An immense silence takes their place. There is no longer any need for watchfulness9, nor risk of being hustled10 by the hurrying crowds. Instead of footway and street crossing there are broad walks, untrodden stretches of smooth grass. The heavy campanile is in front, and heights of gray building frown down on each side. It needs no education, not even any imagination, to appreciate the change. It is not necessary to know that great scholars inhabited the place, to recall any name or any man’s career. The appeal is not to a recollected11 impression of the Middle Ages, or indeed of any past, remote or near. It is the spirit of scholarship itself, abstract, intangible, which creates this atmosphere. Knowledge, a severe goddess, awes12 while she beckons13.
Hyacinth Conneally had submitted himself to such emotions time after time when, fresh from the wilds of Connemara, he made his way to the examination-hall, an outside student in a borrowed cap and gown. Now, when for the first time he entered into the actual life of the college, could look up at windows of rooms that were his own, and reckon on his privilege of fingering tomes from the shelves of the huge library, the spirit of the place awed14 him anew. He neither analyzed15 nor attempted an expression of what he felt, but his first night within the walls was restless because of the inspiration which filled him.
Yet this college does not fail to make an appeal also to the thinking mind, only it is a strange appeal, tending to sadness. The sudden silence after the tumult16 of the streets has come for some minds to be the symbol of a divorce between the knowledge within and the life without. And this is not the separation which must always exist between thought and action, the gulf17 fixed18 between the student and the merchant. It is a real divorce between the nation and the University, between the two kinds of life which ought, like man and woman, to complete each other through their very diversity, but here have gone hopelessly apart. Never once through all the centuries of Ireland’s struggle to express herself has the University felt the throb19 of her life. It is true that Ireland’s greatest patriots20, from Swift to Davis, have been her children; but she has never understood their spirit, never looked on them as anything but strangers to her family. They have been to her stray robber wasps21, to be driven from the hive; while to the others they have seemed cygnets among her duckling brood. It is very wonderful that the University alone has been able to resist the glamour22 of Ireland’s past, and has failed to admire the persistency23 of her nationality. There has surely been enough in every century that has passed since the college was founded to win it over from alien thought and the ideals of the foreigner.
All this Hyacinth came to feel afterwards, and learnt in bitterness of spirit to be angry at the University’s isolation24 from Irish life. At first quite other thoughts crowded upon his mind. He felt a rebellion against his father’s estimate of what he was to learn. It seemed to him that he had come into vital touch with the greatest life of all. He was to join the ranks of those who besieged25 the ears of God for knowledge, and left behind them to successors yet unborn great traditions of the enigmas26 they had guessed. In entering upon the study of theology he seemed to become a soldier in the sacred band, the élite of the army which won and guarded truth. Already he was convinced that there could be no greater science than the Divine one, no more inspiring moment in life than this one when he took his first step towards the knowledge of God.
He crossed the quadrangle with his mind full of such thoughts, and joined a group of students round the door of one of the examination-halls. It did not shock his sense of fitness that some of his fellow-students in the great science wore shabby clothes, or that others scorned the use of a razor. Bred as he had been at home, he felt no incongruity27 between dirty collars and the study of divinity. It was not until he caught scraps28 of conversation that he experienced an awakening29 from his dream. One eager group surrounded a foreseeing youth who had written the dates of the first four General Councils of the Church upon his shirt-cuff.
‘Read them out, like a good man,’ said one.
‘Hold on a minute,’ said another, ‘till I see if I have got them right. I ground them up specially30 this morning. Nic?a, 318—no, hang it! that’s the number of Bishops31 who were present; 325 was the date, wasn’t it?’
‘What was the row about at Chalcedon?’ asked a tall, pale youth. ‘Didn’t some monk32 or other go for Cyril of Alexandria?’
‘You’ll be stuck anyhow, Tommy,’ said a neat, dapper little man with a very ragged33 gown.
Hyacinth slipped past the group, and approached two better dressed students who stood apart from the others.
‘Is this,’ he asked, ‘where the entrance examination to the divinity school is to be held?’
For answer he received a curt34 ‘Yes’ and a stare. Apparently35 his suit of brown Connemara homespun did not commend him to these aristocrats36. They turned their backs on him, and resumed their conversation.
‘She was walking up and down the pier37 listening to the band with two of the rankest outsiders you ever set eyes on—medicals out of Paddy Dunn’s. Of course I could do nothing else but break it off.’
‘Oh, you were engaged to her, then? I didn’t know.’
‘Well, I was and I wasn’t. Anyhow, I thought it better to have a clear understanding. She came up to me outside the door of Patrick’s on Sunday afternoon just as if nothing had happened. “Hullo, Bob,” says she; “I haven’t seen you for ages.” “My name,” said I, “is Mr. Banks”—just like that, as cool as you please. I could see she felt it. “I’ve called you Bob,” says she, very red in the face, “and you’ve called me Maimie ever since we went to Sunday-school together, and I’m not going to begin calling you Mr. Banks now, my boy-o! so don’t you think it!”’
