It was Lady Hilda who, as she herself expressively4 phrased it, had squared the publishers. She had called upon the head of the well-known house in person, and had told him fully5 and frankly6 exactly what was the nature of the interest she took in the poor of London. At first the publisher was scandalised and obdurate7: the thing was not regular, he said—not in the ordinary way of business; his firm couldn’t go writing letters of that sort to unknown young authors and artists. If she wanted the work done, she must let them give her own name as the promoter of the undertaking8. But Hilda persevered9, as she always did; she smiled, pleaded, cajoled, threatened, and made desperate love to the publisher to gain his acquiescence10 in her benevolent11 scheme. After all, even publishers are only human (though authors have been frequently known to deny the fact); and human nature, especially in England, is apt to be very little proof against the entreaties12 of a pretty girl who happens also to be an earl’s daughter. So in the end, when Lady Hilda said most bewitchingly, ‘I put it upon the grounds of a personal favour, Mr. Percival,’ the obdurate publisher gave way at last, and consented to do her bidding gladly.
For six weeks Ernest went daily with Ronald and the young artist into the familiar slums of Bethnal Green, and Bermondsey, and Lambeth, whose ins and outs he was beginning to know with painful accuracy; and every night he came back, and wrote down with a glowing pen all that he had seen and heard of distressing13 and terrible during his day’s peregrination14. It was an awful task from one point of view, for the scenes he had to visit and describe were often heart-rending; and Arthur feared more than once that the air of so many loathsome15 and noxious16 dens17 might still further accelerate the progress of Ernest’s disease; but Lady Hilda said emphatically, No; and somehow Arthur was beginning now to conceive an immense respect for the practical value of Lady Hilda’s vehement18 opinions. As a matter of fact, indeed, Ernest did not visibly suffer at all either from the unwonted hard work or from the strain upon mind and body to which he had been so little accustomed. Distressing as it all was, it was change, it was variety, it was occupation, it was relief from that terrible killing19 round of perpetual personal responsibility. Above all, Ernest really believed that here at last was an opportunity of doing some practical good in his generation, and he threw himself into it with all the passionate20 ardour of a naturally eager and vivid nature. The enthusiasm of humanity was upon him, and it kept him going at high-pressure rate, with no apparent loss of strength and vigour21 throughout the whole ordeal22. To Arthur Berkeley’s intense delight, he was even visibly fatter to the naked eye at the end of his six weeks’ exploration of the most dreary23 and desolate24 slums in all London.
The book was written at white heat, as the best of such books always are, and it was engraved25 and printed at the very shortest possible notice. Terrible and ghastly it certainly was at last—instinct with all the grim local colouring of those narrow, squalid, fever-stricken dens, where misfortune and crime huddle26 together indiscriminately in dirt and misery—a book to make one’s blood run cold with awe27 and disgust, and to stir up even the callous28 apathy29 of the great rich capitalist West End to a passing moment’s ineffective remorse30; but very clever and very graphic31 after its own sort beyond the shadow of a question, for all its horror. When Arthur Berkeley turned over the first proof-sheets of ‘London’s Shame,’ with its simple yet thrilling recital32 of true tales taken down from the very lips of outcast children or stranded33 women, with its awful woodcuts and still more awful descriptions—word-pictures reeking34 with the vice35 and filth36 and degradation37 of the most pestilent, overcrowded, undrained tenements—he felt instinctively38 that Ernest Le Breton’s book would not need the artificial aid of Lady Hilda’s influential39 friends in order to make it successful and even famous. The Cabinet ministers might be as silent as they chose, the indignant duke might confine his denunciations to the attentive40 and sympathetic ear of his friend Lord Connemara; but nothing on earth could prevent Ernest Le Breton’s fiery41 and scathing42 diatribe43 from immediately enthralling44 the public attention. Lady Hilda had hit upon the exact subject which best suited his peculiar45 character and temperament46, and he had done himself full justice in it. Not that Ernest had ever thought of himself, or even of his style, or the effect he was producing by his narrative47; it was just the very non-self-consciousness of the thing that gave it its power. He wrote down the simple thoughts that came up into his own eager mind at the sight of so much inequality and injustice48; and the motto that Arthur prefixed upon the title-page, ‘Facit indignatio versum,’ aptly described the key-note of that fierce and angry final denunciation. ‘Yes, Lady Hilda had certainly hit the right nail on the head,’ Arthur Berkeley said to himself more than once: ‘A wonderful woman, truly, that beautiful, stately, uncompromising, brilliant, and still really tender Hilda Tregellis.’
