‘This is so kind,—so very kind,’ she said in her flutter. ‘You must let me send for my daughter. She is in her favourite room, with her pictures and her books; but she would not miss you for the world. This is the most comfortable corner, with no draughts17. Some tea, Baker18; let Miss Rich know Mrs. Renton is here.’
‘Pray, don’t disturb yourself,’ Mrs. Renton said. ‘I scarcely ever go out; but it is such a lovely day.’
‘And so kind of you!’ repeated the lady of the house. ‘I had heard so much of your family,—such nice young men, and everything so charming, that I confess I have been longing19 for you to call. And I have the pleasure of knowing two of your sons, Mrs. Renton,—Mr. Frank, and the one next to him,—Mr. Laurence, I think,—delightful20 young men. I hope Mr. Frank does not really mean to go to India. It would be such a loss to the neighbourhood. I was telling him he ought to marry an heiress, and settle down in the county, and make himself comfortable. I told him I should have you on my side. And such a good{274} son as he seems to be,—so fond of you. He surely cannot mean to go away.’
‘I am sure,’ said Mrs. Renton, ‘I should be very thankful if any strong inducement fell in his way to keep him at home.’ And just at this moment Nelly came in, in a white gown, with her favourite scarlet21 ribbons. The dress was not of flimsy materials, but dead, solid white, relieved by the red; and there was a flush upon her dark, clear cheek, and unusual brilliancy in her eyes. Frank’s mother stopped short with these words on her lips, and looked at Nelly. Was she the strong inducement? She was a little agitated22, and the nervousness and excitement made her almost beautiful. Mary Westbury stared at her too, open-mouthed, thinking, after all, Frank might have other motives23. Nelly came in with a touch of shyness, very unusual to her. The nearest female relations of one who, perhaps——. If she had been even more agitated than she was, it would have been natural enough.
‘This is my daughter Nelly,’ said Mrs. Rich; ‘my only daughter. She can tell you more about it than I can. We are to have a little fête for her on Monday week,—archery and croquet, and that sort of thing, and a dance in the evening. It would give us all the greatest pleasure if Miss Westbury would come. Nelly, you must try and persuade Miss Westbury. Indeed, I assure you, I spoke24 to Mr.{275} Frank quite seriously,’ Mrs. Rich added, sinking into a confidential25 tone, as she changed her seat to one close to her much-prized visitor. ‘And he is so fond of you. I am sure he will not go if he can help it. How nice he is! and how popular among the gentlemen! We were delighted with the chance which kept him here all Sunday. Sunday in the country is such a nice domestic sort of day. There is nothing like it for making people acquainted with each other. I was so glad when I heard the hours pass and no sound of wheels. I think before he left us that he got really to feel that we were his friends.’
‘He was very grateful to you for your kindness, I am sure,’ said Mrs. Renton, who, though she could talk herself upon occasions, was fairly overflooded and carried away by this flowing current of speech.
‘Oh, grateful,—no!; said Mrs. Rich; ‘that word would be quite misapplied. It is we who should be grateful to him,—a young man accustomed to the best society,—for putting up with a family party. And your other son, Mrs. Renton, is delightful too. We met him in town. He took us to a friend of his, Mr. Suffolk, the painter, where Mr. Rich bought a most lovely picture. I should ask you to go up to the music-room and look at it but for the stairs. It is a trial going up so many stairs. Yes, we have done a great deal to the house. It{276} must be strange to you, coming to call at a house you once knew so well. But, as Mr. Rich says, it is not our fault. We gave a very good price for it; and, if we had not bought it, some one else would. My husband has laid out a great deal of money upon it. He has excellent taste, everybody says; and, of course, being well off, he does not need to consider every penny, as, unfortunately, so many excellent people have to do. You would be pleased if you saw the music-room,—quite a fine domestic chapel26 they tell us. We have hung Mr. Suffolk’s picture there. If you are fond of pictures——’
‘Oh, thanks! but I am not able to move about and look at things as I used to be,’ cried Mrs. Renton, in alarm.
‘To be sure,’ said her anxious hostess; ‘I ought to have thought of that. You will take a cup of tea? It is so refreshing27 after a long drive. Your son is quite a painter, I know, and so is my daughter. I tell her I cannot tell where she has got it, for we neither of us could draw a line to save our lives, neither her father nor me.’
