Sir Adam Andinnian was not fated, as too many prisoners are, to languish5 out months of suspense6 in prison. The calamity7 occurred towards the end of June; the assizes were held in July. Almost before his final examination by the magistrates8 had concluded, or the coroner's inquest (protracted after the fashion of inquests, but in this case without any sufficient reason) had returned its verdict, the summer assizes were upon the county. The magistrates had committed Sir Adam Andinnian to take his trial for wilful9 murder; the coroner's jury for manslaughter.
But now--what effect does the reader suppose this most awful blow must have had on Mrs. Andinnian? If any one ever deserved commiseration10 it was surely she. To every mother it would have been terrible; to her it was worse than terrible. She loved her son with the love only lavished11 on an idol12; she had gone forth13 to his new inheritance in all the pride of her fond heart, counting every day, ay, and every hour, until he should gladden it with his presence. If any mortal man stood on a pinnacle14 just then above all his fellows in her estimation, that man was her handsome son, Sir Adam Andinnian. And oh! the desolation that fell upon her when the son for whom she cared not, Karl, arrived at Foxwood to break the news.
And Karl? Hardly less keen, if any, was the blow upon him. Until then, he did not know how very warm and true was his affection for his brother. Staggering back to the town the same night after his interview with Hewitt--and it seemed to Karl Andinnian that he did really stagger, under the weight of his affliction--he found the prisoner at the police station, and was allowed to see him. Adam did not appear to feel his position at all. Karl thought the passion--or whatever other ill feeling it might have been that prompted him
to the fatal deed--was swaying him still. He was perfectly15 calm and self-possessed, and sat quite at ease while the chief of the station took down sundry16 reports in writing from the policemen who brought in the prisoner.
"I have done nothing that I regret," he said to Karl. "The man has but got his deserts. I should do it again to-morrow under the same provocation17."
"But, Adam, think of the consequences to yourself," gasped18 Karl, aghast with dismay at this dangerous admission in the hearing of the officers.
"Oh, as to consequences, I shall be quite ready to take them," returned the prisoner, drawing himself up haughtily19. "I never yet did aught that I was ashamed to acknowledge afterwards."
The Inspector20 ceased writing for a moment and turned round. "Sir Adam Andinnian, I would advise you for your own sake to be silent. Least said is soonest mended, you know, sir. A good rule to remember in all cases."
"Very good indeed, Walls," readily assented21 Sir Adam--who had previously22 been on speaking terms with the Inspector. "But if you think I shall attempt to disown what I've done, you are mistaken."
"It must have been an accident," urged poor Karl in a low tone, almost as though he were suggesting it. "I told Hewitt so."
"Hewitt knows better: he saw me take up the gun, level it, and shoot him," was the reply of Sir Adam, asserted openly. "Look here, Wall. The fellow courted his fate; courted it. I had assured him that if he dared to offend in a certain way again, I would shoot him as I'd shoot a dog. He set me at defiance24 and did it. Upon that, I carried out my promise, and shot him. I could not break my word, you know."
Just then a doubt crossed the Inspector's mind--as he related afterwards--that Sir Adam Andinnian was not in his right senses.
"And the mother?" breathed Karl.
" There's the worst of it," returned Sir Adam, his tone quickly changing to grave concern. "For her sake, I could almost regret it. You must go off to Foxwood to-morrow, Karl, and break it to her."
What a task it was! Never in all Karl's life had one like unto it been imposed upon him. With the early morning he started for Foxwood: and it seemed to him that he would rather have started to his grave.
It was perhaps somewhat singular that during the short period of time intervening before the trial, Lieutenant25 Andinnian should have been gazetted to his company. It gave Karl no pleasure. The rise he had hoped for, that was to have brought him so much satisfaction, could now but be productive of pain. If the trial resulted in the awful sentence--Condemnation--Karl would not of course continue in the army. No, nor could he with any inferior result; save and except acquittal. Karl felt this. It was a matter that admitted of no alternative. To remain one amidst his fellow officers with his only brother disgraced and punished, was not to be thought of. And Karl would rather have remained the nameless lieutenant than have been gazetted captain.
