At last, to Ernest’s intense joy, the season began to show premonitory symptoms of collapsing16 from inanition. The twelfth of August was drawing nigh, and the coming-of-age of grouse17, that most important of annual events in the orthodox British social calendar, would soon set free Lord Exmoor and his brother hereditary18 legislators from their arduous19 duty of acting20 as constitutional drag on the general advance of a great, tolerant, and easy-going nation. Soon the family would be off again to Dunbude, or away to its other moors21 in Scotland; and among the rocks and the heather Ernest felt he could endure Lord Exmoor and Lord Lynmouth a little more resignedly than among the reiterated22 polite platitudes23 and monotonous24 gaieties of the vacuous25 London drawing-rooms.
Lady Hilda, too, was longing26 in her own way for the season to be over. She had gone through another of them, thank goodness, she said to herself at times with a rare tinge27 of pensiveness28, only to discover that the Hughs, and the Guys, and the Algies, and the Montys were just as fatuously29 inane31 as ever; and were just as anxious as before to make her share their fatuous30 inanity32 for a whole lifetime. Only fancy living with an unadulterated Monty from the time you were twenty to the time you were seventy-five—at which latter date he, being doubtless some five years older than one-self to begin with, would probably drop off quietly with suppressed gout, and leave you a mourning widow to deplore33 his untimely and lamented34 extinction35 for the rest of your existence! Why, long before that time you would have got to know his very thoughts by heart (if he had any, poor fellow!) and would be able to finish all his sentences and eke36 out all his stories for him, the moment he began them. Much better marry a respectable pork-butcher outright37, and have at least the healthful exercise of chopping sausage-meat to fill up the stray gaps in the conversation. In that condition of life, they say, people are at any rate perfectly safe from the terrors of ennui38. However, the season was over at last, thank Heaven; and in a week or so more they would be at dear old ugly Dunbude again for the whole winter. There Hilda would go sketching39 once more on the moorland, and if this time she didn’t make that stupid fellow Ernest see what she was driving at, why, then her name certainly wasn’t Hilda Tregellis.
A day or two before the legal period fixed40 for the beginning of the general grouse-slaughter, Ernest was sitting reading in the breakfast room at Wilton Place, when Lynmouth burst unexpectedly into the room in his usual boisterous41 fashion.
‘Oh, I say, Mr. Le Breton,’ he began, holding the door in his hand like one in a hurry, ‘I want leave to miss work this morning. Gerald Talfourd has called for me in his dog-cart, and wants me to go out with him now immediately.’
‘Not to-day, Lynmouth,’ Ernest answered quietly. ‘You were out twice last week, you know, and you hardly ever get your full hours for work at all since we came to London.’
‘Oh, but look here, you know, Mr. Le Breton; I really MUST go to-day, because Talfourd has made an appointment for me. It’s awful fun—he’s going to have some pigeon-shooting.’
Ernest’s countenance42 fell a little, and he answered in a graver voice than before, ‘If that’s what you want to go for, Lynmouth, I certainly can’t let you go. You shall never have leave from me to go pigeon-shooting.’
‘Why not?’ Lynmouth asked, still holding the door-handle at the most significant angle.
‘Because it’s a cruel and brutal43 sport,’ Ernest replied, looking him in the face steadily44; ‘and as long as you’re under my charge I can’t allow you to take part in it.’
‘Oh, you can’t,’ said Lynmouth mischievously45, with a gentle touch of satire46 in his tone. ‘You can’t, can’t you! Very well, then, never mind about it.’ And he shut the door after him with a bang, and ran off upstairs without further remonstrance47.
‘It’s time for study, Lynmouth,’ Ernest called out, opening the door and speaking to him as he retreated. ‘Come down again at once, please, will you?’
But Lynmouth made no answer, and went straight off upstairs to the drawing-room. In a few minutes more he came back, and said in a tone of suppressed triumph, ‘Well, Mr. Le Breton, I’m going with Talfourd. I’ve been up to papa, and he says I may “if I like to.”’
Ernest bit his lip in a moment’s hesitation48. If it had been any ordinary question, he would have pocketed the contradiction of his authority—after all, if it didn’t matter to them, it didn’t matter to him—and let Lynmouth go wherever they allowed him. But the pigeon-shooting was a question of principle. As long as the boy was still nominally49 his pupil, he couldn’t allow him to take any part in any such wicked and brutal amusement, as he thought it. So he answered back quietly, ‘No, Lynmouth, you are not to go. I don’t think your father can have understood that I had forbidden you.’
‘Oh!’ Lynmouth said again, without a word of remonstrance, and went up a second time to the drawing-room.
