Farmers were back at work in their fields now, most of them still in the field gray of the trenches25, turned into “civies” by some simple little change. Men of military age seemed far more plentiful27 than along French roads. How clean and unscathed, untouched by the war, it all looked in contrast to poor, mutilated, devastated28 France. Many sturdy draft-horses were still seen, escaped by some miracle from the maw of war. Goodly dumps of American and French shells, for quick use should the Germans suddenly cease to cry “Kamerad!” flashed by. In one spot was an enormous heap of Boche munitions29 waiting for our ordnance30 section to find some safe means of blowing it up. There were “Big Bertha” shells, and Zeppelin bombs among them, of particular interest to those of us who had never seen them before, but who knew only too well how it feels 70to have them drop within a few yards of us. Every little while we sped past peasant men and women who were opening long straw- and earth-covered mounds31, built last autumn under other conditions, and loading wagons32 with the huge coarse species of turnip—rutabagas, I believe we call them—which seemed to form their chief crop and food. In the big beech33 forest about the beautiful Larchersee women and children, and a few men, were picking up beechnuts under the sepia-brown carpet of last year’s leaves. Their vegetable fat makes a good Ersatz butter. Wild ducks still winged their way over the See, or rode its choppy waves, undisturbed by the rumors34 of food scarcity35. For not only did the game restrictions36 of the old régime still hold; the population was forced to hand over even its shotguns when we came, and to get one back again was a long and properly complicated process.
The Americans took upon themselves the repair and widening of the roads which our heavy trucks had begun to pound into a condition resembling those of France in the war zone—at German expense in the end, of course; that was particularly where the shoe pinched. It broke the thrifty37 Boche’s heart to see these extravagant38 warriors39 from overseas, to whom two years of financial carte blanche had made money seem mere paper, squandering40 his wealth, or that of his children, without so much as an if you please. The labor41 was German, under the supervision42 of American sergeants44, and the recruiting of it absurdly simple—to the Americans. An order to the burgomaster informing him succinctly45, “You will furnish four hundred men at such a place to-morrow morning at seven for road labor; wages eight marks a day,” covered our side of the transaction. Where and how the burgomaster found the laborers46 was no soup out of our plates. We often got, of course, the poorest workmen; men too young or too old for our purposes, men either already broken on the wheel of industry or not yet 71broken to harness; but there was an easy “come-back” if the German officials played that game too frequently. Once enrolled47 to labor for the American army, a man was virtually enlisted48 for the duration of the armistice49—save for suitable reasons or lack of work. Strikes, so epidemic50 “over in Germany,” were not permitted in our undertakings51. A keen young lieutenant10 of engineers was in charge of road repairs and sawmills in a certain divisional area. One morning his sergeant43 at one of the mills called him on the Signal Corps52 telephone that linked all the Army of Occupation together, with the information that the night force had struck.
“Struck!” cried the lieutenant, aghast at the audacity53. “I’ll be out at once!”
Arrived at the town in question, he dropped in on the A. P. M. to request that a squad54 of M. P.’s follow him without delay, and hurried on to the mill, fingering his .44.
“Order that night force to fall in here at once!” he commanded, indicating an imaginary line along which the offending company should be dressed.
“Yes, sir,” saluted55 the sergeant, and disappeared into the building.
The lieutenant waited, nursing his rage. A small boy, blue with cold, edged forward to see what was going on. Two others, a bit older, thin and spindle-shanked, their throats and chins muffled56 in soiled and ragged57 scarfs, their gray faces testifying to long malnutrition58, idled into view with that yellow-dog curiosity of hookworm victims. But the night force gave no evidence of existence. At length the sergeant reappeared.
“Well,” snapped the lieutenant, “what about it? Where is that night shift?”
“All present, sir,” replied the sergeant, pointing at the three shivering urchins59. “Last night at midnight I ordered them to start a new pile of lumber60, and the next I see of them 72they was crouching61 around the boiler—it was a cold night, sir—and when I ordered them back to work they said they hadn’t had anything to eat for two days but some war-bread. You know there’s been some hold-up in the pay vouchers62....”
A small banquet at the neighboring Gasthof ended that particular strike without the intervention63 of armed force, though there were occasionally others that called for the shadow of it.