The truest sympathy was felt for him, the utmost consideration evinced. Leave of absence was accorded him at his request, until the result of the trial should be known. He wanted his liberty to stand by his brother, and to make efforts for the defence. Make efforts! When the accused persisted in openly avowing26 he was guilty, what efforts could be made with any hope of success?
One of the hottest days that July has ever given us was that of the trial. The county town was filled from end to end: thousands of curious people had thronged27 in, hoping to get a place in court; or, at least, to obtain a sight of the baronet-prisoner. It was reported that but for the earnest pleadings of his mother there would have been no trial--Sir Adam would have pleaded guilty. It was whispered that she, the hitherto proud, overbearing, self-contained woman, went down on her knees to entreat28 him not to bring upon his head the worst and most extreme sentence known to England's law--as the said pleading guilty would have brought--but to give himself a chance of a more lenient29 sentence: perhaps of an acquittal. It was said that Captain Andinnian would have taken his place in the dock to countenance30 and stand by his brother, but was not permitted.
The trial was unusually short for one involving murder, and unusually interesting. Immediately after the judge had taken his seat in the morning, the prisoner was brought in. The crowded court, who had just risen to do homage31 to the judge, rose again amidst stir and excitement. Strangers, straining their eager eyes, saw, perhaps with a momentary32 feeling of surprise, as grand a gentleman as any present. A tall, commanding, handsome man, with a frank expression of countenance when he smiled, but haughty33 in repose34; his white teeth, that he showed so much, and his grey eyes beautiful. He wore deep mourning for his uncle, Sir Joseph; and bowed to the judge with as much stately ceremony as though he were bowing before the Queen. On one of his fingers flashed a ring of rare beauty: an opal set round with diamonds It had descended35 to him from his father. Captain Andinnian, in deep mourning also, sat at the table with the solicitors36.
The chief witnesses, it may be said the only ones of consequence, were Thomas Hewitt the manservant, and Miss Rose Turner. A surgeon spoke38 to the cause of death--a shot through the heart--and a policeman or two gave some little evidence. Altogether not much. The story that came out to the world through the speeches of counsel, including those for the defence as well as for the prosecution39, may be summed up as follows:
Mr. Andinnian (now Sir Adam) had a great friendship for a young lady neighbour who lived close by, with whom he and his mother had been intimate, and for whose best interests he had a lively regard. This was a Miss Rose Turner: a young lady (the counsel emphatically said) worthy40 of every consideration, and against whom not a breath of slight had been, or could be whispered. Some few months ago Miss Turner was introduced at a friend's house to a medical student (the deceased) named Martin Scott. It had been ascertained41, from inquiries42 set on foot since Martin Scott's death, that this man's private pursuits and character were not at all reputable: but that was of course (the counsel candidly43 added) no reason why he should have been killed. In spite of Miss Turner's strong objection, Martin Scott persisted in offering her his attentions; and two or three times, to the young lady's great disgust, he had forcibly kissed her. These facts became known to Mr. Andinnian: and he, being of a hasty, passionate44 nature, unfortunately took up the matter warmly. Indignant that the young lady should have been subjected to anything so degrading, he sought an interview with the offender45, and told him that if ever he dared to repeat the insult to Miss Turner, he, Mr. Andinnian, would shoot him. It appeared, the counsel added, that Mr. Andinnian avowed46 this in unmistakable terms; that the unfortunate deceased fully47 understood him to mean it, and that Mr. Andinnian would certainly do what he said if provoked. Proof of which would be given. In spite of all this, Martin Scott braved his fate the instant he had an opportunity. On the fatal evening, June the twenty-third, Miss Turner having only just returned home from an absence of some weeks, Martin Scott made his appearance at her uncle's house, followed her into the garden, and there, within sight of Mr. Andinnian (or, rather, Sir Adam Andinnian, for he had then succeeded to his title, said the counsel, stopping to correct himself) he rudely took the young lady in his arms, and kissed her several times. Miss Turner, naturally startled and indignant, broke from him, and burst into a fit of hysterical48 sobs49. Upon this, the prisoner caught up his loaded gun and shot him dead: the gun, unhappily, lying close to his hand, for he had been shooting birds during the day. Such was the substance of the story, as told to the court.
