He had now undertaken to join with his whole heart the insurgents5 against the Republic, and he was fully6 determined7 to do so; he had made up his mind that it was his duty to oppose measures which he thought destructive to the happiness of his countrymen, and to make an effort to re-establish the throne; but he did not bring to the work the sanguine8 hope of success, the absolute pleasure in the task which animated9 Larochejaquelin; nor yet the sacred enthusiastic chivalry10 of Cathelineau, who was firmly convinced of the truth of his cause, and believed that the justice of God would not allow the murderers of a King, and the blasphemers of his name to prevail against the arms of people who were both loyal and faithful.
De Lescure had studied and thought much; he was older than Larochejaquelin, much better educated than Cathelineau. He was as ardent11 in the cause as they were; why else had he undertaken it? but he understood better than they did the fearful chances which were against them: the odds12 against which they had to fight, the almost insuperable difficulties in their way. He knew that the peasantry around them would be brave and enthusiastic followers13, but he also knew that it would be long before they were disciplined soldiers. He was sure that they would fight stoutly14 round their homes and their families; but he felt that it would be almost impossible to lead any body of them to a distance from their own fields. He foresaw also all the horrors into which they were about to plunge15; horrors, of which an honourable16 death on the field of battle would be the least. The Republic had already shown the bitterness of their malice17 towards those who opposed them, and de Lescure knew what mercy it would shew to those of his party who fell into its power.
Besides, how could they hope for success against the arms of a whole nation supported by a despotic government. His friends talked sanguinely18 of aid from England, from Austria, and from Prussia; but he feared that that aid would come too late, after their houses were burnt, and their fields destroyed; after the best among them had fallen; after their children had been murdered; when the country should be depopulated, and nothing but the name of La Vend茅e left.
With all these fears around his heart, and yet with a firm determination to give himself entirely19 to the cause in which he was embarked20, de Lescure rode home to tell his young wife, to whom he was but barely two years married, that he must not only leave her, and give up the life so congenial to both their tastes, which they had lately led; but that he was going to place himself in constant danger, and leave her and all he loved in danger also.
“You must be very good to Victoriana,” he said to his sister; “you must be very good to each other, Marie, for you will both have much to bear.”
“We will, we will,” said Marie; “but you, Charles, you will be with us; at any rate not far from us.”
“I may be near you, and yet not with you; or I may soon be placed beyond all human troubles. I would have you prepare yourself; of all the curses which can fall on a country, a civil war is the most cruel.”
Madame de Lescure was the daughter of a nobleman of high rank; she had been celebrated21 as a beauty, and known to possess a great fortune; she had been feted and caressed22 in the world, but she had not been spoiled; she was possessed of much quiet sense; and though she was a woman of strong passions, she kept them under control. When her husband told her, therefore, that the quiet morning of their life was over, that they had now to wade23 through contest, bloodshed, and civil war, and that probably all their earthly bliss24 would be brought to a violent end before the country was again quiet, she neither screamed nor fainted; but she felt, what he intended that she should feel that she must, now, more entirely than ever, look for her happiness in some world beyond the present one.
“I know, Victorine,” said he, when they were alone together in the evening, when not even his own dear sister Marie was there to mar3 the sacred sweetness of their conference, “I know that I am doing right, and that gives me strength to leave you, and our darling child. I know that I am about to do my duty; and you would not wish that I should remain here in safety, when my King and my country require my services.”
“No, Charles; I would never wish that you should be disgraced in your own estimation. I could perfectly25 disregard what all others said of you, as long as you were satisfied with your own conduct; but I would not for any worldly happiness, that you should live a coward in your own esteem26.”
“My own, own Victorine,” said he, “how right you are! What true happiness could we have ever had, if we attempted to enjoy it at the expense of our countrymen! Every man owes his life to his country; in happy, quiet times, that debt is best paid by the performance of homely27 quiet duties; but our great Father has not intended that lot for us.”
“His will be done. He may yet turn away from us this misery28. We may yet live, Charles, to look on these things as our dearest reminiscences.”
“We may; but it is not the chance for which we should be best prepared. We are not to expect that God will raise his arm especially to vindicate30 our injuries; it would be all but blasphemous31 to ask Him to do so. We are but a link in the chain of events which His wisdom has designed. Should we wish that that chain should be broken for our purposes?”
“Surely not. I would not be so presumptuous32 as to name my own wishes in my prayers to the Creator.”
“No; leave it to His wisdom to arrange our weal or woe33 in this world; satisfied with this, that He has promised us happiness in the world which is to come.”
“I must leave you on Monday, dearest,” continued he, after a pause, during which he sat with his wife’s hand within his own.
“So soon, Charles!”
“Yes, dearest, on Monday. Henri, and Adolphe, and others, will be here on Sunday; and our different duties will commence immediately.”
“And will yours keep you altogether away from Clisson?”
“Very nearly so; at any rate, I could not name the day or the week, when I might be with you. You and Marie will be all in all to each other now; do not let her droop34 and grow sad, Victorine.”
