This is a Hill-top Novel. I dedicate it to all who have heart enough, brain enough, and soul enough to understand it.
What do I mean by a Hill-top Novel? Well, of late we have been flooded with stories of evil tendencies: a Hill-top Novel is one which raises a protest in favour of purity.
Why have not novelists raised the protest earlier? For this reason. Hitherto, owing to the stern necessity laid upon the modern seer for earning his bread, and, incidentally, for finding a publisher to assist him in promulgating1 his prophetic opinions, it has seldom happened that writers of exceptional aims have been able to proclaim to the world at large the things which they conceived to be best worth their telling it. Especially has this been the case in the province of fiction. Let me explain the situation. Most novels nowadays have to run as serials3 through magazines or newspapers; and the editors of these periodicals are timid to a degree which outsiders would hardly believe with regard to the fiction they admit into their pages. Endless spells surround them. This story or episode would annoy their Catholic readers; that one would repel4 their Wesleyan Methodist subscribers; such an incident is unfit for the perusal5 of the young person; such another would drive away the offended British matron. I do not myself believe there is any real ground for this excessive and, to be quite frank, somewhat ridiculous timidity. Incredible as it may seem to the ordinary editor, I am of opinion that it would be possible to tell the truth, and yet preserve the circulation. A first-class journal does not really suffer because two or three formalists or two or three bigots among its thousands of subscribers give it up for six weeks in a pet of ill-temper—and then take it on again. Still, the effect remains6: it is almost impossible to get a novel printed in an English journal unless it is warranted to contain nothing at all to which anybody, however narrow, could possibly object, on any grounds whatever, religious, political, social, moral, or aesthetic7. The romance that appeals to the average editor must say or hint at nothing at all that is not universally believed and received by everybody everywhere in this realm of Britain. But literature, as Thomas Hardy8 says with truth, is mainly the expression of souls in revolt. Hence the antagonism9 between literature and journalism10.
Why, then, publish one's novels serially11 at all? Why not appeal at once to the outside public, which has few such prejudices? Why not deliver one's message direct to those who are ready to consider it or at least to hear it? Because, unfortunately, the serial2 rights of a novel at the present day are three times as valuable, in money worth, as the final book rights. A man who elects to publish direct, instead of running his story through the columns of a newspaper, is forfeiting12, in other words, three-quarters of his income. This loss the prophet who cares for his mission could cheerfully endure, of course, if only the diminished income were enough for him to live upon. But in order to write, he must first eat. In my own case, for example, up till the time when I published The Woman who Did, I could never live on the proceeds of direct publication; nor could I even secure a publisher who would consent to aid me in introducing to the world what I thought most important for it. Having now found such a publisher—having secured my mountain—I am prepared to go on delivering my message from its top, as long as the world will consent to hear it. I will willingly forgo14 the serial value of my novels, and forfeit13 three-quarters of the amount I might otherwise earn, for the sake of uttering the truth that is in me, boldly and openly, to a perverse15 generation.
For this reason, and in order to mark the distinction between these books which are really mine—my own in thought, in spirit, in teaching—and those which I have produced, sorely against my will, to satisfy editors, I propose in future to add the words, “A Hill-top Novel,” to every one of my stories which I write of my own accord, simply and solely16 for the sake of embodying17 and enforcing my own opinions.
Not that, as critics have sometimes supposed me to mean, I ever wrote a line, even in fiction, contrary to my own profound beliefs. I have never said a thing I did not think: but I have sometimes had to abstain19 from saying many things I did think. When I wished to purvey20 strong meat for men, I was condemned21 to provide milk for babes. In the Hill-top Novels, I hope to reverse all that—to say my say in my own way, representing the world as it appears to me, not as editors and formalists would like me to represent it.
The Hill-top Novels, however, will not constitute, in the ordinary sense, a series. I shall add the name, as a Trade Mark, to any story, by whomsoever published, which I have written as the expression of my own individuality. Nor will they necessarily appear in the first instance in volume form. If ever I should be lucky enough to find an editor sufficiently22 bold and sufficiently righteous to venture upon running a Hill-top Novel as a serial through his columns, I will gladly embrace that mode of publication. But while editors remain as pusillanimous23 and as careless of moral progress as they are at present, I have little hope that I shall persuade any one of them to accept a work written with a single eye to the enlightenment and bettering of humanity.