In taking over industries of this sort the Americans adopted the practice of demanding to see the receipted bills signed by the German military authorities, then required the same prices. Orders were issued to supply no civilian15 trade without written permission from the Americans. After the first inevitable64 punishments for not taking the soft-spoken new-comers at their word, the proprietors65 applied66 the rule with a literalness that was typically German. A humble67 old woman knocked timidly at the lieutenant’s office door one day, and upon being admitted handed the clerk a long, impressive legal paper. When it had been deciphered it proved to be a laboriously68 penned request for permission to buy lumber at the neighboring sawmill. In it Frau Schmidt, there present, certified69 that she had taken over a vacant shop for the purpose of opening a shoe-store, that said occupation was legal and of use to the community, that there was a hole in the floor of said shop which it was to the advantage of the health and safety of the community to have mended, wherefore she respectfully prayed the Herr Leutnant in charge of the sawmills of the region to authorize71 her to buy three boards four inches wide and three feet long. In witness of the truth of the above assertions of Frau Schmidt, respectable and duly authorized72 member of the community, the burgomaster had this day signed his name and caused his seal to be affixed73.
73The lieutenant solemnly approved the petition and passed it on “through military channels” to the sergeant at the sawmill. Any tendency of das Volk to take our occupancy with fitting seriousness was too valuable to be jeopardized74 by typical American informality.
A few days later came another episode to disprove any rumors that the American heel was being applied with undue75 harshness. The village undertaker came in to state that a man living on the edge of town was expected to die, and that he had no lumber with which to make him a coffin76. The tender-hearted lieutenant, who had seen many comrades done to death in tricky77 ambuscades on the western front, issued orders that the undertaker be permitted to purchase materials for a half-dozen caskets, and as the petitioner79 bowed his guttural thanks he assured him: “You are entirely80 welcome. Whenever you need any more lumber for a similar purpose do not hesitate to call on me. I hope you will come early and often.”
The Boche gazed at the speaker with the glass-eyed expressionlessness peculiar81 to his race, bowed his thanks again, and departed. Whether or not he “got the idea” is not certain. My latest letter from the lieutenant contains the postscript82, “I also had the satisfaction of granting another request for lumber for six coffins83.”
They were singing a familiar old song with new words during my last weeks in Coblenz, the chorus beginning “The Rhine, the Rhine, the Yankee Rhine.” For many miles up and down the historic stream it seemed so indeed. I have been in many foreign ports in my day, and in none of them have I seen the American flag so much in evidence as at the junction84 of the Moselle and “Father Rhine.” The excursion steamers—those same side-wheelers on which you rode that summer you turned tourist, on which you ate red cabbage at a table hemmed85 in by paunchy, gross Germans who rolled their 74sentimental eyes as the famous cliff roused in them a lusty attempt to sing of the Lorelei with her golden hair—carried the Stars and Stripes at their stern now. They were still manned by their German crews; a resplendent “square-head” officer still majestically86 paced the bridge. But they were in command of American Marines, “snappy,” keen-eyed young fellows who had fought their way overland—how fiercely the Boche himself knows only too well—till they came to water again, like the amphibians87 that they are. A “leatherneck” at the wheel, a khaki-clad band playing airs the Rhine cliffs never echoed back in former years, a compact mass of happy Yanks packing every corner, they plow88 placidly89 up and down the stream which so many of their passengers never dreamed of seeing outside their school-books, dipping their flags to one another as they pass, a rubber-lunged “Y” man pouring out megaphoned tales and legends as each “castled crag,” flying the Stars and Stripes or the Tricolor now, loomed91 into view, rarely if ever forgetting to add that unsuspected little touch of “propaganda,” “Burned by the French in 1689.” Baedeker himself never aspired92 to see his land so crowded with tourists and sightseers as it was in the spring of 1919. Now and then a shipload of those poilus who waved to us from the shore as we danced and sang and megaphoned our way up through their territory came down past Coblenz, their massed horizon blue so much more tangible93 than our drab brown, their band playing quite other tunes94 than ours, the doughboys ashore95 shrilling96 an occasional greeting to what they half affectionately, half disdainfully call “the poor Frogs.” There was a somewhat different atmosphere aboard these horizon-blue excursion boats than on our own; they seemed to get so much more satisfaction, a contentment almost too deep for words, out of the sight of the sale Boche in manacles.
