France’s convalescence1 was very slow. His superb physique had fought death victoriously2, as, so far, it had saved him from the consequences of dissipation, but only youth could have given him a swift recovery. It was September before he was able to move to Bosquith. After the stifling3 London summer, Julia needed a change as much as he did. The duke, as soon as his heir was able to sit up, had taken a run over to Kissengen, but Julia had spent the greater part of every day in the sick-room, reading the sporting papers and light novels to her husband, or amusing him as best she could. France would barely let her out of his sight. His shrewd cunning brain recovered its strength while his body was still helpless, and he conceived that now was his opportunity to make this inexperienced child believe in a romantic devotion, and to win her love in return. He permitted her to take a daily walk or drive with one of the nurses, making much of his sacrifice, and was so touchingly4 happy to see her after these brief separations that Julia almost wept, and gave him her hand to hold, while she made the most of every trifle her observing eyes had taken note of during her respite5.
He no longer repelled6 her; not only did his helplessness appeal to her deep womanly instincts, but she was become so accustomed to his touch that she was quite indifferent to it: she bathed his head with cologne several times a day, kissed him obediently when she came and went, and even gave him her shoulder as a pillow when he fretfully declared that his head could rest on nothing else. It was a young and excessively thin shoulder, and, as a matter of fact, France would have preferred feathers, but the profoundly calculating mind, even when the body is weak, disdains7 trifles.
As soon as he was pronounced well enough to travel, the wary8 duke returned and accompanied his charges to Bosquith. This great estate, some fifteen thousand acres, which included moors9 and grouse11, as well as many farms with turnip12 fields, was the duke’s favorite property, not only because of the shootings, but because the air of the North Sea was the best tonic13 he knew. It was for this reason that he had chosen Bosquith for the last stage of his nephew’s convalescence, rather than one of his country houses nearer to London. But he had hesitated, nevertheless. Bosquith adjoined the Yorkshire estate of Bridgit Herbert’s paternal14 grandfather, and he knew of his new relative’s affection for a young woman of whom he had never approved since he had seen her riding astride over the moors with her brothers, pretending to be an American Indian. He had seen her occasionally since her marriage, and, no mean student of physiognomy, had labelled her dangerous, one of those women that set their nonsensical opinions above man’s and call themselves advanced. He had no intention that the intimacy15 should continue, nor that Julia should see aught of Nigel Herbert, whose devotion she had artlessly revealed. As for Ishbel, who visited Bridgit every year, he would not have her in the house, as he could not admit her and shut the door in her husband’s face. Somebody must take a stand, and the duke, although he might not be able to impose himself on his generation, was not only intensely loyal to his class but alive to its dangers. No snob16, Julia’s lack of title and fortune did not annoy him in the least. “No one can be more than gentleman or lady,” he was wont17 to say magnanimously, “and I have known more than one titled bounder of historic descent. But when it comes to the James William Joneses, well, thank heaven! at least they don’t belong to us, and we are not bound to countenance18 them for the sake of their fathers; we cannot drag them up, and they will end by pulling us down; in other words they will vulgarize the British aristocracy until the masses lose their pride in us; and then where will we be? Democracy, Socialism, threaten us as it is. Our middle and lower classes at home, and our too independent colonies afar, must be made to retain their loyalty19, at all costs.”
Julia thought these sentiments sound, but made up her mind privately20 that she would never drop Ishbel or Bridgit, although she had been given to understand that the duke deeply regretted the proximity21 of Bosquith to the happy hunting grounds of Mrs. Herbert, and would not permit her to visit them. Her rapidly awakening22 intellect was seeking for partnership23 in her still fluid character, and although books could not develop the last, inheritances from a line of men, and at least one woman, who had always thought and acted for themselves, however mistakenly, were stirring. She had been too managed and surrounded to find herself as yet, but she had begun to suspect that the ego24 has a life of its own and certain inalienable rights.