Whenever, therefore, in future, the words “A Hill-top Novel” appear upon the title-page of a book by me, the reader who cares for truth and righteousness may take it for granted that the book represents my own original thinking, whether good or bad, on some important point in human society or human evolution.
Not, again, that any one of these novels will deliberately24 attempt to PROVE anything. I have been amused at the allegations brought by certain critics against The Woman who Did that it “failed to prove” the practicability of unions such as Herminia's and Alan's. The famous Scotsman, in the same spirit, objected to Paradise Lost that it “proved naething”: but his criticism has not been generally endorsed25 as valid26. To say the truth, it is absurd to suppose a work of imagination can prove or disprove anything. The author holds the strings27 of all his puppets, and can pull them as he likes, for good or evil: he can make his experiments turn out well or ill: he can contrive28 that his unions should end happily or miserably29: how, then, can his story be said to PROVE anything? A novel is not a proposition in Euclid. I give due notice beforehand to reviewers in general, that if any principle at all is “proved” by any of my Hill-top Novels, it will be simply this: “Act as I think right, for the highest good of human kind, and you will infallibly and inevitably30 come to a bad end for it.”
Not to prove anything, but to suggest ideas, to arouse emotions, is, I take it, the true function of fiction. One wishes to make one's readers THINK about problems they have never considered, FEEL with sentiments they have disliked or hated. The novelist as prophet has his duty defined for him in those divine words of Shelley's:
“Singing songs unbidden
Till the world is wrought31
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded32 not.”
That, too, is the reason that impels34 me to embody18 such views as these in romantic fiction, not in deliberate treatises35. “Why sow your ideas broadcast,” many honest critics say, “in novels where mere36 boys and girls can read them? Why not formulate37 them in serious and argumentative books, where wise men alone will come across them?” The answer is, because wise men are wise already: it is the boys and girls of a community who stand most in need of suggestion and instruction. Women, in particular, are the chief readers of fiction; and it is women whom one mainly desires to arouse to interest in profound problems by the aid of this vehicle. Especially should one arouse them to such living interest while they are still young and plastic, before they have crystallised and hardened into the conventional marionettes of polite society. Make them think while they are young: make them feel while they are sensitive: it is then alone that they will think and feel, if ever. I will venture, indeed, to enforce my views on this subject by a little apologue which I have somewhere read, or heard,—or invented.
A Revolutionist desired to issue an Election Address to the Working Men of Bermondsey. The Rector of the Parish saw it at the printer's, and came to him, much perturbed38. “Why write it in English?” he asked. “It will only inflame39 the minds of the lower orders. Why not allow me to translate it into Ciceronian Latin? It would then be comprehensible to all University men; your logic40 would be duly and deliberately weighed: and the tanners and tinkers, who are so very impressionable, would not be poisoned by it.” “My friend,” said the Revolutionist, “it is the tanners and tinkers I want to get at. My object is, to win this election; University graduates will not help me to win it.”
The business of the preacher is above all things to preach; but in order to preach, he must first reach his audience. The audience in this case consists in large part of women and girls, who are most simply and easily reached by fiction. Therefore, fiction is today the best medium for the preacher of righteousness who addresses humanity.
Why, once more, this particular name, “A Hill-top Novel”? For something like this reason.
I am writing in my study on a heather-clad hill-top. When I raise my eye from my sheet of foolscap, it falls upon miles and miles of broad open moorland. My window looks out upon unsullied nature. Everything around is fresh and pure and wholesome41. Through the open casement42, the scent43 of the pines blows in with the breeze from the neighbouring firwood. Keen airs sigh through the pine-needles. Grasshoppers44 chirp45 from deep tangles46 of bracken. The song of a skylark drops from the sky like soft rain in summer; in the evening, a nightjar croons to us his monotonously47 passionate48 love-wail from his perch49 on the gnarled boughs50 of the wind-swept larch51 that crowns the upland. But away below in the valley, as night draws on, a lurid52 glare reddens the north-eastern horizon. It marks the spot where the great wen of London heaves and festers. Up here on the free hills, the sharp air blows in upon us, limpid53 and clear from a thousand leagues of open ocean; down there in the crowded town, it stagnates54 and ferments55, polluted with the diseases and vices56 of centuries.