Boatloads of “Tommies” came up to look us over now 75and then, too, a bit disdainful, as is their nature, but friendly, in their stiff way, for all that, their columns of caps punctuated97 here and there by the cocked hat of the saucy98 “Aussies” and the red-banded head-gear of those other un-British Britons from the antipodes who look at first glance so startlingly like our own M. P.’s. Once we were even favored with a call by the sea-dogs whose vigil made this new Watch on the Rhine possible; five “snappy” little submarine-chasers, that had wormed their way up through the canals and rivers of France, anchored down beneath the gigantic monument at the mouth of the Moselle. You have three guesses as to whether or not the Germans looked at them with interest.
It was my good fortune to be able to make two excursions into unoccupied Germany while stationed on the Rhine. Those who fancy the sight of an American uniform beyond our lines was like shaking a red tablecloth99 in a Spanish bull-ring may be surprised to know that these little jaunts100 were by no means rare. We went not merely in full uniform, quite without camouflage102, but in army automobiles and wholly unarmed—and we came back in a condition which a cockney would pronounce in the same way. The first spin was to Düsseldorf, between two of her Sparticist flurries. Not far above Bonn the landscape changed suddenly from American to British khaki, with a boundary post in charge of a circumspect103 English sergeant between. Below Cologne, with her swarming104 “Tommies” and her plump and comely105 girl street-car conductors and “motormen” in their green-banded Boche caps, we passed scores of the apple-cheeked boy recruits England was sending us to take the place of those who were “fed up with it,” and who gazed about them with that wide-eyed interest in every little detail of this strange new land which the traveler would fain keep to the end of his days. It seemed natural to find the British here; one had grown to associate them with the 76flat, low portions of the country. Far down the river a French post stopped us, but the sentry106 was so interested in posing before my kodak that he forgot to mention passes, and we were soon speeding on through a narrow horizon-blue belt. The Belgians, who turned the scene to brown again not far beyond, were even less exacting107 than the poilus. At the farther end of the great bridge over the Rhine between Neuss and Düsseldorf they had a score of sentries108 posted behind barbed-wire entanglements109, touching110 the very edge of the unoccupied city. But our only formality in passing them was to shout over our shoulders, “Armée américaine!” that open sesame of western Europe for nearly two years.
Somewhat to our disappointment the atmosphere of Düsseldorf was very little different from that of an occupied city. The ubiquitous small boy surrounded us more densely111 wherever our car halted; the thronged113 streets stared at us somewhat more searchingly, but there was little other change in attitude to be noted114. Those we asked for directions gave us the same elaborate courtesy and annoying assistance; the shops we entered served us as alertly and at as reasonable prices; the manufacturer we called on listened to our wants as respectfully as any of his fellows in the occupied zone—and was quite as willing to open a credit with the American army. The motto everywhere seemed to be “Business as usual.” There was next to nothing to suggest a state of war or siege anywhere within a thousand miles of us—nothing, at least, except a few gaunt youths of the ’19 class who guarded railway viaducts and government buildings, still wearing their full trench26 equipment, including—strange to believe!—their camouflaged115 iron hats! Postal116 clerks of the S. O. S. supposed, of course, that all this brand of head-gear had long since crossed the Atlantic. Humanity certainly is quick to recuperate117. Here, on the edge of the greatest war in history, with the 77victorious enemy at the very end of the next street, with red revolution hovering118 in the air, life went on its even way; merchants sold their wares119; street-cars carried their lolling passengers; children homeward bound from school with their books in the hairy cowhide knapsacks we had so often seen doing other service at the front chattered120 and laughed and played their wayside games.
The return to Coblenz was even more informal than the down-stream trip. Belgian, French, and British guards waved to us to pass as we approached; only our own frontier guard halted us, and from then on our right arms grew weary with returning the salutes121 that were snapped at us in constant, unfailing succession.
The second trip was a trifle more exciting, partly because we had no permission to carry it as far as we did—playing hooky, which in the army is pronounced “A. W. O. L.” keeps its zest122 all through life—partly because we never knew at what moment the war-battered “Dodge” would fall to bits beneath us, like the old one-horse shay, and leave us to struggle back to our billets as best we could. It was a cold but pleasant Sunday. Up the Rhine to Mainz nothing broke the rhythm of our still robust123 motor except the M. P. at the old stone arch that separated the American from the broad horizon-blue strip—the two journeys laid end to end made one realize what an enormous chunk124 of Germany the armistice gave the Allies. We halted, of course, at the cathedral of the French headquarters to see the “Grablegung Christi (1492),” as every one should, listened awhile to the whine125 of the pessimistic old sexton with his, “Oh, such another war will come again in twenty years or so; humanity is like that,” and sped on along a splendid highway to Wiesbaden. The French were making the most of their stay in this garden spot. They let no non-fraternizing orders interfere126 with enjoying the best the Kurhaus restaurant or cellars, the magnificent, over-ornate 78opera-house, the beautiful park, even the culture of the better class of German visitors, afforded.