Thomas Hewitt, the faithful serving man, who deposed50 that he had lived in the Andinnian family for many years, and who could hardly speak for the grief within him, was examined. Alas51! he was called for the prosecution: for all his evidence told against his master, not for him.
"That evening," he said, "about eight o'clock, or from that to
half-past, I had occasion to see my master, Sir Adam, and went across the garden and beyond the shrubbery of trees to find him. He was standing52 by the gate that divides his grounds from Mr. Turner's; and all in the same moment, as I came in view, there seemed to be a scuffle going on in Mr. Turner's wide path by the rose bushes. Just at first I did not discern who was there, for the setting sun, then going below the horizon, shone in my face like a ball of fire. I soon saw it was Miss Turner and Martin Scott. Scott seemed to be holding her against her will. She broke away from him, crying and sobbing53, and ran towards my master, as if wanting him to protect her."
"Well?--go on," cried the examining counsel, for the witness had stopped. "What did you see next?"
"Sir Adam caught up his gun from the garden seat close by, where it was lying, presented it at Martin Scott, and fired. The young man sprang up into the air a foot or two, and then fell. It all passed in a moment. I ran to assist him, and found he was dead. That is all I know."
But the witness was not to be released just yet, in spite of this intimation. "Wait a bit," said the counsel for the prosecution. "You saw the prisoner take up the gun, point it at the deceased and fire. Was all this done deliberately54?"
"It was not done hurriedly, sir."
"Answer my question, witness. Was it deliberately done?"
"I think it was. His movements were slow. Perhaps," added poor Hewitt, willing to suggest a loophole of escape for his master, "perhaps Sir Adam had forgotten the gun was loaded, and only fired it off to frighten Scott. It was in the morning he had been shooting the birds: hours before; he could easily have forgotten that it was loaded. My master is not a cruel man, but a humane55 one."
"How came he to leave the gun out there for so many hours, if he had done with it?" asked the judge.
"I don't know, my lord. I suppose he forgot to bring it in when he came in to dinner. Sir Adam is naturally very careless indeed."
One of the jury spoke. "Witness, what was it that you wanted with your master when you went out that evening?"
"A telegram had come for him, sir, and I went to take it to him."
"What did the telegram contain? Do you know?"
"I believe it came from Foxwood, sir."
"From Foxwood?"
"The telegram was from my mother, Mrs. Andinnian," spoke up the prisoner, in his rather loud, but perfectly calm voice, thereby56 electrifying57 the court. "It was to tell me she had arrived safely at Foxwood Court: and that the day for my uncle Sir Joseph's funeral was not then fixed58."
The prisoner's solicitor37, in a great commotion59, leaned over and begged him in a whisper to be silent.
"Nay," said the prisoner aloud, "if any information that I can give is required, why should I be silent?" Surely there had never before been a prisoner like unto this one!
The next witness was Rose Turner. She was accompanied by her uncle and a solicitor; was dressed handsomely in black, and appeared to be in a state of extreme nervous agitation60. Her face was ashy pale, her manner shrinkingly reluctant, and her voice was so low that its accents could not always be caught. In the simple matter of giving her name, she had to be asked it three times.
Her evidence told little more than had been told by the opening counsel.
Mr. Scott had persecuted61 her with his attentions, she said. He wanted her to promise to marry him when he should be established in practice, but she wholly refused, and she begged him to go about his business and leave her alone. He would not; and her aunt had rather encouraged Mr. Scott; they did not know what kind of private character he bore, but supposed of course it was good. Martin Scott had twice kissed her against her will, very much to her own annoyance62; she had told Mr. Andinnian of it--who had always been very kind to her, quite like a protector. It made Mr. Andinnian very angry; and he had then threatened Martin Scott that if he ever again attempted to molest63 her, he would shoot him. She was sure that Martin Scott understood that Mr. Andinnian was not joking, but meant to do what he said. So far, the witness spoke with tolerable readiness: but after this not a word would she say that was not drawn64 from her. Her answers were given shrinkingly, and some of them with evident reluctance65.
"You went out on a visit in May: where was it to?" questioned the counsel.
"Birmingham."