It was a relief to Hyacinth when he was tapped on the arm by a boy with a very pimply38 face, who thrust a paper into his hand, and distracted his attention from the final discomfiture39 of Maimie, which Mr. Banks was recounting in a clear, high-pitched voice, as if he wished everyone in the neighbourhood to hear it.
‘I hope you’ll come,’ said the boy.
‘Where?’
‘It’s all in the paper. The students’ prayer-meeting, held every Wednesday morning at nine o’clock sharp. Special meeting to-morrow.’
Hyacinth was bewildered. There was something quite unfamiliar40 in this prompt and business-like advertisement of prayer. The student with the papers began to be doubtful of him.
‘You’re not High Church, are you?’ he asked. ‘We’re not. We don’t have printed offices, with verses and responds, and that sort of thing. We have extempore prayer by members of the union.’
‘No; I’m not High Church,’ said Hyacinth—‘at least, I think not. I don’t really know much about these things. I’ll be very glad to go to your meeting.’
‘That’s right,’ said the other. ‘All are welcome. There will be special prayer to-morrow for the success of the British arms. I suppose you heard that old Kruger has sent an ultimatum41. There will be war at once.’
There was a sudden movement among the students; gowns were pulled straight and caps adjusted.
‘Here he comes,’ said someone.
Dr. Henry, the divinity professor, crossed the square rapidly. He was a middle-aged42 man, stout43, almost ponderous44, in figure; but he held himself rigidly45 upright, and walked fast across the square. The extreme neatness of his clothes contrasted with the prevailing46 shabbiness of the students and the assistant lecturers who followed him. Yet he did not seem to be a man who gave to externals more than their due share of consideration. His broad forehead gave promise of great intellectual power, a promise half belied47 by the narrow gray eyes beneath it. These were eyes which might see keenly, and would certainly see things just as they are, though they were not likely to catch any glimpse of that greater world where objects cannot be focussed sharply. Yet in them, an odd contradiction, there lurked48 a possibility of humorous twinkling. The man was capable perhaps of the broad tolerance49 of the great humorist, certainly of very acute perception of life’s minor50 incongruities51. His thin lips were habitually52 pressed together, giving a suggestion of strength to the set of his mouth. A man with such a mouth can think and act, but not feel either passionately53 or enduringly. He will direct men because he knows his own mind, but is not likely to sway them because he will always be master of himself, and will not become enslaved to any great enthusiasm. The students trooped into the hall, and the examination began. The assistant lecturers helped in the work. Each student was called up in turn, asked a few questions, and given a portion of the Greek Testament54 to translate. For the most part their capacities were known beforehand. There were some who had won honours in their University course before entering the divinity school. For them the examiners were all smiles, and the business of the day was understood to be perfunctory. Others were recognised as mere55 pass men, whom it was necessary to spur to some exertion56. A few, like Hyacinth, were unknown. These were the poorer students who had not been able to afford to reside at the University sooner than was absolutely necessary. Their knowledge, generally scanty57, was received by the examiners with undisguised contempt. It fell to Hyacinth’s lot to present himself to Dr. Henry. He did so tremulously.
The professor inquired his name, and looked him over coldly.
‘Read for me,’ he said, handing him a Greek Testament. The passage marked was St. Paul’s great description of charity. It was very familiar to Hyacinth, and he read it with a serious feeling for the words. Dr. Henry, who at first had occupied himself with some figures on a sheet of paper, looked up and listened attentively58.
‘Where were you at school,’ he asked. ‘Who taught you Greek?’
‘My father taught me, sir.’
‘Ah! You have got a very peculiar59 pronunciation, and you’ve made an extraordinary number of mistakes in accentuation and quantity, but you’ve read as if St. Paul meant something. Now translate.’
‘You have given me,’ he said, when Hyacinth had finished, ‘the Authorized60 Version word for word. Can you do no better than that?’
‘I can do it differently,’ said Hyacinth, ‘not better.’
‘Do you know any Greek outside of the New Testament?’
Hyacinth repeated a few lines from Homer.
‘That book of the “Odyssey” is not in the college course,’ said Dr. Henry. ‘How did you come to read it?’
Hyacinth had no explanation to give. He had read the book, it seemed, without being forced, and without hope of getting a prize. He recited it as if he liked it. The remainder of the examination disclosed the fact that he was lamentably61 deficient62 in the rudiments63 of Greek grammar, and had the very vaguest ideas of the history of the Church.
Afterwards Professor Henry discussed the new class with his assistants as they crossed the square together.