Our pass read Wiesbaden and return, but that would have made a tame day of it. Rejuvenated127 of heart, if saddened of pocketbook, by the Kurhaus luncheon128, we rattled129 swiftly on to the eastward130. In due time we began to pass French outposts, indifferent to our passage at first, then growing more and more inquisitive131, until there came one which would not be put off with a flip132 of the hand and a shouted “Armée américaine,” but brought us to an abrupt133 stop with a long, slim bayonet that came perilously134 near disrupting the even purr of our still sturdy motor. The crucial moment had come. If the French guard could read our pass we were due to turn back forthwith, chagrined135 and crestfallen136. But none of us had ever heard of a French guard who could read an American pass, and we presented it with that lofty assurance which only those have not learned who wantonly wasted their time with the A. E. F. in France. The sentry received the pass dubiously137, as we expected him to; he looked it over on both sides with an inwardly puzzled but an outwardly wise air, as we knew he would; he called his corporal, as we had foreseen; the corporal looked at the pass with the pretended wisdom of all his kind, handed it back with a courteous138 “Bien, messieurs,” as we were certain he would, and we sped on “into Germany.”
It was a bland139 and sunny afternoon. The suburban140 villages of Frankfurt were waddling141 about in their Sunday best, the city itself was promenading142 its less dowdy143 holiday attire144 along the wide, well-swept streets. We brought up at a square overlooked by a superbly proportioned bronze gentleman who had lost every stitch of his attire except his “tin hat,” where we left the car and mingled145 with the throng112. Passers-by directed us courteously146 enough to the “Goethehaus.” Its door-bell handle dangled147 loosely, as it had fifteen years before, but a sign informed us that the 79place was closed on Sunday afternoons. The scattered148 crowd that had paused to gaze at our strange uniforms told us to come next day, or any other time than Sunday afternoon, and we should be admitted at once. We did not take the trouble to explain how difficult it would be for us to come another day. Instead, we strolled nonchalantly through the thickening throng and fell in with the stream of promenaders along the wide main street. There were four of us—Colonel—but never mind the name, for this one happened to be a perfectly150 good colonel, and he may still be in the army—and three other officers. We—or, more exactly, our uniforms—attracted a decided151 attention. The majority stared at us vacantly or with puzzled airs; now and then we saw some man of military age whisper our identity to his companion. No one gave any indication of a desire to molest152 us. Yet somehow the atmosphere about us was considerably153 more tense than in Düsseldorf. Twice we heard a “verdammte” behind us, but as one of them was followed by the word “Engl?nder” it may have been nothing worse than a case of mistaken identity. Still there was something in the air that whispered we had best not prolong our call beyond the dictates154 of good taste.
The shop-windows were fully70 as well stocked as those of Cologne or Coblenz; the strollers, on the whole, well dressed. Their faces, in the expert opinion of the colonel, showed no more signs of malnutrition than the average crowd of any large city. Here and there we passed a sturdy, stern-faced sailor, a heavy Browning or Luger at his side, reminding us that these men of the sea—or of the Kiel Canal—had taken over the police duties in many centers. Otherwise nothing met the eye or ear that one would not have seen in Frankfurt in days of peace.
As we were retracing155 our steps, one of my companions stepped across the street to ask directions to a fashionable afternoon-tea house. He returned a moment later beside 80a gigantic, heavily armed soldier-policeman. The fellow had demanded to see our passes, our permission to visit Frankfurt. Now, in the words of the American soldier, we had no more permission to visit Frankfurt “than a rabbit.” But this was the last place in the world to betray that fact. The pass to Wiesbaden and return I had left in the car. I showed great eagerness to take the policeman to see it. He gave evidence of a willingness to accept the invitation. We were on the point of starting when a more dapper young soldier-guard, a sergeant, appeared. The giant clicked his heels sharply and fell into the background. The sergeant spoke1 perfect English, with a strong British accent. He regretted the annoyance156 of troubling us, but—had we a pass? I showed renewed eagerness to conduct him to the car and show it.