The journey north sent France to bed again for three days, and for a fortnight he was wheeled about the park; then he began to hobble feebly, first on the arm of his nurse or wife, then with the aid of a stick. Julia accepted him as one of the facts of existence, regarded him proprietorally, took an immense interest in his progress toward recovery, and forgot him when she could in the library or in long walks over the moors. The castle was romantically situated25 on a cliff overhanging the North Sea, and in appearance, as in surroundings, was all that Julia could ask. It was very brown, two-thirds of it was in ruins, and the other third included a feudal26 hall, two towers, and walls four feet thick. The windows, however, had been enlarged, hot-water pipes had been put in, and no modern house was more sanitary27. The duke, despite a pardonable pride in his ancestry28, and an unmitigated conservatism in politics, was strictly29 up to date where his health and comfort were concerned. Born an invalid30, he had lived longer than many of his burly ancestors, owing to a thin temperament31 and an early and avid32 interest in hygiene33.
He had a second reason for bringing Harold to Bosquith. The neighboring borough34 was much under his influence, and he proposed that his relative should stand for it at the next general election. At the last it had succumbed35 to the personal manipulation of Gladstone, who had taken a lively pleasure in routing the duke; but it was conservative by habit, and not a measure of either Gladstone’s government or that of his successor had met with its approval. It was in just the frame of mind to be nursed by a genial36 and tactful duke. France fell in with these plans, and, when able to meet the local leaders, laid aside his almost unbearable37 haughtiness38 of manner, and assumed a bluff39 sailorlike heartiness40 which impressed them deeply.
Julia quickly revived in the bracing41 air of sea and moor10, and as France rose late and retired42 early, besides sleeping a good deal during the day, and as she had acquired a certain skill in dodging43 the duke,—who, moreover, took his local duties very seriously,—she felt happy and free once more. The library was well furnished, the moors were purple, her bedroom was in an ancient tower, and the sea boomed under her window. She wrote long letters to her grimly triumphant44 mother, and, now and again, to Bridgit and Ishbel. The former, accompanied by her husband and Nigel, rode over to see her, but she was obliged to receive them in the chilling presence of her husband and the duke, and when the brief visit came to an end, was put on her honor not to leave the estate.
“As soon as Harold is quite recovered,” said the duke, “we will both drive over with you, for I am far from counselling you to be rude to any one. Only, while your husband is ill, it would be highly indecorous for you to be associating with young people; and for the matter of that, the more mature minds with which you associate during the next few years, the better—for us all, my dear, for us all.”
But Julia, at this period, was quite independent of people. Her newly awakened45 intellect was clamoring for books and more books. Politics, the planets, the “brilliant future,” friends, were alike forgotten. Nothing mattered but the lore46 that scholars and worldlings had gathered, that ravening47 maw in her mind. Perhaps this early ingenuous48 stage of the mind’s development is its happiest; it is uncritical, having no standards of life and personal research for comparison, it swamps the real ego, while mightily49 tickling50 the false, it obliterates51 mere52 life, no matter how unsatisfactory, and above all it is saturated53 with the essence of novelty, the subtlest spring of all passion. Julia, barely educated, found in histories, biographies, memoirs54, travels, even in works of science beyond her full comprehension, a wonderland of which she had never dreamed, much as she had longed for books on Nevis. That had been merely a case of inherited brain cells calling for furniture; embarked55 upon her adventure, these cells were crammed56 so rapidly that her ancestors slept in peace, and Julia felt herself an isolated57 and completely happy intellect.
Nevertheless, she was young.
One night, shortly after her husband, now able to grace the evening board, had gone to his room, and the duke was closeted with the conservative agent, she went to her own room, opened the window, and hung out over the sea. The moon, whose malicious58 alertness Captain Dundas had deplored59, was at the full and flooded a scene as beautiful in its way as the tropics. The great expanse of water was almost still, and a broad path of silver seemed firm enough to walk on straight away to the continent of Europe and its untasted delights. Just round the corner was the rose garden, which covered the filled-in moat on the south side of the castle and several hundred yards beyond. The roses were not very good ones, being somewhat rusted60 by the salt-sea spray, but, like the pleasaunce on another side of the castle, were a part of the more modern traditions of Bosquith; and the duke, although entirely61 indifferent to Nature when she ceased to be useful and amused herself with being merely beautiful, was a stickler62 for tradition; the roses were never neglected without, although never brought within; pollen63 inflamed64 his mucous65 membranes66.