Hilda, on her part, worked hard and well for the success of Ernest’s book as soon as it appeared. Nay49, she even condescended50 (not being what Ernest himself would have described as an ethical51 unit) to practise a little gentle hypocrisy52 in suiting her recommendations of ‘London’s Shame’ to the tastes and feelings of her various acquaintances. To her Radical53 Cabinet minister friend, she openly praised its outspoken54 zeal55 for the cause of the people, and its value as a wonderful storehouse of useful facts at first hand for political purposes in the increasingly important outlying Metropolitan56 boroughs57. ‘Just think, Sir Edmund,’ she said, persuasively59, ‘how you could crush any Conservative candidate for Hackney or the Tower Hamlets out of that awful chapter on the East End match-makers;’ while with the Duke, to whom she presented a marked copy as a sample of what our revolutionary thinkers were really coming to, she insisted rather upon its wicked interference with the natural rights of landlords, and its abominable60 insinuation (so subversive61 of all truly English ideas as to liberty and property) that they were bound not to poison their tenants62 by total neglect of sanitary63 precautions. ‘If I were you, now,’ she said to the Duke in the most seemingly simple-minded manner possible, ‘I’d just quote those passages I’ve marked in pencil in the House to-night on the Small Urban Holdings Bill, and point out how the wave of Continental64 Socialism is at last invading England with its devastating65 flood.’ And the Duke, who was a complacent66, thick-headed, obstinate67 old gentleman, congenitally incapable68 of looking at any question from any other point of view whatsoever69 except that of his own order, fell headlong passively into Lady Hilda’s cruel little trap, and murmured to himself as he rolled down luxuriously70 to the august society of his peers that evening, ‘Tremendous clever girl, Hilda Tregellis, really. “Wave of Continental Socialism at last invading England with its what-you-may-call-it flood,” she said, if I remember rightly. Capital sentence to end off one’s speech with, I declare. Devizes’ll positively wonder where I got it from. I’d no idea before that girl took such an intelligent interest in political questions. So they want their cottages whitewashed71, do they? What’ll they ask for next, I wonder? Do they think we’re to be content at last with one and a-half per cent, upon the fee-simple value of our estates, I should like to know? Why, some of the places this writer-fellow talks about are on my own property in The Rookery—“one of the most noisome73 court-yards in all London,” he actually calls it. Whitewash72 their cottages, indeed! The lazy improvident74 creatures! They’ll be asking us to put down encaustic tiles upon the floors next, and to paper their walls with Japanese leather or fashionable dados. Really, the general ignorance that prevails among the working classes as to the clearest principles of political economy is something absolutely appalling75, absolutely appalling.’ And his Grace scribbled76 a note in his memorandum-book of Hilda’s ready-made peroration77, for fear he should forget its precise wording before he began to give the House the benefit of his views that night upon the political economy of Small Urban Holdings.
Next morning, all London was talking of the curious coincidence by which a book from the pen of an unknown author, published only one day previously78, had been quoted and debated upon simultaneously79 in both Houses of Parliament on a single evening. In the Commons, Sir Edmund Calverley, the distinguished80 Radical minister, had read a dozen pages from the unknown work in his declamatory theatrical81 fashion, and had so electrified82 the House with its graphic and horrible details that even Mr. Fitzgerald-Grenville, the well-known member for the Baroness83 Drummond-Lloyd (whose rotten or at least decomposing84 borough58 of Cherbury Minor85 he faithfully represented in three successive Parliaments), had mumbled86 out a few half-inaudible apologetic sentences about this state of things being truly deplorable, and about the necessity for meeting such a distressing social crisis by the prompt and vigorous application of that excellent specific and familiar panacea87, a spirited foreign policy. In the Lords, the Duke himself, by some untoward88 coincidence, had been moved to make a few quotations89, accompanied by a running fire of essentially90 ducal criticism, from the very selfsame obscure author; and to his immense surprise, even the members of his own party moved uneasily in their seats during the course of his speech; while later in the evening, Lord Devizes muttered to him angrily in the robing-room, ‘Look here, Duke, you’ve been and put your foot in it, I assure you, about that Radical book you were ill-advised enough to quote from. You ought never to have treated the Small Urban Holdings Bill in the way you did; and just you mark my words, the papers’ll all be down upon you to-morrow morning, as sure as daylight. You’ve given the “Bystander” such an opening against you as you’ll never forget till your dying day, I can tell you.’ And as the Duke drove back again after his arduous91 legislative92 efforts that evening, he said to himself between the puffs93 at his Havana, ‘This comes, now, of allowing oneself to be made a fool of by a handsome woman. How the dooce I could ever have gone and taken Hilda Tregellis’s advice on a political question is really more than I can fathom:—and at my time of life too! And yet, all the same, there’s no denying that she’s a devilish fine woman, by Jove, if ever there was one.’