“Not at all. Not at all,” he apologized. “As long as you have a pass it’s quite all right, you know, quite. Ah, and you have an automobile6? Yes, yes, quite, the square where the bronze Hermes is. It’s quite all right, I assure you. You will pardon us for troubling you? The Astoria? Ah, it is rather a jaunt101, you know. But here is the Café Bauer, right in front of you. You’ll find their cakes quite as good, and their music is topping, you know. Not at all. Not at all. It’s quite all right, really. So sorry to have troubled you, you know. Good day, sir.”
It was with difficulty that we found seats in the crowded café, large as it was. A throng of men and women, somewhat less buoyant than similar gatherings157 in Paris, was sipping159 beer and wine at the marble-topped tables. A large orchestra played rather well in a corner. Seidels of good beer cost us less than they would have in New York two years before. The bourgeois160 gathering158 looked at us rather fixedly161, a bit languidly. I started to light a cigar, but could not find my matches. A well-dressed man of middle age at the next table leaned over and lighted it 81for me. Two youthful students in their gay-colored caps grinned at us rather flippantly. A waiter hovered162 about us, bowing low and smirking163 a bit fatuously164 whenever we spoke to him. There was no outward evidence to show that we were among enemies. Still there was no wisdom in playing too long with fire, once the initial pleasure of the game had worn off. It would have been hard to explain to our own people how we came to be in Frankfurt, even if nothing worse came of another demand for our passes. Uncle Sam would never suffer for the loss of that “Dodge,” but he would be quite apt to show extensive inquisitiveness165 to know who lost it. The late afternoon promenade149 at the Kurhaus back in Wiesbaden was said to be very interesting. We paid our reckoning, tipped our tip, and wandered casually166 back to the square graced by the bronze young man whose equipment had gone astray. To say that we were surprised to find the car waiting where we had left it, the doughboy-chauffeur dozing167 in his seat, would be putting it too strongly. But we were relieved.
The Kurhaus promenade was not what it was “cracked up to be,” at least not that afternoon. But we may have been somewhat late. The opera, beginning at six, was excellent, lacking something of the lightness of the same performance in Paris, but outdoing it in some details, chiefly in its mechanical effects. One looked in vain for any suggestion of under-nourishment in the throng of buxom168, “corn-fed” women and stodgy169 men who crowded the house and the top-heavily decorated foyer during the entr’actes. Frenchmen in uniform, from generals to poilus, gave color to the rather somber170 audience and made no bones of “fraternizing” with the civilians—particularly if she chanced to be beautiful, which was seldom the case. American officers were numerous; there were Englishmen, “Anzacs,” Belgians, Italians, and a Serb or two. The after-theater dinner at the Kurhaus was sumptuous171, except in one detail; 82neither bribery172 nor pleading could win us the tiniest slice of the black war-bread that was stintingly served to those with bread-tickets. Otherwise “wine, women, and song” were as much in evidence as if war had never come to trouble the worldly pleasures of Wiesbaden.
We left after ten, of a black night. Our return trip, by direct route, took us through a strip of neutral territory. We were startled some eight or ten times by a stentorian173 “Halte!” at improvised174 wooden barriers, in lonely places, by soldiers in French uniforms who were not Frenchmen, and who could neither speak any tongue we could muster175 nor read our pass. They were French colonials, many of them blacker than the night in which they kept their shivering vigil. Most of them delayed us a matter of several minutes; all of them carried aside their clumsy barriers and let us pass at last with bad grace. Nearing Coblenz, we were halted twice by our own soldiers, stationed in pairs beside their blazing fires, and at three in the morning we scattered to our billets.
Two cartoons always come to mind when I look back on those months with the American Watch on the Rhine. One is French. It shows two poilus sitting on the bank of the famous stream, the one languidly fishing, with that placid90 indifference176 of the French fisherman as to whether or not he ever catches anything; the other stretched at three-fourths length against a wall and yawning with ennui177 as he remarks, “And they call this the Army of Occupation!” The other drawing is American. It shows Pershing in 1950. He is bald, with a snowy beard reaching to his still soldierly waist, while on his lap he holds a grandson to whom he has been telling stories of his great years. Suddenly, as the erstwhile commander of the A. E. F. is about to doze78 off into his afternoon nap, the grandson points a finger at the map, demanding, “And what is that red spot in the center of Europe, grandpa?” With one brief glance 83the old general springs to his feet, crying, “Great C?sar! I forgot to relieve the Army of Occupation!”