In a few minutes a servant came down and spoke50 to Ernest. ‘My lord would like to see you upstairs for a few minutes, if you please, sir.’
Ernest followed the man up with a vague foreboding that the deferred51 explosion was at last about to take place. Lord Exmoor was sitting on the sofa. ‘Oh, I say, Le Breton,’ he began in his good-humoured way, ‘what’s this that Lynmouth’s been telling me about the pigeon-shooting? He says you won’t let him go out with Gerald Talfourd.’
‘Yes,’ Ernest answered; ‘he wanted to miss his morning’s work, and I told him I couldn’t allow him to do so.’
‘But I said he might if he liked, Le Breton. Young Talfourd has called for him to go pigeon-shooting. And now Lynmouth tells me you refuse to let him go, after I’ve given him leave. Is that so?’
‘Certainly,’ said Ernest. ‘I said he couldn’t go, because before he asked you I had refused him permission, and I supposed you didn’t know he was asking you to reverse my decision.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Lord Exmoor answered, for he was not an unreasonable52 man after his lights. ‘You’re quite right, Le Breton, quite right, certainly. Discipline’s discipline, we all know, and must be kept up under any circumstances. You should have told me, Lynmouth, that Mr. Le Breton had forbidden you to go. However, as young Talfourd has made the engagement, I suppose you don’t mind letting him have a holiday now, at my request, Le Breton, do you?’
Here was a dilemma53 indeed for Ernest. He hardly knew what to answer. He looked by chance at Lady Hilda, seated on the ottoman in the corner; and Lady Hilda, catching54 his eye, pursed up her lips visibly into the one word, ‘Do.’ But Ernest was inexorable. If he could possibly prevent it, he would not let those innocent pigeons be mangled55 and slaughtered56 for a lazy boy’s cruel gratification. That was the one clear duty before him; and whether he offended Lord Exmoor or not, he had no choice save to pursue it.
‘No, Lord Exmoor,’ he said resolutely57, after a long pause. ‘I should have no objection to giving him a holiday, but I can’t allow him to go pigeon-shooting.’
‘Why not?’ asked Lord Exmoor warmly.
Ernest did not answer.
‘He says it’s a cruel, brutal sport, papa,’ Lynmouth put in parenthetically, in spite of an angry glance from Hilda; ‘and he won’t let me go while I’m his pupil.’
Lord Exmoor’s face grew very red indeed, and he rose from the sofa angrily. ‘So that’s it, Mr. Le Breton!’ he said, in a short sharp fashion. ‘You think pigeon-shooting cruel and brutal, do you? Will you have the goodness to tell me, sir, do you know that I myself am in the habit of shooting pigeons at matches?’
‘Yes,’ Ernest answered, without flinching58 a muscle.
‘Yes!’ cried Lord Exmoor, growing redder and redder. ‘You knew that, Mr. Le Breton, and yet you told my son you considered the practice brutal and cruel! Is that the way you teach him to honour his parents? Who are you, sir, that you dare set yourself up as a judge of me and my conduct? How dare you speak to him of his father in that manner? How dare you stir him up to disobedience and insubordination against his elders? How dare you, sir; how dare you?’
Ernest’s face began to get red in return, and he answered with unwonted heat, ‘How dare you address me so, yourself, Lord Exmoor? How dare you speak to me in that imperious manner? You’re forgetting yourself, I think, and I had better leave you for the present, till you remember how to be more careful in your language. But Lynmouth is not to go pigeon-shooting. I object to his going, because the sport is a cruel and a brutal one, whoever may practise it. If I have any authority over him, I insist upon it that he shall not go. If he goes, I shall not stop here any longer. You can do as you like about it, of course, but you have my final word upon the matter. Lynmouth, go down to the study.’
‘Stop, Lynmouth,’ cried his father, boiling over visibly with indignation: ‘Stop. Never mind what Mr. Le Breton says to you; do you hear me? Go out if you choose with Gerald Talfourd.’
Lynmouth didn’t wait a moment for any further permission. He ran downstairs at once and banged the front door soundly after him with a resounding59 clatter60. Lady Hilda looked imploringly61 at Ernest, and whispered half audibly, ‘Now you’ve done it.’ Ernest stood a second irresolute62, while the Earl tramped angrily up and down the drawing-room, and then he said in a calmer voice, ‘When would it be convenient, Lord Exmoor, that I should leave you?’
‘Whenever you like,’ Lord Exmoor answered violently. ‘To-day if you can manage to get your things together. This is intolerable, absolutely intolerable! Gross and palpable impertinence; in my own house, too! “Cruel and brutal,” indeed! “Cruel and brutal.” Fiddlesticks! Why, it’s not a bit different from partridge-shooting!’ And he went out, closely followed by Ernest, leaving Lady Hilda alone and frightened in the drawing-room.