Thus Mrs. Rich fluttered on, more fluent than ever, probably in consequence of her agitation28. She was anxious to show herself at her best to her visitor, and the consequence was that Mrs. Renton went away sadly fatigued29, and with a sensation of pity for Frank. ‘I never could get a word in,’ she said, indignantly, when she found herself safely ensconced{277} once more in the corner of the carriage. ‘Mary, have you some eau-de-Cologne? I feel as if I were good for nothing but to go to sleep.’
‘Then go to sleep, dear godmamma,’ said Mary, soothingly31; ‘don’t mind me; I have plenty to think about, and I am sure you are tired. But Miss Rich is not so heavy as her mother,’ she added, conscientiously32. Her heart compelled her to do justice to Nelly, but it was against the grain.
‘I don’t know much about Miss Rich,’ said Mrs. Renton, sighing in her fatigue30. And she closed her eyes, lying back in her corner, and dozed33, or appeared to doze34. As for Mary, she had, as she said, a great deal to think about, and indulged herself accordingly, having perfect leisure. But Mary’s thoughts had more of a sting in them than her aunt’s. She was thinking somewhat bitterly of the difference between hope and reality. How hopeful, how promising35 had been all those young men, her cousins! She herself, feeling herself as a woman as old as the eldest36, though she was in fact the same age as the youngest, had thought of them in the exalted37 way common to young women. Something better than usual, she had felt, must fall to their fate. And yet so soon, so suddenly, what a miserable38 end had come to her dreams! Ben, for whose express benefit some unimaginable creature had always been invented in Mary’s thoughts, had allowed himself to be taken captive by the first beautiful face, unaccom{278}panied by anything better. He had set a creature on the supremest pedestal who was not worthy39 to be his servant, Mary thought. He had been beguiled40 and taken in by mere beauty,—not beauty even in which there was any soul. And Frank was going to marry money! She did not know about Laurie. Perhaps had she been aware how far he had erred41 on the other side, and how his admiration42 for the soul and heart had led him away, she might have been still more horror-stricken. The difference between fact and expectation made her heart sink. Was this all that hope was good for? was this all that men were good for? to be deceived or to deceive; to fall victims to a little art and a pair of bright eyes; or to affect a love which they did not feel? Mary’s heart sank within her, as she thought it all over. But her thoughts were interrupted by Mrs. Renton, who stirred uneasily every five minutes and said something to her.
‘I never saw Beecham look the least like what it does now,’ Mrs. Renton murmured, and then closed her eyes again. ‘I wonder what they are really worth,’ she would say next, drowsily43, with her eyes shut, ‘when they can afford to spend so much on setting the house to rights. But the woman is insupportable,’ Mrs. Renton added, with much energy.
Thus they went home again over Cookesley bridge and across the smiling country.{279}
‘I am sorry you did not speak to Miss Rich, godmamma,’ said Mary, as they approached the gate of the Manor44; ‘she is very nice, and just as well bred as other people. I never could have told the difference.’ A sentiment which, forced as it was from her by pure conscientiousness45, made Mrs. Renton shake her head,—
‘Ah, my dear, I never could have been deceived,’ she said. ‘When I saw her sitting by you, I said to myself in a moment, How easy it is to see which is the gentlewoman! But she is not so bad as her mother,—I can understand that.’
‘She is not bad at all,’ said Mary; ‘and if that is really what is going to happen,—though I hope not with all my heart——’
‘Why should you hope not? ‘Mrs. Renton cried, sitting bolt upright, and opening her eyes wide. ‘How unkind of you, Mary! Don’t you see the poor boy may never have such a chance again? If we had her entirely46 in our own hands we might make a difference. I must speak to Frank to begin from the beginning, keeping her as much as possible away from her own family. I wonder what the father looks like? The family are so objectionable,’ said Mrs. Renton, seriously, ‘that such an arrangement would be indispensable,—at least if he ever hoped to make his way in society. I don’t think I ever was so tired of any call in my life.{280}’
‘But her family may be fond of her,’ said Mary, ‘all the same.’
‘Fond of her, my dear!’ cried Mrs. Renton, with energy; ‘what does that matter? You would not have a young man like Frank give up the society of his equals on account of his wife’s family. It would be absurd. Besides, it will be the very best thing he could do for her to bring her away from such an influence; nobody would ever visit her there.’