"How long did you stay there?"
"I was away from home five weeks altogether."
"When did you return home?--You must speak a little louder, if you please."
"On the evening of the twenty-second of June."
"That was the day before the murder?"
"It was not a murder," returned the witness, with emotion. "Sir Adam Ardinnian was quite justified66 in what he did."
The judge interposed. "You are not here to state opinions, young lady, but to answer questions." The counsel resumed.
"Did the deceased, Martin Scott, come to your uncle's residence on the evening of the twenty-third?"
"Yes. My uncle was at home ill that evening, and he kept Mr. Scott in conversation, so that he had no opportunity of teasing me."
"You went later, into the garden?"
"Yes. Martin Scott must have seen me pass the window, for I found he was following me out. I saw Sir Adam standing at his gate, and went towards him."
"With what motive did you go?"
A pause. "I intended to tell him that Mr. Scott was there."
"Had you seen Sir Adam at all since the previous evening?"
Whether the young lady said Yes or No to this question could not be told. Her answer was inaudible.
"Now this won't do," cried the counsel, losing patience. "You must speak so that the jury can hear you, witness; and you must be good enough to lift your head. What have you to be ashamed of?"
At this sting, a bright flush dyed the young lady's pale cheeks: but she evidently did not think of resisting. Lifting her face, she spoke somewhat louder.
"I had seen Sir Adam in the morning when he was shooting the birds. I saw him again in the afternoon, and was talking with him for a few minutes. Not for long: some friends called on my aunt, and she sent for me in."
"Was anything said about Martin Scott that day, between you and Sir Adam?"
"Not a word. We did not so much as think of him."
"Why, then, were you hastening in the evening to tell Sir Adam that Scott was there?"
The witness hesitated and burst into tears. Her answer was impeded67 by sobs.
"Of course it was a dreadful thing for me to do--as things have turned out. I had no ill thought in it. I was only going to tell him that Scott had come and was sitting with my uncle. There was nothing in that to make Sir Adam angry."
"You have not replied to my question. Why did you hasten to tell Sir Adam?"
"There was no very particular cause. Before I left home in May, I had hoped Mr. Scott had ceased his visits: when I found, by his coming this evening, that he had not, I thought I would tell Sir Adam. We both disliked Martin Scott from his rudeness to me. I began to feel afraid of him again."
"Afraid of what?"
"Lest he should be rude to me as he had been before."
"Allow me to ask--in a case of this sort, would it not have been your uncle's place to deal with Mr. Scott, rather than Sir Adam Andinnian's?"
The witness bent68 her head, and sobbed69. While the prisoner, without affording her time for any answer, again spoke up.
"When Martin Scott insulted Miss Turner before, I had particularly requested her to inform me at once if he ever attempted such a thing again. I also requested her to let me know of it if he resumed his visits at her uncle's house. I wished to protect Miss Turner as efficiently70 as I would have protected a sister."
The prisoner was ordered to be silent. Miss Turner's examination went on.
"You went out on this evening to speak to the prisoner, and Martin Scott followed you. What next?"
"Martin Scott caught me up when I was close to the bed of rose bushes: that is, about half way between the house and the gate where Sir Adam was standing. He began reproaching me; saying I had not given him a word of welcome after my long absence, and did I think he was going to stand it. Before--before--"
"Before what? Why do you hesitate?"
The witness's tears burst forth afresh: her voice was pitiable in its distress71. A thrill of sympathy moved the whole court; not one in it but felt for her.
"Before I was aware, Martin Scott had caught me in his arms, and was kissing my face. I struggled to get away from him, and ran towards Sir Adam Andinnian for shelter. It was then he took up his gun."
"What did Sir Adam say?"
"Nothing. He put me behind him with one hand, and fired. I recollect72 seeing Hewitt standing beside me then, and for a few moments I recollected73 no more. At first I did not know any harm was done: only when I saw Hewitt kneeling down in the path over Martin Scott."
"What did the prisoner do, then?"
"He put the gun back on the seat again, quite quietly, and walked down the path towards where they were. My uncle and aunt came running out, and--and that ended it."
With a burst of grief that threatened to become hysterical, she covered her face. Perhaps in compassion74, only two or three further questions of unimportance were asked her. She had told all she knew of the calamity, she said; and was allowed to retire: leaving the audience most favourably75 impressed with the pretty looks, the innocence76, and the modesty77 of Miss Rose Turner.
A young man named Wharton was called; an assistant to a chemist, and a friend of the late Martin Scott. He deposed to hearing Scott speak in the spring--he thought it was towards the end of April--of Mr. Andinnian's threat to shoot him. The witness added that he was sure Martin Scott took the threat as a serious one and knew that Mr. Andinnian meant it as such; though it was possible that with the lapse4 of weeks the impression might have worn away in Scott's mind. He was the last witness called on either side; and the two leading counsel then addressed the jury.
The judge summed up carefully and dispassionately, but not favourably. As many said afterwards, he was "dead against the prisoner." The jury remained in deliberation fifteen minutes only, and then came back with their verdict.
Wilful murder: but with a very strong recommendation to mercy.
The judge then asked The prisoner if he had anything to urge against the sentence of Death that was about to be passed upon him.
Nothing but this, the prisoner replied, speaking courteously79 and quietly. That he believed he had done only his duty: and that Martin Scott had deliberately and defiantly80 rushed upon his own fate; and that if young, innocent, and refined ladies were to be insulted by reprobate81 men with impunity82, the sooner the country went back to a state of barbarism the better. To this the judge replied, that if for trifling83 causes men might with impunity murder others in cold blood, the country would already be in a state of barbarism, without going back to it.
But the trial was not to conclude without one startling element of sensation. The judge had put the black cap on his head, when a tall, proud-looking, handsome lady stepped forward and demanded to say a word in stay of the sentence. It was Mrs. Andinnian. Waving the ushers84 away who would have removed her, she was, perhaps in very astonishment85, allowed to speak.
Her son had inherited an uncontrollable temper, she said; her temper. If anything occurred greatly to exasperate86 him (but this was very rare) his transitory passion was akin23 to madness: In fact it was madness for the short time it lasted, which was never more than for a few moments. To punish him by death for any act committed by him during this irresponsible time would be, she urged, murder. Murder upon him.
Only these few words did she speak. Not passionately78; calmly and respectfully; and with her dark eyes fixed--on the judge. She then bowed to the judge and retired87. The judge inclined his head gravely to her in return, and proceeded with his sentence.
Death. But the strong recommendation of the jury should be forwarded to the proper quarter.
The judge, as was learnt later, seconded this recommendation warmly: in fact, the words he used in passing sentence as good as conveyed an intimation that there might be no execution.
Thus ended the famous trial. Within a week afterwards the fiat88 was known: and the sentence was commuted89 into penal90 servitude for life!
Penal servitude for life! Think of the awful blight91 to a man in the flower of his age and in the position of Adam Andinnian! And all through one moment's mad act!
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1
bruited
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| v.传播（传说或谣言）( bruit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conspired
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| 密谋( conspire的过去式和过去分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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languish
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| vi.变得衰弱无力，失去活力，（植物等）凋萎 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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magistrates
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| 地方法官，治安官( magistrate的名词复数 ) | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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idol
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| n.偶像，红人，宠儿 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pinnacle
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| n.尖塔，尖顶，山峰；(喻)顶峰 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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provocation
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| n.激怒，刺激，挑拨，挑衅的事物，激怒的原因 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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avowing
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| v.公开声明，承认( avow的现在分词 ) | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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lenient
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| adj.宽大的，仁慈的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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spoke
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| 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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prosecution
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| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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candidly
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| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
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passionate
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| 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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offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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avowed
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| 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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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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deposed
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| v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 )；（在法庭上）宣誓作证 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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electrifying
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| v.使电气化( electrify的现在分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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reprobate
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| n.无赖汉；堕落的人 | |
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impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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exasperate
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| v.激怒，使（疾病）加剧，使恶化 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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fiat
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| n.命令，法令，批准；vt.批准，颁布 | |
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commuted
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| 通勤( commute的过去式和过去分词 )； 减（刑）； 代偿 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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blight
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| n.枯萎病；造成破坏的因素；vt.破坏，摧残 | |
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