‘The usual lot,’ said Dr. Spenser—‘half a dozen scholars, perhaps one man among them with real brains. The rest are either idlers or, what is worse, duffers.’
‘I hit on one man with brains,’ said Dr. Henry.
‘Oh! Thompson, I suppose. I saw that you took him. He did well in his degree exam.’
‘No,’ said Dr. Henry; ‘the man I mean has more brains than Thompson. He’s a man I never heard of before. His name is Conneally. He looks as if he came up from the wilds somewhere. He has hands like an agricultural labourer, and a brogue that I fancy comes from Galway. But he’s a man to keep an eye on. He may do something by-and-by if he doesn’t go off the lines. We must try and lick him into shape a bit.’
Hyacinth Conneally knew extremely little about the politics, foreign or domestic, of the English nation. His father neither read newspapers nor cared to discuss such rumours64 of the doings of Governments as happened to reach Carrowkeel. On the other hand, he knew a good deal about the history of Ireland, and the English were still for him the ‘new foreigners’ whom Keating describes. His intercourse65 with the fishermen and peasants of the Galway seaboard had intensified66 his vague dislike of the series of oscillations between bullying67 and bribery68 which make up the story of England’s latest attempts to govern Ireland. Without in the least understanding the reasons for the war in South Africa, he felt a strong sympathy with the Boers. To him they seemed a small people doomed69, if they failed to defend themselves, to something like the treatment which Ireland had received.
It was therefore with surprise, almost with horror, that he listened for the first time to the superlative Imperialism70 of the Protestant unionist party when he attended the prayer-meeting to which he had been invited. The room was well filled with students, who joined heartily71 in the singing of ‘Onward, Christian72 soldiers,’ a hymn73 selected as appropriate for the occasion. An address by the chairman, a Dublin clergyman, followed. According to this gentleman the Boers were a psalm-singing but hypocritical nation addicted74 to slave-driving. England, on the other hand, was the pioneer of civilization, and the nursing-mother of missionary75 enterprise. It was therefore clear that all good Christians76 ought to pray for the success of the British arms. The speech bewildered rather than irritated Hyacinth. The mind gasps77 for a time when immersed suddenly in an entirely78 new view of things, and requires time to adjust itself for pleasure or revolt, just as the body does when plunged79 into cold water. It had never previously80 occurred to him that an Irishman could regard England as anything but a pirate. Anger rapidly succeeded his surprise while he listened to the prayers which followed. It was apparently open to any student present to give utterance81, as occasion offered, to his desires, and a large number of young men availed themselves of the opportunity. Some spoke82 briefly83 and haltingly, some laboriously84 attempted to adapt the phraseology of the Prayer-Book to the sentiment of the moment, a few had the gift of rapid and even eloquent85 supplication86. These last were the hardest to endure. They prefaced their requests with fantastic eulogies87 of England’s righteousness, designed apparently for the edification of the audience present in the flesh, for they invariably began by assuring the Almighty88 that He was well aware of the facts, and generally apologized to Him for recapitulating89 them. Hyacinth’s anger increased as he heard the fervent90 groans91 which expressed the unanimous conviction of the justice of the petitions. No one seemed to think it possible that the right could be on the other side.
When the meeting was over, the secretary, whose name, it appeared, was Mackenzie, greeted Hyacinth warmly.
‘Glad to have you with us,’ he said. ‘I hope you’ll always come. I shall be delighted to propose you as a member of the union. Subscription92 one shilling, to defray necessary expenses. In any case, whether you subscribe93 or not, we shall be glad to have you with us.’
‘I shall never come again,’ said Hyacinth.
Mackenzie drew back, astonished.
‘Why not? Didn’t you like the meeting? I thought it was capital—so informal and hearty94. Didn’t you think it was hearty? But perhaps you are High Church. Are you?’
Hyacinth remembered that this identical question had been put to him the day before by the pimply-faced boy who distributed leaflets. He wondered vaguely95 at the importance which attached to the nickname.
‘I am not sure,’ he said, ‘that I quite know what you mean. You see, I have only just entered the divinity school, and I hardly know anything about theology. What is a High Churchman?’
‘Oh, it doesn’t require any theology to know that. It’s the simplest thing in the world. A High Churchman is—well, of course, a High Churchman sings Gregorian chants, you know, and puts flowers on the altar. There’s more than that, of course. In fact, a High Churchman———’ He paused and then added with an air of victorious96 conviction: ‘But anyhow if you were High Church you would be sure to know it.’
‘Ah, well,’ said Hyacinth, turning to leave the room, ‘I don’t know anything about it, so I suppose I’m not High Church.’
Mackenzie, however, was not going to allow him to escape so easily.
‘Hold on a minute. If you’re not High Church why won’t you come to our meetings?’
‘Because I can’t join in your prayers when I am not at all sure that England ought to win.’
‘Good Lord!’ said Mackenzie. It is possible to startle even the secretary of a prayer union into mild profanity. ‘You don’t mean to tell me you are a Pro-Boer, and you a divinity student?’
It had not hitherto struck Hyacinth that it was impossible to combine a sufficient orthodoxy with a doubt about the invariable righteousness of England’s quarrels. Afterwards he came to understand the matter better.
点击收听单词发音
1 fabric | |
n.织物,织品,布;构造,结构,组织 | |
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2 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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3 tepid | |
adj.微温的,温热的,不太热心的 | |
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4 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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5 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
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6 Oxford | |
n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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7 emancipated | |
adj.被解放的,不受约束的v.解放某人(尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚)( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 rattle | |
v.飞奔,碰响;激怒;n.碰撞声;拨浪鼓 | |
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9 watchfulness | |
警惕,留心; 警觉(性) | |
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10 hustled | |
催促(hustle的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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11 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 awes | |
n.敬畏,惊惧( awe的名词复数 )v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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13 beckons | |
v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的第三人称单数 ) | |
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14 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15 analyzed | |
v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 );分解;解释;对…进行心理分析 | |
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16 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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17 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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18 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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19 throb | |
v.震颤,颤动;(急速强烈地)跳动,搏动 | |
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20 patriots | |
爱国者,爱国主义者( patriot的名词复数 ) | |
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21 wasps | |
黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 ); 胡蜂; 易动怒的人; 刻毒的人 | |
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22 glamour | |
n.魔力,魅力;vt.迷住 | |
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23 persistency | |
n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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24 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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25 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 enigmas | |
n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等,奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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27 incongruity | |
n.不协调,不一致 | |
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28 scraps | |
油渣 | |
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29 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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30 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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31 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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32 monk | |
n.和尚,僧侣,修道士 | |
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33 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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34 curt | |
adj.简短的,草率的 | |
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35 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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36 aristocrats | |
n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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37 pier | |
n.码头;桥墩,桥柱;[建]窗间壁,支柱 | |
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38 pimply | |
adj.肿泡的;有疙瘩的;多粉刺的;有丘疹的 | |
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39 discomfiture | |
n.崩溃;大败;挫败;困惑 | |
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40 unfamiliar | |
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41 ultimatum | |
n.最后通牒 | |
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42 middle-aged | |
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44 ponderous | |
adj.沉重的,笨重的,(文章)冗长的 | |
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45 rigidly | |
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46 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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47 belied | |
v.掩饰( belie的过去式和过去分词 );证明(或显示)…为虚假;辜负;就…扯谎 | |
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48 lurked | |
vi.潜伏,埋伏(lurk的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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49 tolerance | |
n.宽容;容忍,忍受;耐药力;公差 | |
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50 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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51 incongruities | |
n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 );不一致;不适合;不协调的东西 | |
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52 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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53 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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54 testament | |
n.遗嘱;证明 | |
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55 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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56 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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57 scanty | |
adj.缺乏的,仅有的,节省的,狭小的,不够的 | |
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58 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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59 peculiar | |
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60 authorized | |
a.委任的,许可的 | |
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61 lamentably | |
adv.哀伤地,拙劣地 | |
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62 deficient | |
adj.不足的,不充份的,有缺陷的 | |
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63 rudiments | |
n.基础知识,入门 | |
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64 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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65 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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66 intensified | |
v.(使)增强, (使)加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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67 bullying | |
v.恐吓,威逼( bully的现在分词 );豪;跋扈 | |
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68 bribery | |
n.贿络行为,行贿,受贿 | |
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69 doomed | |
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70 imperialism | |
n.帝国主义,帝国主义政策 | |
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71 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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72 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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73 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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74 addicted | |
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75 missionary | |
adj.教会的,传教(士)的;n.传教士 | |
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76 Christians | |
n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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77 gasps | |
v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 );喘息;倒抽气;很想要 | |
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78 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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79 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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80 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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81 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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82 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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83 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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84 laboriously | |
adv.艰苦地;费力地;辛勤地;(文体等)佶屈聱牙地 | |
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85 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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86 supplication | |
n.恳求,祈愿,哀求 | |
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87 eulogies | |
n.颂词,颂文( eulogy的名词复数 ) | |
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88 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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89 recapitulating | |
v.总结,扼要重述( recapitulate的现在分词 ) | |
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90 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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91 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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92 subscription | |
n.预订,预订费,亲笔签名,调配法,下标(处方) | |
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93 subscribe | |
vi.(to)订阅,订购;同意;vt.捐助,赞助 | |
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94 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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95 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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96 victorious | |
adj.胜利的,得胜的 | |
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