‘But, dear godmamma,’ said Mary, persisting with the unreasonableness47 of youth, ‘if that is the case, would it not be better for Frank to withdraw from it altogether? For nothing seems to be settled yet, and I think he might still withdraw.’
Mrs. Renton gave a cry of horror and alarm. ‘I can’t think where you have got such foolish notions,’ she said. ‘Why should he withdraw? I tell you I think it is very doubtful if he ever has such a chance again. Weak as I am, you see what an effort I have made to-day on his behalf. I am frightened by that woman, but I would do it again rather than anything should come in his way. I would actually do it again!’ said the devoted48 mother; and after such an heroic decision what could any one say?
As for Mrs. Rich and her daughter, they were quite unconscious of the feelings which moved Mrs. Renton. When the carriage disappeared down the avenue Mrs. Rich drew Nelly to her, and gave her a soft, maternal49 kiss. ‘If you ever have anything to{281} do with that old lady,’ she said, ‘you will not find her difficult to manage, my dear. I was thinking of that all the time she was here. “My Nelly will turn you round her little finger,” I said to myself. She is not one of your hard, fine ladies, that are as easy to be moved as the living rock.’
‘I don’t see that it matters to me,’ Nelly said, impatiently. ‘Mamma, I wish you would not go on thinking that every new person we meet——. It is quite ridiculous. Why should I have anything to do with her? And I don’t think she would be easy to manage. She gave me a look as I came in, and lifted her eyebrows50 while you were speaking,——’
‘She was as sweet as sugar to me,’ said Mrs. Rich, ‘and I hope I can see through people as fast as any one; and it is you who are ridiculous, my dear. As if you did not know as well as I do that Frank Renton does not come here without a reason. He is a young man who knows quite well what he is about; and, of course, it is he that has sent his mother. That Miss Westbury did not look half pleased, Nelly. I should not wonder if she wanted to keep her cousin for herself.’
‘Mamma, you are too bad; you are always saying things about people,’ said Nelly. ‘She may have all the Rentons in the world for me. What do I care for her cousin? And why cannot you let me alone as I am? I am much happier here than{282} I should be anywhere else. I hate all those silly young men.’
‘Ah! my dear, I know what nonsense girls talk,’ said Mrs. Rich; ‘but I hope I know better than to pay any attention. I should be glad to keep you always at home, Nelly; but I am not a fool, and that can’t be. And isn’t it better to fix upon somebody that is nice, and will be fond of you, and will not take you away from us? That has always been my idea for you. I made up my mind from your cradle, Nelly, that I would choose some one for you. Many people in our position, as well off as your papa is, would want a title for their only daughter; but I want somebody to make you happy, my pet, and that will not be too grand, and take you away from your father and me.’
‘That you may be sure no man shall ever do,’ said Nelly, returning her mother’s kiss.
If Mrs. Rich had but heard what the other mother was saying as she drove home,—‘I will speak to Frank to keep her as much away from her own family as possible!’ Or if she had been aware of the calculation in Frank’s mind about the houses which were to be had in the county, and his decision in favour of Cookesley Lodge51 as being farther off from Richmont! Thus the two sets of people went on in their parallel lines, never coming within sight of each other. After all, it was poor Nelly for whom the question was most important. She{283} went away across the park in her white gown, with her pretty waving ribbons, and a sketch-book under her arm, after this talk with her mother. Nelly had not attained52 the highest type of maidenly53 refinement54. She had adopted something of that exalted code of manners which entitles a young princess to signify her preference. She was rich and petted, and set upon a pedestal, a kind of little princess in her way; and she had perhaps permitted Frank to see that his attentions would be acceptable to her in a more distinct manner than is quite usual. She was even conscious that she had done so, but the consciousness did not disturb her much. Communing with herself vaguely55 as she sat down under a tree, and arranged her materials for sketching56, Nelly came to some very sensible conclusions about the matter. Yes; she liked Frank; he was nice, and he was very suitable. Her eye had singled him out instinctively57 from the little crowd of Guardsmen the first time she had seen him. Perhaps he was not clever,—not so clever as could have been wished; but he was very good-looking, and he was nice. And then, perhaps, he was younger than she quite liked him to be; but Nelly told herself philosophically58 that you could not expect to have everything. Her own ideal had been different. He had been thirty at least, a man of experience, with a story and unknown depths in his life; and he had been a man of splendid intellect,{284} and looked up to by everybody; and he had been dark, with wonderful eyes, and a face full of expression. Whereas Frank Renton was fair, with eyes just like other people’s, very young, and not intellectual at all. But he was nice,—that was the point to which Nelly’s reflections always came back. And he was a gentleman of a family very well known in Berks, and would please papa and mamma by settling near them. And Nelly in her heart secretly believed, though even in her thoughts she did not express it, that Frank, though he might please papa and mamma by settling down, would in the meantime please herself by taking her all over the world. His ideal of the hunters and the terriers was very different from her ideal, though the latter was quite as distinct in its way. No doubt a young couple moving about wherever they pleased, dancing through the world here and there, over mountains and valleys, stopping where they liked, rushing about wherever the spirit moved them,—would be a very different thing from the caravanserai progress through Italy contemplated59 by papa and mamma and all their dependants60. This was Nelly’s ideal, very clearly drawn14, and most seductive to her mind. Two people can go anywhere;—a young woman need not mind where she goes, nor how she travels, so long as her husband is with her. Even Mrs. Severn had told her stories of the early wanderings of the poor, joyous61 young painter-pair, which had filled{285} Nelly’s heart with longing. To be sure he was no artist; but still his presence would throw everything open to his young wife, and make every kind of pleasant adventure possible. No longer would there be necessity for pausing to reflect,—Was this proper? was it correct to do so and so? ‘You may go anywhere with your husband,’ was a sentiment that Nelly had been in the way of hearing all her life.