Ernest ran lightly upstairs to his own little study sitting-room63. ‘I’ve done it this time, certainly, as Lady Hilda said,’ he thought to himself; ‘but I don’t see how I could possibly have avoided it. Even now, when all’s done, I haven’t succeeded in saving the lives of the poor innocent tortured pigeons. They’ll be mangled and hunted for their poor frightened lives, anyhow. Well, now I must look out for that imaginary schoolmastership, and see what I can do for dear Edie. I shan’t be sorry to get out of this after all, for the place was an impossible one for me from the very beginning. I shall sit down this moment and write to Edie, and after that I shall take out my portmanteau and get the man to help me put my luggage up to go away this very evening. Another day in the house after this would be obviously impossible.’
At that moment there came a knock at the door—a timid, tentative sort of knock, and somebody put her head inquiringly halfway64 through the doorway65. Ernest looked up in sudden surprise. It was Lady Hilda.
‘Mr. Le Breton,’ she said, coming over towards the table where Ernest had just laid out his blotting-book and writing-paper: ‘I couldn’t prevent myself from coming up to tell you how much I admire your conduct in standing66 up so against papa for what you thought was right and proper. I can’t say how greatly I admire it. I’m so glad you did as you did do. You have acted nobly.’ And Hilda looked straight into his eyes with the most speaking and most melting of glances. ‘Now,’ she said to herself, ‘according to all correct precedents67, he ought to seize my hand fervently68 with a gentle pressure, and thank me with tears in his eyes for my kind sympathy.’
But Ernest, only looking puzzled and astonished, answered in the quietest of voices, ‘Thank you very much, Lady Hilda: but I assure you there was really nothing at all noble, nothing at all to admire, in what I said or did in any way. In fact, I’m rather afraid, now I come to think of it, that I lost my temper with your father dreadfully.’
‘Then you won’t go away?’ Hilda put in quickly. ‘You think better of it now, do you? You’ll apologise to papa, and go with us to Dunbude for the autumn? Do say you will, please, Mr. Le Breton.’
‘Oh dear, no,’ Ernest answered, smiling quietly at the bare idea of his apologising to Lord Exmoor. ‘I certainly won’t do that, whatever I do. To tell you the truth, Lady Hilda, I have not been very anxious to stop with Lynmouth all along: I’ve found it a most unprofitable tutorship—no sense of any duty performed, or any work done for society: and I’m not at all sorry that this accident should have broken up the engagement unexpectedly. At the same time, it’s very kind of you to come up and speak to me about it, though I’m really quite ashamed you should have thought there was anything particularly praiseworthy or commendable70 in my standing out against such an obviously cruel sport as pigeon-shooting.’
‘Ah, but I do think so, whatever you may say, Mr. Le Breton,’ Hilda went on eagerly. ‘I do think so, and I think it was very good of you to fight it out so against papa for what you believe is right and proper. For my own part, you know, I don’t see any particular harm in pigeon-shooting. Of course it’s very dreadful that the poor dear little things should be shot and wounded and winged and so forth71; but then everything, almost, gets shot, you see—rabbits, and grouse, and partridges, and everything; so that really it’s hardly worth while, it seems to me, making a fuss about it. Still, that’s not the real question. You think it’s wrong; which is very original and nice and proper of you; and as you think it’s wrong, you won’t countenance it in any way. I don’t care, myself, whether it’s wrong or not—I’m not called upon, thank goodness, to decide the question; but I do care very much that you should suffer for what you think the right course of action.’ And Lady Hilda in her earnestness almost laid her hand upon his arm, and looked up to him in the most unmistakable and appealing fashion.
‘You’re very good, I’m sure, Lady Hilda,’ Ernest replied, half hesitatingly, wondering much in his own mind what on earth she could be driving at.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Hilda said pensively72, ‘And so we shall never walk together at Dunbude on the Clatter any more, Mr. Le Breton! We shall never climb again among the big boulders73 on those Devonshire hillsides! We shall never watch the red deer from the big pool on top of the sheep-walk! I’m sorry for it, Mr. Le Breton, very sorry for it. Oh, I do wish you weren’t going to leave us!’
Ernest began to feel that this was really growing embarrassing. ‘I dare say we shall often see one another,’ he said evasively; for simple-minded as he was, a vague suspicion of what Lady Hilda wanted him to say had somehow forced itself timidly upon him. ‘London’s a very big place, no doubt; but still, people are always running together unexpectedly in it.’