This is an urban age. The men of the villages, alas57, are leaving behind them the green fields and purple moors58 of their childhood, are foolishly crowding into the narrow lanes and purlieus of the great cities. Strange decadent59 sins and morbid60 pleasures entice61 them thither62. But I desire in these books to utter a word once more in favour of higher and purer ideals of life and art. Those who sicken of the foul63 air and lurid light of towns may still wander side by side with me on these heathery highlands. Far, far below, the theatre and the music-hall spread their garish64 gas-lamps. Let who will heed33 them. But here on the open hill-top we know fresher and more wholesome delights. Those feverish65 joys allure66 us not. O decadents67 of the town, we have seen your sham68 idyls, your tinsel Arcadias. We have tired of their stuffy69 atmosphere, their dazzling jets, their weary ways, their gaudy70 dresses; we shun71 the sunken cheeks, the lack-lustre eyes, the heart-sick souls of your painted goddesses. We love not the fetid air, thick and hot with human breath, and reeking72 with tobacco smoke, of your modern Parnassus—a Parnassus whose crags were reared and shaped by the hands of the stage-carpenter! Your studied dalliance with your venal73 muses74 is little to our taste. Your halls are too stifling75 with carbonic acid gas; for us, we breathe oxygen.
And the oxygen of the hill-tops is purer, keener, rarer, more ethereal. It is rich in ozone76. Now, ozone stands to common oxygen itself as the clean-cut metal to the dull and leaden exposed surface. Nascent77 and ever renascent78, it has electrical attraction; it leaps to the embrace of the atom it selects, but only under the influence of powerful affinities79; and what it clasps once, it clasps for ever. That is the pure air which we drink in on the heather-clad heights—not the venomous air of the crowded casino, nor even the close air of the middle-class parlour. It thrills and nerves us. How we smile, we who live here, when some dweller80 in the mists and smoke of the valley confounds our delicate atmosphere, redolent of honey and echoing the manifold murmur81 of bees, with that stifling miasma82 of the gambling83 hell and the dancing saloon! Trust me, dear friend, the moorland air is far other than you fancy. You can wander up here along the purple ridges84, hand locked in hand with those you love, without fear of harm to yourself or your comrade. No Bloom of Ninon here, but fresh cheeks like the peach-blossom where the sun has kissed it: no casual fruition of loveless, joyless harlots, but life-long saturation86 of your own heart's desire in your own heart's innocence87. Ozone is better than all the champagne88 in the Strand89 or Piccadilly. If only you will believe it, it is purity and life and sympathy and vigour90. Its perfect freshness and perpetual fount of youth keep your age from withering91. It crimsons92 the sunset and lives in the afterglow. If these delights thy mind may move, leave, oh, leave the meretricious93 town, and come to the airy peaks. Such joy is ours, unknown to the squalid village which spreads its swamps where the poet's silver Thames runs dull and leaden.
Have we never our doubts, though, up here on the hill-tops? Ay, marry, have we! Are we so sure that these gospels we preach with all our hearts are the true and final ones? Who shall answer that question? For myself, as I lift up my eyes from my paper once more, my gaze falls first on the golden bracken that waves joyously94 over the sandstone ridge85 without, and then, within, on a little white shelf where lies the greatest book of our greatest philosopher. I open it at random95 and consult its sortes. What comfort and counsel has Herbert Spencer for those who venture to see otherwise than the mass of their contemporaries?
“Whoever hesitates to utter that which he thinks the highest truth, lest it should be too much in advance of the time, may reassure96 himself by looking at his acts from an impersonal97 point of view. Let him duly realise the fact that opinion is the agency through which character adapts external arrangements to itself—that his opinion rightly forms part of this agency—is a unit of force, constituting, with other such units, the general power which works out social changes; and he will perceive that he may properly give full utterance98 to his innermost conviction; leaving it to produce what effect it may. It is not for nothing that he has in him these sympathies with some principles and repugnances to others. He, with all his capacities, and aspirations99, and beliefs, is not an accident, but a product of the time. He must remember that while he is a descendant of the past, he is a parent of the future; and that his thoughts are as children born to him, which he may not carelessly let die. He, like every other man, may properly consider himself as one of the myriad100 agencies through whom works the Unknown Cause; and when the Unknown Cause produces in him a certain belief, he is thereby101 authorised to profess102 and act out that belief. For, to render in their highest sense the words of the poet—
'Nature is made better by no mean,
But nature makes that mean; over that art
Which you say adds to nature, is an art
That nature makes.'