The blossoms had gone with the summer, but Julia was fancying herself inhaling67 their perfumes when she became aware that the figure of a man had detached itself from the tangle68. She watched him idly, supposing him to be one of the grooms69, and wondering if his sweetheart would follow. But the man was alone, and in a moment he bent70 down, picked up a handful of loose stones, and leaned back as if to fling them upward from the narrow ledge71. Simultaneously72 Julia and Nigel Herbert recognized each other.
“What—what—do you want?” gasped73 Julia, in a loud whisper.
“You,” said Nigel, grimly. “Come down here.”
“Impossible!” thrilling wildly, however.
“If you don’t, I’ll break in. I’ve prowled round here for three nights, and know the place by heart. The leads?—”
“For heaven’s sake, go away!”
“Will you come down? I’m spraining74 the back of my neck, and may slip off this narrow shelf any minute. Do you want to see my mangled75 remains76 at the foot of the cliff?”
“No. No. But?—”
“Come down. I must have a talk with you—have this thing out or go mad. It’s little to ask!”
Julia glanced behind her at the circular room hung with arras (to keep out draughts77 and conceal78 the hot-water pipes), and furnished with a big Gothic bed and hard upright chairs—and thrilled again. She was not the least in love with Nigel, but she suddenly realized that she was nearly nineteen and romance had never entered her life. After all, was love a necessary factor? Might not the romantic adventure be something to remember always, particularly when assisting a most unromantic husband achieve a political career, and entertaining some of the dullest men in London? She hesitated but an instant, then leaned out again.
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
“If you fail, I’ll come to-morrow night.”
“Very well, go into the rose garden—under the oak.”
She put on a dark cape79 and opened her door cautiously. The long corridor was lighted by a small lamp: gas and electricity, not being hygienic essentials, were not among the Bosquith improvements. All the bedrooms opened upon this corridor, but Julia knew that her husband slept, his capacity for instant and prolonged slumber80 being one of his assets. She crept past the duke’s door. He was an early bird, but was in the library still, no doubt, and the library was far away. He would be sure to mount by the small stair beside it; the grand staircase led to the unused drawing-rooms, and into the immense hall, which, at this season with no guests in the castle, and a library answering every requirement of the family, was economically inexpedient. When a hereditary81 duke has several entailed82 estates to keep up besides a town house, and a paltry83 income of forty thousand pounds a year, he is put to shifts of which the envious84 world knows nothing.
Down the grand staircase, therefore, stole Julia. It creaked even under her small feet; behind the wainscot she heard gnawing85 sounds of hideous86 import; and the darkness below was unrelieved by a single silver gleam. But Julia possessed87 a valiant88 soul; moreover, was determined89 to have her adventure. She felt her way past the massive pieces of furniture toward a small door in the tower room beneath her own; she dared not attempt to unchain and open the great front doors studded with nails. She had used this humble90 means of exit before, and although the room was full of rubbish, she found the big rusty91 key without difficulty, opened the door, then with another fearful glance about her stole toward the middle of the rose garden. The old bushes were very high and ragged92, but had it not been for an oak tree in their midst, concealment93 for a man nearly six feet high would have been impossible. Julia made her way straight toward the tree, and uttered a loud “Shhh—” when Nigel impetuously left its shelter.
“And even this is not safe,” she whispered, as they met. “We are too near the castle, and the duke always takes a little walk before he goes to bed. Follow me and don’t speak or make any noise.”
She led the way out of the rose garden and across the park to a grove94 of ancient oaks. A brook95 wandered among the trees. The moonlight poured in. The dark frowning mass of the castle was plain to be seen. The sea murmured. A nightingale sang. No spot on earth could have been more romantic. Julia shivered with delight, and thanked the winking96 stars.
But Nigel was insensible to the romance of his surroundings. Unlike the woman, he wanted the main factor; the setting could take care of itself. And he was in a distracted and desperate frame of mind. As Julia turned to him she experienced her first misgiving97; his face was set and very white.
“This is where I often read and dream,” she said conversationally98. “It is my favorite spot.”
“Is it? It’s awfully99 good of you to come out. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I might have written, I suppose; but I can only write fiction. Couldn’t put down a word of what I wanted to say to you—of what I felt—” He broke off and added passionately100, “Julia! Don’t you care for me—the least bit?”