Those two squibs are more than mere jokes; they sum up the point of view of the soldiers on the Rhine. The French, and like them the British and Belgians, only too glad that the struggle that had worn into their very souls was ended at last, had settled down to all the comfort and leisure consistent with doing their full duty as guardians178 of the strip intrusted to them. The Americans, like a team arriving at a baseball tournament so late that they could play only the last three innings, had gone out on the field to bat up flies and play a practice game to take some of the sting out of the disappointment of finding the contest over before they could make better use of their long and arduous179 training. It was this species of military oakum-picking that was the second grievance180 of the American soldier on the Rhine; the first was the uncertainty181 that surrounded his return to the land of his birth. While the neighboring armies were walking the necessary posts and sleeping many and long naps, our soldiers had scarcely found time to wash the feet that had carried them from the trenches to the Rhine, much less cure them of their blisters182, when orders swept over the Army of Occupation calling for long hours of intensive training six days a week. It is said that an English general on an inspection183 tour of our area watched this mile after mile of frenzied184 trench-digging, of fake bombing-parties, of sham185 battles the barrages186 of which still made the earth tremble for a hundred miles around, of never-ending “Squads187 east and squads west,” without a word, until he came to the end of the day and of his review. Then he remarked:
“Astounding! Extraordinary, all this, upon my word! You chaps certainly have the vim188 of youth. But ... ah ... er ... if you don’t mind telling me, just what are you planning to do? Fight your way back through France?”
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1 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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2 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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3 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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4 inundated | |
v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 );(洪水般地)涌来;充满;给予或交予(太多事物)使难以应付 | |
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5 automobiles | |
n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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6 automobile | |
n.汽车,机动车 | |
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7 limousines | |
n.豪华轿车( limousine的名词复数 );(往返机场接送旅客的)中型客车,小型公共汽车 | |
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8 plebeian | |
adj.粗俗的;平民的;n.平民;庶民 | |
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9 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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10 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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11 lieutenants | |
n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 );副职官员;空军;仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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12 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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13 battalions | |
n.(陆军的)一营(大约有一千兵士)( battalion的名词复数 );协同作战的部队;军队;(组织在一起工作的)队伍 | |
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14 diligently | |
ad.industriously;carefully | |
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15 civilian | |
adj.平民的,民用的,民众的 | |
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16 civilians | |
平民,百姓( civilian的名词复数 ); 老百姓 | |
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17 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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18 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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19 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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20 accentuating | |
v.重读( accentuate的现在分词 );使突出;使恶化;加重音符号于 | |
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21 skulls | |
颅骨( skull的名词复数 ); 脑袋; 脑子; 脑瓜 | |
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22 sobriquet | |
n.绰号 | |
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23 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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24 spiked | |
adj.有穗的;成锥形的;有尖顶的 | |
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25 trenches | |
深沟,地沟( trench的名词复数 ); 战壕 | |
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26 trench | |
n./v.(挖)沟,(挖)战壕 | |
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27 plentiful | |
adj.富裕的,丰富的 | |
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28 devastated | |
v.彻底破坏( devastate的过去式和过去分词);摧毁;毁灭;在感情上(精神上、财务上等)压垮adj.毁坏的;极为震惊的 | |
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29 munitions | |
n.军火,弹药;v.供应…军需品 | |
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30 ordnance | |
n.大炮,军械 | |
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31 mounds | |
土堆,土丘( mound的名词复数 ); 一大堆 | |
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32 wagons | |
n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 );铁路货车;小手推车 | |
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33 beech | |
n.山毛榉;adj.山毛榉的 | |
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34 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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35 scarcity | |
n.缺乏,不足,萧条 | |
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36 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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37 thrifty | |
adj.节俭的;兴旺的;健壮的 | |
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38 extravagant | |
adj.奢侈的;过分的;(言行等)放肆的 | |
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39 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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40 squandering | |
v.(指钱,财产等)浪费,乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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41 labor | |
n.劳动,努力,工作,劳工;分娩;vi.劳动,努力,苦干;vt.详细分析;麻烦 | |
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42 supervision | |
n.监督,管理 | |
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43 sergeant | |
n.警官,中士 | |
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44 sergeants | |
警官( sergeant的名词复数 ); (美国警察)警佐; (英国警察)巡佐; 陆军(或空军)中士 | |
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45 succinctly | |
adv.简洁地;简洁地,简便地 | |
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46 laborers | |
n.体力劳动者,工人( laborer的名词复数 );(熟练工人的)辅助工 | |
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47 enrolled | |
adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 );登记,招收,使入伍(或入会、入学等),参加,成为成员;记入名册;卷起,包起 | |
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48 enlisted | |
adj.应募入伍的v.(使)入伍, (使)参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 );获得(帮助或支持) | |
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49 armistice | |
n.休战,停战协定 | |
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50 epidemic | |
n.流行病;盛行;adj.流行性的,流传极广的 | |
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51 undertakings | |
企业( undertaking的名词复数 ); 保证; 殡仪业; 任务 | |
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52 corps | |
n.(通信等兵种的)部队;(同类作的)一组 | |
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53 audacity | |
n.大胆,卤莽,无礼 | |
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54 squad | |
n.班,小队,小团体;vt.把…编成班或小组 | |
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55 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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56 muffled | |
adj.(声音)被隔的;听不太清的;(衣服)裹严的;蒙住的v.压抑,捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 );用厚厚的衣帽包着(自己) | |
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57 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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58 malnutrition | |
n.营养不良 | |
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59 urchins | |
n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 );淘气鬼;猬;海胆 | |
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60 lumber | |
n.木材,木料;v.以破旧东西堆满;伐木;笨重移动 | |
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61 crouching | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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62 vouchers | |
n.凭证( voucher的名词复数 );证人;证件;收据 | |
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63 intervention | |
n.介入,干涉,干预 | |
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64 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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65 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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66 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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67 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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68 laboriously | |
adv.艰苦地;费力地;辛勤地;(文体等)佶屈聱牙地 | |
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69 certified | |
a.经证明合格的;具有证明文件的 | |
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70 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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71 authorize | |
v.授权,委任;批准,认可 | |
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72 authorized | |
a.委任的,许可的 | |
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73 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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74 jeopardized | |
危及,损害( jeopardize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75 undue | |
adj.过分的;不适当的;未到期的 | |
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76 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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77 tricky | |
adj.狡猾的,奸诈的;(工作等)棘手的,微妙的 | |
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78 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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79 petitioner | |
n.请愿人 | |
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80 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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81 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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82 postscript | |
n.附言,又及;(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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83 coffins | |
n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 );使某人早亡[死,完蛋,垮台等]之物 | |
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84 junction | |
n.连接,接合;交叉点,接合处,枢纽站 | |
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85 hemmed | |
缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 ); 包围 | |
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86 majestically | |
雄伟地; 庄重地; 威严地; 崇高地 | |
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87 amphibians | |
两栖动物( amphibian的名词复数 ); 水陆两用车; 水旱两生植物; 水陆两用飞行器 | |
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88 plow | |
n.犁,耕地,犁过的地;v.犁,费力地前进[英]plough | |
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89 placidly | |
adv.平稳地,平静地 | |
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90 placid | |
adj.安静的,平和的 | |
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91 loomed | |
v.隐约出现,阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 );隐约出现,阴森地逼近 | |
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92 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93 tangible | |
adj.有形的,可触摸的,确凿的,实际的 | |
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94 tunes | |
n.曲调,曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 );调整;(给收音机、电视等)调谐;使协调 | |
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95 ashore | |
adv.在(向)岸上,上岸 | |
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96 shrilling | |
(声音)尖锐的,刺耳的,高频率的( shrill的现在分词 ); 凄厉 | |
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97 punctuated | |
v.(在文字中)加标点符号,加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 );不时打断某事物 | |
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98 saucy | |
adj.无礼的;俊俏的;活泼的 | |
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99 tablecloth | |
n.桌布,台布 | |
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100 jaunts | |
n.游览( jaunt的名词复数 ) | |
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101 jaunt | |
v.短程旅游;n.游览 | |
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102 camouflage | |
n./v.掩饰,伪装 | |
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103 circumspect | |
adj.慎重的,谨慎的 | |
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104 swarming | |
密集( swarm的现在分词 ); 云集; 成群地移动; 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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105 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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106 sentry | |
n.哨兵,警卫 | |
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107 exacting | |
adj.苛求的,要求严格的 | |
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108 sentries | |
哨兵,步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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109 entanglements | |
n.瓜葛( entanglement的名词复数 );牵连;纠缠;缠住 | |
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110 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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111 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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112 throng | |
n.人群,群众;v.拥挤,群集 | |
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113 thronged | |
v.成群,挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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114 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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115 camouflaged | |
v.隐蔽( camouflage的过去式和过去分词 );掩盖;伪装,掩饰 | |
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116 postal | |
adj.邮政的,邮局的 | |
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117 recuperate | |
v.恢复 | |
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118 hovering | |
鸟( hover的现在分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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119 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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120 chattered | |