Thus it will be seen that Nelly Rich was not so much to be pitied as Mary Westbury thought. This marriage,—if it came to a marriage,—was an affair involving mingled62 motives on her part as well as Frank’s. Yet, as she sat under the tree with her bright face shadowed by the leaves, and her white dress blazing in the sunshine, she might have been a little lady of romance, with the flowers all breathing fragrance63 around her, and above the tenderest blue of summer skies.
点击收听单词发音
1 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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2 fortified | |
adj. 加强的 | |
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3 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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4 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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5 tempting | |
a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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6 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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7 maiden | |
n.少女,处女;adj.未婚的,纯洁的,无经验的 | |
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8 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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9 wry | |
adj.讽刺的;扭曲的 | |
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10 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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11 delusions | |
n.欺骗( delusion的名词复数 );谬见;错觉;妄想 | |
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12 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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13 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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14 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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15 grandeur | |
n.伟大,崇高,宏伟,庄严,豪华 | |
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16 bask | |
vt.取暖,晒太阳,沐浴于 | |
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17 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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18 baker | |
n.面包师 | |
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19 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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20 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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21 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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22 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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23 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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24 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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25 confidential | |
adj.秘(机)密的,表示信任的,担任机密工作的 | |
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26 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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27 refreshing | |
adj.使精神振作的,使人清爽的,使人喜欢的 | |
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28 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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29 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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30 fatigue | |
n.疲劳,劳累 | |
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31 soothingly | |
adv.抚慰地,安慰地;镇痛地 | |
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32 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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33 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 doze | |
v.打瞌睡;n.打盹,假寐 | |
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35 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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36 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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37 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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38 miserable | |
adj.悲惨的,痛苦的;可怜的,糟糕的 | |
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39 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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40 beguiled | |
v.欺骗( beguile的过去式和过去分词 );使陶醉;使高兴;消磨(时间等) | |
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41 erred | |
犯错误,做错事( err的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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43 drowsily | |
adv.睡地,懒洋洋地,昏昏欲睡地 | |
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44 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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45 conscientiousness | |
责任心 | |
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46 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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47 unreasonableness | |
无理性; 横逆 | |
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48 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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49 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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50 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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51 lodge | |
v.临时住宿,寄宿,寄存,容纳;n.传达室,小旅馆 | |
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52 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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53 maidenly | |
adj. 像处女的, 谨慎的, 稳静的 | |
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54 refinement | |
n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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55 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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56 sketching | |
n.草图 | |
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57 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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58 philosophically | |
adv.哲学上;富有哲理性地;贤明地;冷静地 | |
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59 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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60 dependants | |
受赡养者,受扶养的家属( dependant的名词复数 ) | |
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61 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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62 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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63 fragrance | |
n.芬芳,香味,香气 | |
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