Of course, everybody asked themselves next day what this book ‘London’s Shame’ was like, and who on earth its author could be; so much so, indeed, that a large edition was completely exhausted94 within a fortnight. It was the great sensational95 success of that London season. Everybody read it, discussed it, dissected96 it, corroborated97 it, refuted it, fought over it, and wrote lengthy98 letters to all the daily papers about its faults and its merits. Imitators added their sincerest flattery: rivals proclaimed themselves the original discoverers of ‘London’s Shame’: one enterprising author even thought of going to law about it as a question of copyright. Owners of noisome lanes in the East End trembled in their shoes, and sent their agents to inquire into the precise degree of squalor to be found in the filthy99 courts and alleys100 where they didn’t care to trust their own sensitive aristocratic noses. It even seemed as if a little real good was going to come at last out of Ernest Le Breton’s impassioned pleading—as if the sensation were going to fall not quite flat at the end of its short run in the clubs and drawing-rooms of London as a nine days’ wonder.
And Ernest Le Breton? and Edie? In the little lodgings101 at Holloway, they sat first trembling for the result, and ready to burst with excitement when Lady Hilda, up at the unwonted hour of six in the morning, tore into their rooms with an early copy of the ‘Times’ to show them the Duke’s speech, and Sir Edmund’s quotations, and the editorial leader in which even that most dignified102 and reticent103 of British journals condescended to speak with studiously moderated praise of the immense collection of facts so ably strung together by Mr. Ernest Le Breton (in all the legible glory of small capitals, too,) as to the undoubtedly104 disgraceful condition of some at least among our London alleys. How Edie clung around Lady Hilda and kissed her! and how Lady Hilda kissed her back and cried over her with tears of happier augury105! and how they both kissed and cried over unconscious wondering little Dot! And how Lady Hilda could almost have fallen upon Ernest, too, as he sat gazing in blank astonishment106 and delight at his own name in the magnificent small capitals of a ‘Times’ leader. Between crying and laughing, with much efficient aid in both from good Mrs. Halliss, they hardly knew how they ever got through the long delightful107 hours of that memorable108 epoch-making morning.
And then there came the gradual awakening109 to the fact that this was really fame—fame, and perhaps also competence110. First in the field, of course, was the editor of the ‘Cosmopolitan Review,’ with a polite request that Ernest would give the readers of that intensely hot-and-hot and thoughtful periodical the opportunity of reading his valuable views on the East End outcast question, before they had had time to be worth nothing for journalistic purposes, through the natural and inevitable111 cooling of the public interest in this new sensation. Then his old friends of the ‘Morning Intelligence’ once more begged that he would be good enough to contribute a series of signed and headed articles to their columns, on the slums and fever dens of poverty-stricken London. Next, an illustrated weekly asked him to join with his artist friend in getting up another pilgrimage into yet undiscovered metropolitan plague-spots. And so, before the end of a month, Ernest Le Breton, for the first time in his life, had really got more work to do than he could easily manage, and work, too, that he felt he could throw his whole life and soul into with perfect honesty.
When the first edition of ‘London’s Shame’ was exhausted, there was already a handsome balance to go to Ernest and his artist coadjutor, who, by the terms of the agreement, were to divide between them half the profits. The other half, for appearance’ sake, Lady Hilda and Arthur had been naturally compelled to reserve for themselves: for of course it would not have been probable that any publisher would have undertaken the work without any hope of profit in any way. Arthur called upon Hilda at Lord Exmoor’s house in Wilton Place to show her the first balance-sheet and accompanying cheque. ‘What on earth can we do with it?’ he asked seriously. ‘We can’t divide it between us: and yet we can’t give it to the poor Le Bretons. I don’t see how we’re to manage.’