“No.” Julia, not having the faintest idea how to handle such a situation, took refuge in the bare truth, at all times more natural to her than to most women. “I don’t love you, but I think it rather nice to meet you like this for once.”
Nigel groaned101. Like all born artists, he understood something of women by instinct, and felt more hopeless in the face of this uncompromising honesty and artlessness than when alone with his imagination.
“But you don’t love your husband?”
“Oh, no. Not the way you mean, at least. I’ve read a lot about love these last months, and it must be wonderful. I’ve grown quite fond of poor Harold, but I never could love him in that way. I wish I could,” she added, with a sudden sense of loyalty to the absent and sleeping husband.
“Julia, you must try to understand! You never can even tolerate that man. You mustn’t live with him. We were plotting to save you from him when he fell ill, and then we ho—we thought he’d die. But he’s, he’s—Oh, please don’t look at me as if I were a cad. I know you are a brick, and I’ve held out until he was on his legs again—and I nearly off my head. I won’t say a word against him. Let it go at this—you never can love him. That I can swear to and you know it. But you could love some one, and it must, it must be me! It shall be! Julia, if you could only guess what love means, then you might have some idea, at least, of how I love you. But even your instincts don’t seem to have awakened. And I haven’t the chance to teach you! You must give it to me! You must!”
“Do you want me to elope with you?” asked Julia, curiously102. This was a highly interesting development, and after the manner of her sex, when indifferent, she grew cooler and more analytical103 as her lover’s flame mounted.
“No—no—not yet. I only wanted a chance to-night to tell you how I love you—to make you understand that much, if possible. Oh, God! It must be communicable! When you are alone and think it over—I hope—I hope—Meanwhile, I want you to promise to make opportunities to meet me. I can’t go to the castle. But you can meet me. On the moor. Here at night. I have waited long enough. France no longer needs you. He is nearly well, and will get everything he wants?—”
“He wants me more than anything else,” said Julia, shrewdly. “He’s as much in love with me as you are?—”
“He shan’t have you!” shouted Nigel, and Julia stared, fascinated, at a face convulsed with passion. It was the first time she had seen this tremendous force unleashed104, for France had done his courting under the eagle eye of his future mother-in-law, and Nigel, during their acquaintance in London, had not progressed outwardly beyond sentiment. Julia, even while deciding that sentiment became his fresh frank face better, and shrinking distastefully from a passion so close to her, was conscious of disappointment in her own unresponsiveness. Nineteen! What an ideal age for love! And what lover could fill all requirements more satisfactorily than Nigel? But she felt as cold as the moon. To her deep mortification105 she was obliged to stifle106 a yawn; it was long past her bedtime. She answered with such haste that her voice had an encouraging quiver in it.
“Oh, don’t let’s talk about him. It’s so jolly to see you again. Tell me about your book. Have you finished it?”
“I didn’t come here to talk about my book.” Nigel’s voice was rough. He came so close to her that she shrank once more, and turned away her eyes. “Oh, I’m not going to touch you. I couldn’t unless you wanted me to, unless you loved me— That is what I want: the chance to make you love me. Will you give it to me?”
“I—I don’t see how it is possible.” She longed to run, but her female instincts were budding under this tropical storm, and one prompted that if she ran, terrible things might happen. The most honest of women is dishonest in moments of danger pertaining107 to her sex. Julia felt danger in the air. She also rejected Nigel’s protestations. She buckled108 on her feminine armor and turned to him sweetly.
“I must think it over,” she said. “I never even dreamed that you were in love with me. I should never dare come out again at night. But perhaps on the moor, some morning?—”
“I should prefer that. One of the keepers or servants might see us in the park, and I don’t wish our love to be vulgarized?—”
“Oh! I hadn’t thought of that! How horrid109! I’ll go back this minute. You stay here until I’ve had time to get inside. I’ll write to-morrow. If you follow me, I shall never believe that you love me?—”
Even while she spoke110 she was flitting through the grove with every appearance of an alarm she did not feel at all. Nigel ran after her.
“I’ll not follow if you will swear to meet me to-morrow morning—on the cliffs three miles north from here.”