(人)喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 ); 唠叨; (牙齿)打战; (机器)震颤 | |
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121 salutes | |
n.致敬,欢迎,敬礼( salute的名词复数 )v.欢迎,致敬( salute的第三人称单数 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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122 zest | |
n.乐趣;滋味,风味;兴趣 | |
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123 robust | |
adj.强壮的,强健的,粗野的,需要体力的,浓的 | |
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124 chunk | |
n.厚片,大块,相当大的部分(数量) | |
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125 whine | |
v.哀号,号哭;n.哀鸣 | |
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126 interfere | |
v.(in)干涉,干预;(with)妨碍,打扰 | |
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127 rejuvenated | |
更生的 | |
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128 luncheon | |
n.午宴,午餐,便宴 | |
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129 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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130 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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131 inquisitive | |
adj.求知欲强的,好奇的,好寻根究底的 | |
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132 flip | |
vt.快速翻动;轻抛;轻拍;n.轻抛;adj.轻浮的 | |
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133 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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134 perilously | |
adv.充满危险地,危机四伏地 | |
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135 chagrined | |
adj.懊恼的,苦恼的v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136 crestfallen | |
adj. 挫败的,失望的,沮丧的 | |
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137 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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138 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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139 bland | |
adj.淡而无味的,温和的,无刺激性的 | |
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140 suburban | |
adj.城郊的,在郊区的 | |
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141 waddling | |
v.(像鸭子一样)摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的现在分词 ) | |
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142 promenading | |
v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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143 dowdy | |
adj.不整洁的;过旧的 | |
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144 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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145 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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146 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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147 dangled | |
悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 ); 摆动不定; 用某事物诱惑…; 吊胃口 | |
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148 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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149 promenade | |
n./v.散步 | |
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150 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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151 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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152 molest | |
vt.骚扰,干扰,调戏 | |
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153 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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154 dictates | |
n.命令,规定,要求( dictate的名词复数 )v.大声讲或读( dictate的第三人称单数 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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155 retracing | |
v.折回( retrace的现在分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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156 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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157 gatherings | |
聚集( gathering的名词复数 ); 收集; 采集; 搜集 | |
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158 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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159 sipping | |
v.小口喝,呷,抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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160 bourgeois | |
adj./n.追求物质享受的(人);中产阶级分子 | |
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161 fixedly | |
adv.固定地;不屈地,坚定不移地 | |
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162 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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163 smirking | |
v.傻笑( smirk的现在分词 ) | |
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164 fatuously | |
adv.愚昧地,昏庸地,蠢地 | |
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165 inquisitiveness | |
好奇,求知欲 | |
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166 casually | |
adv.漠不关心地,无动于衷地,不负责任地 | |
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167 dozing | |
v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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168 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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169 stodgy | |
adj.易饱的;笨重的;滞涩的;古板的 | |
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170 somber | |
adj.昏暗的,阴天的,阴森的,忧郁的 | |
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171 sumptuous | |
adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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172 bribery | |
n.贿络行为,行贿,受贿 | |
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173 stentorian | |
adj.大声的,响亮的 | |
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174 improvised | |
a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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175 muster | |
v.集合,收集,鼓起,激起;n.集合,检阅,集合人员,点名册 | |
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176 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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177 ennui | |
n.怠倦,无聊 | |
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178 guardians | |
监护人( guardian的名词复数 ); 保护者,维护者 | |
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179 arduous | |
adj.艰苦的,费力的,陡峭的 | |
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180 grievance | |
n.怨愤,气恼,委屈 | |
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181 uncertainty | |
n.易变,靠不住,不确知,不确定的事物 | |
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182 blisters | |
n.水疱( blister的名词复数 );水肿;气泡 | |
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183 inspection | |
n.检查,审查,检阅 | |
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184 frenzied | |
a.激怒的;疯狂的 | |
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185 sham | |
n./adj.假冒(的),虚伪(的) | |
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186 barrages | |
n.弹幕射击( barrage的名词复数 );火力网;猛烈炮火;河上的堰坝v.火力攻击(或阻击)( barrage的第三人称单数 );以密集火力攻击(或阻击) | |
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187 squads | |
n.(军队中的)班( squad的名词复数 );(暗杀)小组;体育运动的运动(代表)队;(对付某类犯罪活动的)警察队伍 | |
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188 vim | |
n.精力,活力 | |
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