Hilda sighed and looked at him again intently without speaking. She stood so, face to face with him across the table for fully69 two minutes; and then, seeming suddenly to awake from a reverie, she started and sighed once more, and turned at last reluctantly to leave the little study. ‘I must go,’ she said hastily; ‘mamma would be very angry indeed with me if she knew I’d come here; but I couldn’t let you leave the house without coming up to tell you how greatly I admire your spirit, and how very, very much I shall always miss you, Mr. Le Breton. Will you take this, and keep it as a memento74?’ As she spoke, she laid an envelope upon the table, and glided75 quietly out of the room.
Ernest took the envelope up with a smile, and opened it with some curiosity. It contained a photograph, with a brief inscription76 on the back, ‘E. L. B., from Hilda Tregellis.’
As he did so, Hilda Tregellis, red and pale by turns, had rushed into her own room, locked the door wildly, and flung herself in a perfect tempest of tears on her own bed, where she lay and tossed about in a burning agony of shame and self-pity for twenty minutes. ‘He doesn’t love me,’ she said to herself bitterly; ‘he doesn’t love me, and he doesn’t care to love me, or want to marry me either! I’m sure he understood what I meant, this time; and there was no response in his eyes, no answer, no sympathy. He’s like a block of wood—a cold, impassive, immovable, lifeless creature! And yet I could love him—oh, if only he would say a word to me in answer, how I could love him! I loved him when he stood up there and bearded papa in his own drawing-room, and asked him how dare he speak so, how dare he address him in such a manner; I KNEW then that I really loved him. If only he would let me! But he won’t! To think that I could have half the Algies and Berties in London at my feet for the faintest encouragement, and I can’t have this one poor penniless Ernest Le Breton, though I go down on my knees before him and absolutely ask him to marry me! That’s the worst of it! I’ve humiliated77 myself before him by letting him see, oh, ever so much too plainly, that I wanted him to ask me; and I’ve been repulsed78, rejected, positively79 refused and slighted by him! And yet I love him! I shall never love any other man as I love Ernest Le Breton.’
Poor Lady Hilda Tregellis! Even she too had, at times, her sentimental80 moments! And there she lay till her eyes were red and swollen81 with crying, and till it was quite hopeless to expect she could ever manage to make herself presentable for the Cecil Faunthorpes’ garden-party that afternoon at Twickenham.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
vice
|
|
| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
actively
|
|
| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
postponed
|
|
| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
originality
|
|
| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ingenuity
|
|
| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
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 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
dexterously
|
|
| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
acquiesce
|
|
| vi.默许，顺从，同意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
fads
|
|
| n.一时的流行，一时的风尚( fad的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
unbearable
|
|
| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
collapsing
|
|
| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
grouse
|
|
| n.松鸡；v.牢骚，诉苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
hereditary
|
|
| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
reiterated
|
|
| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
platitudes
|
|
| n.平常的话，老生常谈，陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 )；滥套子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
vacuous
|
|
| adj.空的，漫散的，无聊的，愚蠢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
tinge
|
|
| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
pensiveness
|
|
| n.pensive（沉思的）的变形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
fatuously
|
|
| adv.愚昧地，昏庸地，蠢地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
fatuous
|
|
| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
inane
|
|
| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
inanity
|
|
| n.无意义，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
deplore
|
|
| vt.哀叹，对...深感遗憾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
lamented
|
|
| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
extinction
|
|
| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
eke
|
|
| v.勉强度日，节约使用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
outright
|
|
| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
ennui
|
|
| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
sketching
|
|
| n.草图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
boisterous
|
|
| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
brutal
|
|
| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
steadily
|
|
| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
mischievously
|
|
| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
satire
|
|
| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
remonstrance
|
|
| n抗议，抱怨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
hesitation
|
|
| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
nominally
|
|
| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
deferred
|
|
| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
dilemma
|
|
| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
catching
|
|
| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
mangled
|
|
| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
slaughtered
|
|
| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
flinching
|
|
| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
resounding
|
|
| adj. 响亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
clatter
|
|
| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
imploringly
|
|
| adv. 恳求地, 哀求地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
irresolute
|
|
| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
halfway
|
|
| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
precedents
|
|
| 引用单元； 范例( precedent的名词复数 )； 先前出现的事例； 前例； 先例 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
fervently
|
|
| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
commendable
|
|
| adj.值得称赞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
pensively
|
|
| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
boulders
|
|
| n.卵石( boulder的名词复数 )；巨砾；（受水或天气侵蚀而成的）巨石；漂砾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
memento
|
|
| n.纪念品，令人回忆的东西 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
glided
|
|
| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
inscription
|
|
| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
humiliated
|
|
| 感到羞愧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
repulsed
|
|
| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
swollen
|
|
| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |