊的东西;怪癖 | |
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61 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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62 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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63 avaricious | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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64 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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65 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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66 prosecutor | |
n.起诉人;检察官,公诉人 | |
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67 commemorated | |
v.纪念,庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68 ballads | |
民歌,民谣,特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 ); 讴 | |
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69 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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70 calamities | |
n.灾祸,灾难( calamity的名词复数 );不幸之事 | |
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71 aloof | |
adj.远离的;冷淡的,漠不关心的 | |
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72 decency | |
n.体面,得体,合宜,正派,庄重 | |
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73 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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74 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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75 quirks | |
n.奇事,巧合( quirk的名词复数 );怪癖 | |
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76 compliance | |
n.顺从;服从;附和;屈从 | |
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77 rapacious | |
adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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78 highlander | |
n.高地的人,苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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79 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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80 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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81 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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82 harassed | |
adj. 疲倦的,厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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83 relinquishing | |
交出,让给( relinquish的现在分词 ); 放弃 | |
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84 imputation | |
n.归罪,责难 | |
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85 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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86 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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87 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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88 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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89 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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90 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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91 credulous | |
adj.轻信的,易信的 | |
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92 deliberately | |
adv.审慎地;蓄意地;故意地 | |
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93 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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94 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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95 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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96 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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97 analyze | |
vt.分析,解析 (=analyse) | |
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98 persecute | |
vt.迫害,虐待;纠缠,骚扰 | |
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99 candor | |
n.坦白,率真 | |
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100 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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101 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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102 explicit | |
adj.详述的,明确的;坦率的;显然的 | |
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103 vindication | |
n.洗冤,证实 | |
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104 tenor | |
n.男高音(歌手),次中音(乐器),要旨,大意 | |
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105 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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106 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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107 alluding | |
提及,暗指( allude的现在分词 ) | |
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108 contingency | |
n.意外事件,可能性 | |
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109 obtruded | |
v.强行向前,强行,强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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111 foresight | |
n.先见之明,深谋远虑 | |
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112 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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113 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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114 clique | |
n.朋党派系,小集团 | |
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115 scrupled | |
v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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117 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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119 bigoted | |
adj.固执己见的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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120 intimidate | |
vt.恐吓,威胁 | |
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121 allude | |
v.提及,暗指 | |
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122 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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123 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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124 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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125 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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126 oars | |
n.桨,橹( oar的名词复数 );划手v.划(行)( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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127 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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128 acquitted | |
宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(自己)作出某种表现 | |
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129 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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130 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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131 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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132 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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133 bumper | |
n.(汽车上的)保险杠;adj.特大的,丰盛的 | |
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134 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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135 jumbled | |
adj.混乱的;杂乱的 | |
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