“Yes. Yes. I swear it.” And she fled into the broad moonlight beyond the trees, while Nigel flung himself on the turf and gnashed his teeth.
Julia, when she reached the upper corridor, almost ran into the duke, but he was near-sighted, used to mice, and she cowered111 behind an armored knight112 unsuspected. When she finally closed her own door behind her, she found that all inclination113 to sleep had fled and that she was more excited than while the immediate114 centre of a love storm. She sat by the window for hours, thinking hard, and feeling several years older. Quite honest once more, now that she was safe behind a locked door, she examined her new problem on every side. It was quite possible, she confessed, that if she had loved Nigel, even a bit, she might have consented to his program, for youth has its rights; she had not been consulted in her marriage, she was more or less a prisoner, with no prospect115 of even youthful companionship, and the idea of being a duchess did not interest her at all. Of the meaning of sin she had but the vaguest idea.
But of loyalty and honor she had a very distinct idea. Instinct and reason told her that she never would love Nigel; otherwise, with every provocation116, she must have loved him long since. Therefore would it be unfair to play with him. She would far rather be married to him than to France, for he was young and clever and charming, but even were she free now, she would not marry him. Therefore was it her duty to dismiss and cure him as quickly as possible, not ruin his youth by keeping him dangling117, after what she knew to be the habit of many women. Also, for the first time, she felt really drawn118 to her husband, so unconscious of her naughty adventure. After all, she was his, he adored her, and he deserved every reparation in her power. Who could tell?—she might love him. Love appeared to be in the nature of a mighty119 river at spring flood; no doubt it ingulfed everything in its way. She had leaped to one side to-night, but her husband—yes, it was conceivable that she might stand still and await the flood without making faces.
She felt extremely satisfied and virtuous120 as she lit her candle and wrote a kind but uncompromising letter to Nigel, taking back her promise to meet him on the morrow, and warning him that if he wrote to her she should give his letters to her husband. It was not in her to do anything of the sort, but she had the gift of a fine straightforward121 forcible style, and her letter so enraged122 Nigel that he left England as quickly as steam could take him, cursing her and all women.
So ended their first chapter.
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1
convalescence
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| n.病后康复期 | |
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victoriously
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| adv.获胜地，胜利地 | |
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stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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touchingly
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| adv.令人同情地，感人地，动人地 | |
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respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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disdains
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| 鄙视，轻蔑( disdain的名词复数 ) | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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grouse
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| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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tonic
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| n./adj.滋补品，补药，强身的，健体的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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situated
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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sanitary
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| adj.卫生方面的，卫生的，清洁的，卫生的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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avid
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| adj.热心的；贪婪的；渴望的；劲头十足的 | |
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hygiene
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| n.健康法，卫生学 （a.hygienic） | |
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borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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succumbed
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| 不再抵抗（诱惑、疾病、攻击等）( succumb的过去式和过去分词 )； 屈从； 被压垮； 死 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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dodging
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| n.避开，闪过，音调改变v.闪躲( dodge的现在分词 )；回避 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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45
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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ravening
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| a.贪婪而饥饿的 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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49
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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50
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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obliterates
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| v.除去( obliterate的第三人称单数 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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deplored
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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rusted
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| v.（使）生锈( rust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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stickler
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| n.坚持细节之人 | |
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pollen
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| n.[植]花粉 | |
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inflamed
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| adj.发炎的，红肿的v.（使）变红，发怒，过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mucous
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| adj. 黏液的，似黏液的 | |
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membranes
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| n.（动物或植物体内的）薄膜( membrane的名词复数 )；隔膜；（可起防水、防风等作用的）膜状物 | |
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inhaling
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| v.吸入( inhale的现在分词 ) | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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spraining
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| 扭伤（关节）( sprain的现在分词 ) | |
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mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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conversationally
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| adv.会话地 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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101
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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102
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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103
analytical
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| adj.分析的；用分析法的 | |
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104
unleashed
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| v.把（感情、力量等）释放出来，发泄( unleash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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106
stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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107
pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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108
buckled
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| a. 有带扣的 | |
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109
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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111
cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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112
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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113
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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114
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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115
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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116
provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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117
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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118
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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119
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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120
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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121
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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122
enraged
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| 使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 )； 歜； 激愤 | |
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