‘Why, of course,’ Hilda answered promptly112. ‘Put it into the Consols or whatever you call it, for the benefit of little Dot.’
‘The very thing!’ Arthur answered in a tone of obvious admiration113. ‘What a wonderfully practical person you really are, Lady Hilda.’
As to Ernest and Edie, when they got their own cheque for their quarter of the proceeds, they gazed in awe and astonishment at the bigness of the figure; and then they sat down and cried together like two children, with their hands locked in one another’s.
‘And you’ll get well, now, Ernest dear,’ Edie whispered gently. ‘Why, you’re ever so much fatter, darling, already. I’m sure you’ll get well in no time, now, Ernest.’
‘Upon my word, Edie,’ Ernest answered, kissing her white forehead tenderly, ‘I really and truly believe I shall. It’s my opinion that Sir Antony Wraxall’s an unmitigated ignorant humbug114.’
A few weeks later, when Ernest’s remarkable115 article on ‘How to Improve the Homes of the Poor’ appeared in one of the leading magazines, Mr. Herbert Le Breton of the Education Office looked up from his cup of post-prandial coffee in his comfortable dining-room at South Kensington, and said musingly116 to his young wife, ‘Do you know, Ethel, it seems to me that my brother Ernest’s going to score a success at last with this slum-hunting business that he’s lately invented. There’s an awful lot about it now in all the papers and reviews. Perhaps it might be as well, after all, to scrape an acquaintance with him again, especially as he’s my own brother. There’s no knowing, really, when a man of his peculiar ill-regulated mercurial117 temperament may be going to turn out famous. Don’t you think you’d better find out where they’re living now—they’ve left Holloway, no doubt, since this turn of the tide—and go and call upon Mrs. Ernest?’
Whereto Mrs. Herbert Le Breton, raising her eyes for a moment from the pages of her last new novel, answered languidly: ‘Don’t you think, Herbert, it’d be better to wait a little while and see how things turn out with them in the long run, you know, before we commit ourselves by going to call upon them? One swallow, you see, doesn’t make a summer, does it, dear, ever?’ Whence the acute and intelligent reader will doubtless conclude that Mrs. Herbert Le Breton was a very prudent118 sensible young woman, and that perhaps even Herbert himself had met at last with his fitting Nemesis119. For what worse purgatory120 could his bitterest foe121 wish for a selfishly prudent and cold-hearted man, than that he should pass his whole lifetime in congenial intercourse122 with a selfishly prudent and cold-hearted wife, exactly after his own pattern?
点击收听单词发音
1 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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2 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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3 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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4 expressively | |
ad.表示(某事物)地;表达地 | |
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5 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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6 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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7 obdurate | |
adj.固执的,顽固的 | |
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8 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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9 persevered | |
v.坚忍,坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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10 acquiescence | |
n.默许;顺从 | |
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11 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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12 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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13 distressing | |
a.使人痛苦的 | |
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14 peregrination | |
n.游历,旅行 | |
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15 loathsome | |
adj.讨厌的,令人厌恶的 | |
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16 noxious | |
adj.有害的,有毒的;使道德败坏的,讨厌的 | |
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17 dens | |
n.牙齿,齿状部分;兽窝( den的名词复数 );窝点;休息室;书斋 | |
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18 vehement | |
adj.感情强烈的;热烈的;(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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19 killing | |
n.巨额利润;突然赚大钱,发大财 | |
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20 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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21 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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22 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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23 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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24 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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25 engraved | |
v.在(硬物)上雕刻(字,画等)( engrave的过去式和过去分词 );将某事物深深印在(记忆或头脑中) | |
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26 huddle | |
vi.挤作一团;蜷缩;vt.聚集;n.挤在一起的人 | |
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27 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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28 callous | |
adj.无情的,冷淡的,硬结的,起老茧的 | |
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29 apathy | |
n.漠不关心,无动于衷;冷淡 | |
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30 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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31 graphic | |
adj.生动的,形象的,绘画的,文字的,图表的 | |
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32 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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33 stranded | |
a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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34 reeking | |
v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的现在分词 );散发臭气;发出难闻的气味 (of sth);明显带有(令人不快或生疑的跡象) | |
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35 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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36 filth | |
n.肮脏,污物,污秽;淫猥 | |
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37 degradation | |
n.降级;低落;退化;陵削;降解;衰变 | |
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38 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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39 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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40 attentive | |
adj.注意的,专心的;关心(别人)的,殷勤的 | |
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41 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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42 scathing | |
adj.(言词、文章)严厉的,尖刻的;不留情的adv.严厉地,尖刻地v.伤害,损害(尤指使之枯萎)( scathe的现在分词) | |
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43 diatribe | |
n.抨击,抨击性演说 | |
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44 enthralling | |
迷人的 | |
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45 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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46 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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47 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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48 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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49 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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50 condescended | |