“Not as adventitious103 therefore will the wise man regard the faith which is in him. The highest truth he sees he will fearlessly utter; knowing that, let what may come of it, he is thus playing his right part in the world—knowing that if he can effect the change he aims at—well: if not—well also; though not SO well.”
That passage comforts me. These, then, are my ideas. They may be right, they may be wrong. But at least they are the sincere and personal convictions of an honest man, warranted in him by that spirit of the age, of which each of us is but an automatic mouthpiece.
G. A.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
promulgating
|
|
| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的现在分词 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
serial
|
|
| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
serials
|
|
| n.连载小说，电视连续剧( serial的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
repel
|
|
| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
perusal
|
|
| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
remains
|
|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
aesthetic
|
|
| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
antagonism
|
|
| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
serially
|
|
| adv.连续地，连续刊载地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
forfeiting
|
|
| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
forfeit
|
|
| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
forgo
|
|
| v.放弃，抛弃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
perverse
|
|
| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
embodying
|
|
| v.表现( embody的现在分词 )；象征；包括；包含 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
embody
|
|
| vt.具体表达，使具体化；包含，收录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
abstain
|
|
| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
purvey
|
|
| v.（大量）供给，供应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
condemned
|
|
| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
pusillanimous
|
|
| adj.懦弱的，胆怯的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
endorsed
|
|
| vt.& vi.endorse的过去式或过去分词形式v.赞同( endorse的过去式和过去分词 )；在（尤指支票的）背面签字；在（文件的）背面写评论；在广告上说本人使用并赞同某产品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
valid
|
|
| adj.有确实根据的；有效的；正当的，合法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
contrive
|
|
| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
wrought
|
|
| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
heeded
|
|
| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
heed
|
|
| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
impels
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
treatises
|
|
| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
formulate
|
|
| v.用公式表示；规划；设计；系统地阐述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
perturbed
|
|
| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
inflame
|
|
| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
logic
|
|
| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
casement
|
|
| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
grasshoppers
|
|
| n.蚱蜢( grasshopper的名词复数 )；蝗虫；蚂蚱；（孩子）矮小的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
chirp
|
|
| v.(尤指鸟)唧唧喳喳的叫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
tangles
|
|
| （使）缠结， （使）乱作一团( tangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
monotonously
|
|
| adv.单调地，无变化地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
perch
|
|
| n.栖木，高位，杆；v.栖息，就位，位于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
boughs
|
|
| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
larch
|
|
| n.落叶松 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
lurid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；血红的；苍白的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
limpid
|
|
| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
stagnates
|
|
| v.停滞，不流动，不发展( stagnate的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
ferments
|
|
| n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 )；激动；骚动；动荡v.（使）发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
vices
|
|
| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
decadent
|
|
| adj.颓废的，衰落的，堕落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
entice
|
|
| v.诱骗，引诱，怂恿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
thither
|
|
| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
foul
|
|
| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
garish
|
|
| adj.华丽而俗气的，华而不实的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
allure
|
|
| n.诱惑力，魅力；vt.诱惑，引诱，吸引 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
decadents
|
|
| n.颓废派艺术家（decadent的复数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
68
sham
|
|
| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
stuffy
|
|
| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
gaudy
|
|
| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
shun
|
|
| vt.避开，回避，避免 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
venal
|
|
| adj.唯利是图的，贪脏枉法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
muses
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的第三人称单数 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
stifling
|
|
| a.令人窒息的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
ozone
|
|
| n.臭氧，新鲜空气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
nascent
|
|
| adj.初生的，发生中的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
renascent
|
|
| adj.新生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
affinities
|
|
| n.密切关系( affinity的名词复数 )；亲近；（生性）喜爱；类同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
dweller
|
|
| n.居住者，住客 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
murmur
|
|
| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
miasma
|
|
| n.毒气；不良气氛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
gambling
|
|
| n.赌博；投机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
ridges
|
|
| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
saturation
|
|
| n.饱和(状态)；浸透 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
champagne
|
|
| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
strand
|
|
| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
vigour
|
|
| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
withering
|
|
| 使人畏缩的，使人害羞的，使人难堪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
crimsons
|
|
| 变为深红色（crimson的第三人称单数形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
93
meretricious
|
|
| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
joyously
|
|
| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
reassure
|
|
| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
impersonal
|
|
| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
utterance
|
|
| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
aspirations
|
|
| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
myriad
|
|
| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
profess
|
|
| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
adventitious
|
|
| adj.偶然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |