But the Christian Examiner still remained to him, and that he used with diligence. From week to week there appeared in it articles attacking the lion, stating that the lion was still being watched, that his prey would be snatched from him at last, that the lamb should even yet have her rights, and the like. And as the thing went on, the periodical itself and the writer of the article became courageous11 by habit, till things were printed which Sir John Ball found it almost impossible to bear. It was declared that he was going to desert the lamb, now that he had taken all the lamb's property; and that the lamb, shorn of all her fleece, was to be condemned12 to earn her bread as a common nurse in the wards13 of a common hospital,—all which information came readily enough to Mr Maguire by the hands of Miss Colza. The papers containing these articles were always sent to Sir John Ball and to Miss Mackenzie, and the articles were always headed, "The Lion and the Lamb." Miss Mackenzie, in accordance with an arrangement made to that purpose, sent the papers as soon as they came to Mr Slow, but Sir John Ball had no such ready way of freeing himself from their burden. He groaned14 and toiled15 under them, going to his lawyer with them, and imploring16 permission to bring an action for libel against Mr Maguire. The venom17 of the unclean animal's sting had gone so deep into him, that, fond as he was of money, he had told his lawyer that he would not begrudge18 the expense if he could only punish the man who was hurting him. But the attorney, who understood something of feeling as well as something of money, begged him to be quiet at any rate till the fate of the property should be settled. "And if you'll take my advice, Sir John, you will not notice him at all. You may be sure that he has not a shilling in the world, and that he wants you to prosecute19 him. When you have got damages against him, he will be off out of the country."
"But I shall have stopped his impudent20 ribaldry," said Sir John Ball. Then the lawyer tried to explain to him that no one read the ribaldry. It was of no use. Sir John read it himself, and that was enough to make him wretched.
The little fable21 which made Sir John so unhappy had not, for some months past, appeared in any of the metropolitan22 newspapers; but when the legal inquiry23 into the proper disposition24 of Mr Jonathan Ball's property was over, and when it was known that, as the result of that inquiry, the will in favour of the Mackenzies was to be set aside and the remains25 of the property handed over to Sir John, then that very influential26 newspaper, which in the early days of the question had told the story of the Lion and the Lamb, told it all again, tearing, indeed, the Littlebath Christian Examiner into shreds27 for its iniquity, but speaking of the romantic misfortune of the lamb in terms which made Sir John Ball very unhappy. The fame which accrued28 to him from being so publicly pointed29 out as a lion, was not fame of which he was proud. And when the writer in this very influential newspaper went on to say that the world was now looking for a termination of this wonderful story, which would make it pleasant to all parties, he was nearly beside himself in his misery30. He, a man of fifty, of slow habits, with none of the buoyancy of youth left in him, apt to regard himself as older than his age, who had lived with his father and mother almost on an equality in regard to habits of life, the father of a large family, of which the eldest31 was now himself a man! Could it be endured that such a one as he should enter upon matrimony amidst the din3 of public trumpets32 and under a halo of romance? The idea of it was frightful33 to him. On the very day on which the result of the legal investigation34 was officially communicated to him, he sat in the old study at the Cedars35 with two newspapers before him. In one of these there was a description of his love, which he knew was intended as furtive36 ridicule37, and an assurance to the public that the lamb's misfortunes would all be remedied by the sweet music of the marriage bell. What right had any one to assert publicly that he intended to marry any one? In his wretchedness and anger he would have indicted38 this newspaper also for a libel, had not his lawyer assured him that, according to law, there was no libel in stating that a man was going to be married. The other paper accused him of rapacity39 and dishonesty in that he would not marry the lamb, now that he had secured the lamb's fleece; so that, in truth, he had no escape on either side; for Mr Maguire, having at last ascertained40 that the lamb had, in very truth, lost all her fleece, was no longer desirous of any personal connection, and felt that he could best carry out his pledge by attacking the possessor of the fleece on that side. Under such circumstances, what was such a man as Sir John Ball to do? Could he marry his cousin amidst the trumpets, and the halo, and the doggrel poetry which would abound42? Was it right that he should be made a mark for the finger of scorn? Had he done anything to deserve this punishment?
And it must be remembered that from day to day his own mother, who lived with him, who sat with him late every night talking on this one subject, was always instigating43 him to abandon his cousin. It had been admitted between them that he was no longer bound by his offer. Margaret herself had admitted it,—"does not attempt to deny it," as Lady Ball repeated over and over again. When he had made his offer he had known nothing of Mr Maguire's offer, nor had Margaret then told him of it. Such reticence44 on her part of course released him from his bond. So Lady Ball argued, and against this argument her son made no demur45. Indeed it was hardly possible that he should comprehend exactly what had taken place between his cousin and Mr Maguire. His mother did not scruple46 to assure him that she must undoubtedly47 at one time have accepted the man's proposal. In answer to this John Ball would always assert his entire reliance on his cousin's word.
"She did it without knowing that she did so," Lady Ball would answer; "but in some language she must have assented48."
But the mother was never able to extract from the son any intimation of his intention to give up the marriage, though she used threats and tears, ridicule and argument,—appeals to his pride and appeals to his pocket. He never said that he certainly would marry her; he never said so at least after that night on which Margaret in her bedroom had told him her story with reference to Mr Maguire; but neither did he ever say that he certainly would not marry her. Lady Ball gathered from all his words a conviction that he would be glad to be released, if he could be released by any act on Margaret's behalf, and therefore she had made her attempt on Margaret. With what success the reader will, I hope, remember. Margaret, when she accepted her cousin's offer, had been specially49 bidden by him to be firm. This bidding she obeyed, and on that side there was no hope at all for Lady Ball.
I fear there was much of cowardice50 on Sir John's part. He had, in truth, forgiven Margaret any offence that she had committed in reference to Mr Maguire. She had accepted his offer while another offer was still dragging on an existence after a sort, and she had not herself been the first to tell him of these circumstances. There had been offence to him in this, but that offence he had, in truth, forgiven. Had there been no Littlebath Christian Examiner, no tale of the Lion and the Lamb, no publicity51 and no ridicule, he would quietly have walked off with his cousin to some church, having gone through all preliminary ceremonies in the most silent manner possible for them, and would have quietly got himself married and have carried Margaret home with him. Now that his father was dead and that his uncle Jonathan's money had come to him, his pecuniary52 cares were comparatively light, and he believed that he could be very happy with Margaret and his children. But then to be pointed at daily as a lion, and to be asked by all his acquaintances after the lamb! It must be owned that he was a coward; but are not most men cowards in such matters as that?
But now the trial was over, the money was his own, Margaret was left without a shilling in the world, and it was quite necessary that he should make up his mind. He had once told his lawyer, in his premature53 joy, on that very day on which Mr Maguire had come to the Cedars, that everything was to be made smooth by a marriage between himself and the disinherited heiress. He had since told the lawyer that something had occurred which might, perhaps, alter this arrangement. After that the lawyer had asked no question about the marriage; but when he communicated to his client the final intelligence that Jonathan Ball's money was at his client's disposal, he said that it would be well to arrange what should be done on Miss Mackenzie's behalf. Sir John Ball had assumed very plainly a look of vexation when the question was put to him.
"I promised Mr Slow that I would ask you," said the lawyer. "Mr Slow is of course anxious for his client."
"It is my business and not Mr Slow's," said Sir John Ball, "and you may tell him that I say so."
Then there had been a moment's silence, and Sir John had felt himself to be wrong.
"Pray tell him also," said Sir John, "that I am very grateful to him for his solicitude54 about my cousin, and that I fully55 appreciate his admirable conduct both to her and me throughout all this affair. When I have made up my mind what shall be done, I will let him know at once."
As he walked down from his lawyer's chambers56 in Bedford Row to the railway station he thought of all this, and thought also of those words which Mrs Mackenzie had spoken to him in the bazaar57. "You have no right to scold him yet," she had said to Margaret. Of course he had understood what they meant, and of course Margaret had understood them also. And he had not been at all angry when they were spoken. Margaret had been so prettily58 dressed, and had looked so fresh and nice, that at that moment he had forgotten all his annoyances59 in his admiration60, and had listened to Mrs Mackenzie's cunning speech, not without confusion, but without any immediate61 desire to contradict its necessary inference. A moment or two afterwards the harpies had been upon him, and then he had gone off in his anger. Poor Margaret had been unable to distinguish between the effects produced by the speech and by the harpies; but Mrs Mackenzie had been more clever, and had consequently predicted her cousin's speedy promotion62 in the world's rank.
Sir John, as he went home, made up his mind to one of two alternatives. He would either marry his cousin or halve63 Jonathan Ball's money with her. He wanted to marry her, and he wanted to keep the money. He wanted to marry her especially since he had seen how nice she looked in black-freckled muslin; but he wanted to marry her in silence, without any clash of absurd trumpets, without ridicule-moving leading articles, and fingers pointed at the triumphant64 lion. He made up his mind to one of those alternatives, and resolved that he would settle which on that very night. His mind should be made up and told to his mother before he went to bed. Nevertheless, when the girls and Jack65 were gone, and he was left alone with Lady Ball, his mind had as yet been made up to nothing!
His mother gave him no peace on this subject. It was she who began the conversation on this occasion.
"John," she said, "the time has come for me to settle the question of my residence."
Now the house at Twickenham was the property of the present baronet, but Lady Ball had a jointure of five hundred a year out of her late husband's estate. It had always been intended that the mother should continue to live with her son and grandchildren in the very probable event of her being left a widow; and it was felt by them all that their means were not large enough to permit, with discretion66, separate households; but Lady Ball had declared more than once with extreme vehemence67 that nothing should induce her to live at the Cedars if Margaret Mackenzie should be made mistress of the house.
"Has the time come especially to-day?" he asked in reply.
"I think we may say it has come especially to-day. We know now that you have got this increase to your income, and nothing is any longer in doubt that we cannot ourselves settle. I need not say that my dearest wish is to remain here, but you know my mind upon that subject."
"I cannot see any possible reason for your going."
"Nor can I—except the one. I suppose you know yourself what you mean to do about your cousin. Everybody knows what you ought to do after the disgraceful things that have been put into all the newspapers."
"That has not been Margaret's fault."
"I am by no means so sure of that. Indeed, I think it has been her fault; and now she has made herself notorious by being at this bazaar, and by having herself called a ridiculous name by everybody. Nothing will make me believe but what she likes it."
"You are ready to believe any evil of her, mother; and yet it is not two years since you yourself wished me to marry her."
"Things are very different since that; very different indeed. And I did not know her then as I do now, or I should never have thought of such a thing, let her have had all the money in the world. She had not misbehaved herself then with that horrible curate."
"She has not misbehaved herself now," said the son, in an angry voice.
"Yes, she has, John," said the mother, in a voice still more angry.
"That's a matter for me to judge. She has not misbehaved herself in my eyes. It is a great misfortune,—a great misfortune for us both,—the conduct of this man; but I won't allow it to be said that it was her fault."
"Very well. Then I suppose I may arrange to go. I did not think, John, that I should be turned out of your father's house so soon after your father's death. I did not indeed."
Thereupon Lady Ball got out her handkerchief, and her son perceived that real tears were running down her face.
"Nobody has ever spoken of your going except yourself, mother."
"I won't live in the house with her."
"And what would you have me do? Would you wish me to let her go her way and starve by herself?"
"No, John; certainly not. I think you should see that she wants for nothing. She could live with her sister-in-law, and have the interest of the money that the Rubbs took from her. It was your money."
"I have explained to you over and over again, mother, that that has already been made over to Mrs Tom Mackenzie; and that would not have been at all sufficient. Indeed, I have altogether made up my mind upon that. When the lawyers and all the expenses are paid, there will still be about eight hundred a year. I shall share it with her."
"John!"
"That is my intention; and therefore if I were to marry her I should get an additional income of four hundred a year for myself and my children."
"You don't mean it, John?"
"Indeed I do, mother. I'm sure the world would expect me to do as much as that."
"The world expect you! And are you to rob your children, John, because the world expects it? I never heard of such a thing. Give away four hundred a year merely because you are afraid of those wretched newspapers! I did expect you would have more courage."
"If I do not do one, mother, I shall do the other certainly."
"Then I must beg you to tell me which you mean to do. If you gave her half of all that is coming to you, of course I must remain here because you could not live here without me. Your income would be quite insufficient68. But you do owe it to me to tell me at once what I am to do."
To this her son made no immediate answer, but sat with his elbow on the table, and his head upon his hand looking moodily69 at the fire-place. He did not wish to commit himself if he could possibly avoid it.
"John, I must insist upon an answer," said his mother. "I have a right to expect an answer."
"You must do what you like, mother, independently of me. If you think you can live here on your income, I will go away, and you shall have the place."
"That's nonsense, John. Of course you want a large house for the children, and I, if I must be alone, shall only want one room for myself. What should I do with the house?" Then there was silence again for a while.
"I will give you a final answer on Saturday," he said at last. "I shall see Margaret before Saturday."
After that he took his candle and went to bed. It was then Tuesday, and Lady Ball was obliged to be contented70 with the promise thus made to her.
On Wednesday he did nothing. On the Thursday morning he received a letter which nearly drove him mad. It was addressed to him at the office of the Shadrach Fire Insurance Company, and it reached him there. It was as follows—
Littlebath, — June, 186—.
Sir,
You are no doubt fully aware of all the efforts which I have made during the last six months to secure from your grasp the fortune which did belong to my dear—my dearest friend, Margaret Mackenzie. For as my dearest friend I shall ever regard her, though she and I have been separated by machinations of the nature of which she, as I am fully sure, has never been aware. I now ascertain41 that some of the inferior law courts have, under what pressure I know not, set aside the will which was made twenty years ago in favour of the Mackenzie family, and given to you the property which did belong to them. That a superior court would reverse the judgment71, I believe there is little doubt; but whether or no the means exist for me to bring the matter before the higher tribunals of the country I am not yet aware. Very probably I may have no such power, and in such case, Margaret Mackenzie is, to-day, through your means, a beggar.
Since this matter has been before the public you have ingeniously contrived72 to mitigate73 the wrath74 of public opinion by letting it be supposed that you purposed to marry the lady whose wealth you were seeking to obtain by legal quibbles. You have made your generous intentions very public, and have created a romance that has been, I must say, but little becoming to your age. If all be true that I heard when I last saw Miss Mackenzie at Twickenham, you have gone through some ceremony of proposing to her. But, as I understand, that joke is now thought to have been carried far enough; and as the money is your own, you intend to enjoy yourself as a lion, leaving the lamb to perish in the wilderness75.
Now I call upon you to assert, under your own name and with your own signature, what are your intentions with reference to Margaret Mackenzie. Her property, at any rate for the present, is yours. Do you intend to make her your wife, or do you not? And if such be your intention, when do you purpose that the marriage shall take place, and where?
I reserve to myself the right to publish this letter and your answer to it; and of course shall publish the fact if your cowardice prevents you from answering it. Indeed nothing shall induce me to rest in this matter till I know that I have been the means of restoring to Margaret Mackenzie the means of decent livelihood76.
I have the honour to be, Sir,
Jeremiah Maguire.
Sir John Ball, Bart., &c., &c,
Shadrach Fire Office.
Sir John, when he had read this, was almost wild with agony and anger. He threw up his hands with dismay as he walked along the passages of the Shadrach Office, and fulminated mental curses against the wasp78 that was able to sting him so deeply. What should he do to the man? As for answering the letter, that was of course out of the question; but the reptile79 would carry out his threat of publishing the letter, and then the whole question of his marriage would be discussed in the public prints. An idea came across him that a free press was bad and rotten from the beginning to the end. This creature was doing him a terrible injury, was goading80 him almost to death, and yet he could not punish him. He was a clergyman, and could not be beaten and kicked, or even fired at with a pistol. As for prosecuting81 the miscreant82, had not his own lawyer told him over and over again that such a prosecution83 was the very thing which the miscreant desired. And then the additional publicity of such a prosecution, and the twang of false romance which would follow and the horrid84 alliteration85 of the story of the two beasts, and all the ridicule of the incidents, crowded upon his mind, and he walked forth86 from the Shadrach office among the throngs87 of the city a wretched and almost despairing man.
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1 prey | |
n.被掠食者,牺牲者,掠食;v.捕食,掠夺,折磨 | |
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2 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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3 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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4 truculent | |
adj.野蛮的,粗野的 | |
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5 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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6 parvenu | |
n.暴发户,新贵 | |
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7 breach | |
n.违反,不履行;破裂;vt.冲破,攻破 | |
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8 harass | |
vt.使烦恼,折磨,骚扰 | |
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9 rapacious | |
adj.贪婪的,强夺的 | |
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10 iniquity | |
n.邪恶;不公正 | |
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11 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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12 condemned | |
adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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13 wards | |
区( ward的名词复数 ); 病房; 受监护的未成年者; 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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14 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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15 toiled | |
长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 ); 艰难缓慢地移动,跋涉 | |
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16 imploring | |
恳求的,哀求的 | |
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17 venom | |
n.毒液,恶毒,痛恨 | |
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18 begrudge | |
vt.吝啬,羡慕 | |
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19 prosecute | |
vt.告发;进行;vi.告发,起诉,作检察官 | |
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20 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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21 fable | |
n.寓言;童话;神话 | |
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22 metropolitan | |
adj.大城市的,大都会的 | |
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23 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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24 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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25 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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26 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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27 shreds | |
v.撕碎,切碎( shred的第三人称单数 );用撕毁机撕毁(文件) | |
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28 accrued | |
adj.权责已发生的v.增加( accrue的过去式和过去分词 );(通过自然增长)产生;获得;(使钱款、债务)积累 | |
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29 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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30 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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31 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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32 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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33 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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34 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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35 cedars | |
雪松,西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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36 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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37 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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38 indicted | |
控告,起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39 rapacity | |
n.贪婪,贪心,劫掠的欲望 | |
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40 ascertained | |
v.弄清,确定,查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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42 abound | |
vi.大量存在;(in,with)充满,富于 | |
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43 instigating | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的现在分词 ) | |
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44 reticence | |
n.沉默,含蓄 | |
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45 demur | |
v.表示异议,反对 | |
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46 scruple | |
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47 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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48 assented | |
同意,赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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50 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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51 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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52 pecuniary | |
adj.金钱的;金钱上的 | |
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53 premature | |
adj.比预期时间早的;不成熟的,仓促的 | |
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54 solicitude | |
n.焦虑 | |
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55 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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56 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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57 bazaar | |
n.集市,商店集中区 | |
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58 prettily | |
adv.优美地;可爱地 | |
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59 annoyances | |
n.恼怒( annoyance的名词复数 );烦恼;打扰;使人烦恼的事 | |
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60 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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61 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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62 promotion | |
n.提升,晋级;促销,宣传 | |
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63 halve | |
vt.分成两半,平分;减少到一半 | |
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64 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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65 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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66 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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67 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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68 insufficient | |
adj.(for,of)不足的,不够的 | |
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69 moodily | |
adv.喜怒无常地;情绪多变地;心情不稳地;易生气地 | |
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70 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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71 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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72 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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73 mitigate | |
vt.(使)减轻,(使)缓和 | |
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74 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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75 wilderness | |
n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等,荒漠 | |
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76 livelihood | |
n.生计,谋生之道 | |
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77 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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78 wasp | |
n.黄蜂,蚂蜂 | |
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79 reptile | |
n.爬行动物;两栖动物 | |
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80 goading | |
v.刺激( goad的现在分词 );激励;(用尖棒)驱赶;驱使(或怂恿、刺激)某人 | |
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81 prosecuting | |
检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 ); 对某人提起公诉; 继续从事(某事物); 担任控方律师 | |
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82 miscreant | |
n.恶棍 | |
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83 prosecution | |
n.起诉,告发,检举,执行,经营 | |
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84 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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85 alliteration | |
n.(诗歌的)头韵 | |
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86 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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87 throngs | |
n.人群( throng的名词复数 )v.成群,挤满( throng的第三人称单数 ) | |
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