屈尊,俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 ); 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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51 ethical | |
adj.伦理的,道德的,合乎道德的 | |
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52 hypocrisy | |
n.伪善,虚伪 | |
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53 radical | |
n.激进份子,原子团,根号;adj.根本的,激进的,彻底的 | |
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54 outspoken | |
adj.直言无讳的,坦率的,坦白无隐的 | |
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55 zeal | |
n.热心,热情,热忱 | |
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56 metropolitan | |
adj.大城市的,大都会的 | |
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57 boroughs | |
(尤指大伦敦的)行政区( borough的名词复数 ); 议会中有代表的市镇 | |
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58 borough | |
n.享有自治权的市镇;(英)自治市镇 | |
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59 persuasively | |
adv.口才好地;令人信服地 | |
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60 abominable | |
adj.可厌的,令人憎恶的 | |
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61 subversive | |
adj.颠覆性的,破坏性的;n.破坏份子,危险份子 | |
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62 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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63 sanitary | |
adj.卫生方面的,卫生的,清洁的,卫生的 | |
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64 continental | |
adj.大陆的,大陆性的,欧洲大陆的 | |
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65 devastating | |
adj.毁灭性的,令人震惊的,强有力的 | |
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66 complacent | |
adj.自满的;自鸣得意的 | |
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67 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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68 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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69 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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70 luxuriously | |
adv.奢侈地,豪华地 | |
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71 whitewashed | |
粉饰,美化,掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 whitewash | |
v.粉刷,掩饰;n.石灰水,粉刷,掩饰 | |
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73 noisome | |
adj.有害的,可厌的 | |
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74 improvident | |
adj.不顾将来的,不节俭的,无远见的 | |
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75 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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76 scribbled | |
v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 );乱画;草草地写;匆匆记下 | |
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77 peroration | |
n.(演说等之)结论 | |
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78 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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79 simultaneously | |
adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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80 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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81 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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82 electrified | |
v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 );使兴奋 | |
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83 baroness | |
n.男爵夫人,女男爵 | |
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84 decomposing | |
腐烂( decompose的现在分词 ); (使)分解; 分解(某物质、光线等) | |
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85 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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86 mumbled | |
含糊地说某事,叽咕,咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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87 panacea | |
n.万灵药;治百病的灵药 | |
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88 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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89 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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90 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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91 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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92 legislative | |
n.立法机构,立法权;adj.立法的,有立法权的 | |
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93 puffs | |
n.吸( puff的名词复数 );(烟斗或香烟的)一吸;一缕(烟、蒸汽等);(呼吸或风的)呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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94 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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95 sensational | |
adj.使人感动的,非常好的,轰动的,耸人听闻的 | |
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96 dissected | |
adj.切开的,分割的,(叶子)多裂的v.解剖(动物等)( dissect的过去式和过去分词 );仔细分析或研究 | |
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97 corroborated | |
v.证实,支持(某种说法、信仰、理论等)( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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98 lengthy | |
adj.漫长的,冗长的 | |
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99 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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100 alleys | |
胡同,小巷( alley的名词复数 ); 小径 | |
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101 lodgings | |
n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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102 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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103 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
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104 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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105 augury | |
n.预言,征兆,占卦 | |
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106 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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107 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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108 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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109 awakening | |
n.觉醒,醒悟 adj.觉醒中的;唤醒的 | |
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110 competence | |
n.能力,胜任,称职 | |
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111 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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112 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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113 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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114 humbug | |
n.花招,谎话,欺骗 | |
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115 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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116 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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117 mercurial | |
adj.善变的,活泼的 | |
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118 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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119 nemesis | |
n.给以报应者,复仇者,难以对付的敌手 | |
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120 purgatory | |
n.炼狱;苦难;adj.净化的,清洗的 | |
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121 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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122 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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