“Nay, Charles, it is she should comfort me; she loves no dear husband. Marie dotes on you; but she can never feel for a brother, as I must feel for you.”
“She is younger than you, Victorine, and has not your strength of mind.”
“She has fewer cares to trouble her; but we will help each other; it will be much to me to have her with me in your absence. I know she is giving up much in returning to Clisson, and she does it solely35 for my sake.”
“How! what is she giving up? Will she not be better in her own home than elsewhere in such times as these.”
“She might choose to change her home, Charles; I had a happy, happy home, but I should not have been contented36 to remain there till now. I found that something more than my own old home was necessary to my happiness.”
“You have made but a sad exchange, my love.”
“Would I for all the world recall what I have done? Have I ever repented37? Shall I ever repent38? No; not though your body were brought breathless to your own hall door, would I exchange my right to mourn over it, for the lot of the happiest bride just stepping from the altar in all the pride of loveliness and rank?”
“My own true love. But tell me, what is this you mean about Marie. Surely she is not betrothed39 without my knowledge.”
“Betrothed! Oh, no! Nor won, nor wooed, as far as I believe; but we women, Charles, see through each other’s little secrets. I think she is not indifferent to Henri Larochejaquelin; and how should she be! How few she sees from whom to choose; and if all France were before her feet, how could she make a better choice than him.”
“Poor Marie, from my heart I pity her; in any other times than these, how I would have gloried to have given Henri my sister; but now, these are no times to marry, or to give in marriage. Henri has stern, hard work to do, and he is bent40 on doing it; ay, and he will do it. No one will carry the standard of his King further into the ranks of the republicans than Henri Larochejaquelin.”
“I know one, Charles, who will, at any rate, be beside him.”
“But he is so full of glorious confidence—so certain of success. He will go to battle with the assured hope of victory. I shall fight expecting nothing but defeat.”
“You are melancholy41, tonight, my love: something ails42 you beyond your dread43 of the coming struggle.”
“Can I be other than melancholy? I have no hope.”
“No hope, Charles. Oh! do not say you have no hope.”
“None in this world, Victorine. The Indian widow, when she throws herself on the burning pile, with a noble courage does what she has been taught to look upon as a sacred duty, but she cannot but dread the fire which is to consume her.”
“You would not liken yourself to her?”
“Through the mercy of our blessed Saviour44 I am not so mistaken in my creed45; but I am hardly less calamitous46 in my fate: but it is not the prospect47 of my own sufferings which disturb me; I at any rate may be assured of an honourable, even an enviable death. It is my anxiety for you—for our little one—and for dear Marie, which makes my spirit sad.”
“God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb,” said Madame de Lescure. “Our trials will not be harder than we can bear.”
“God bless you for those words, dearest: there is comfort in them—real, true comfort. But remember them yourself Victorine; remember them when you will most want them. When great sorrow comes home to your bosom48, as it will do; when affliction is heavy on you, when worldly comforts are leaving you, when enemies are around you, when the voices of cruel men are in your ears, and their cruel deeds before your eyes, then remember, my love, that God will temper the wind to the shorn lamb.”
“I will, my own Charles, I will,” said she, now kneeling at his feet, and burying her face in her hands upon his knees; “if I am called upon to bear these miseries49, I will remember it.”
“And look up, Victorine; look up, dearest. I would have you prepared for the worst. Listen to me now calmly, love, and then I need not harrow you with these thoughts again. It may be God’s pleasure that I should outlive this war; but as, with His will, I am determined that I will never lay down my sword till the soldiers of the Republic are driven from the province, it is most improbable that I should do so. You must teach yourself, Victorine, to look for my death, as an event certain to occur, which any day may bring forth50; and when the heavy news is brought to you, bear it as a Christian51 woman should bear the afflictions of this, world. I do not ask you not to weep for me, for that would be putting too violent a constraint52 upon your nature, but do not weep over much. Above all, Victorine, do not allow your sorrow to paralyse your actions. You will have to act then, not only for yourself, but for your child—for my daughter; and if you then give way to the violence of sorrow, who shall think and care for her?”
She laid her beautiful head upon his bosom, and wept, and promised, and prayed for him. And when he had finished what he felt he had to say, what he wished to say once, and but once, before he left her, he became more cheerful, and seemed to have more spirit for his work than he had hitherto shewn.
“And so,” he said, after a while, “poor Marie is in love.”
“Nay; I did not say she was in love-not in the deep depth of absolute love—but I think she is not indifferent to Henri: were she truly and earnestly in love, she would have told me so.”
“Not indifferent to him, and yet not in love. Faith, Victorine, I know not the difference; but you women are such adepts53 in the science, that you have your degrees of comparison in it.”
“Marie, then, has not yet reached the first degree, for hers is not even downright positive love; but I am sure she is fond of Henri’s society; and now, poor girl, she must give it up—and probably for ever.”
“As you said a while since, Victorine, how should she not like his society? I can fancy no man more fit to be the cynosure54 of a woman’s eye than Larochejaquelin. He has that beauty which women love to look on: the bold bright eye, the open forehead, the frank, easy smile, and his face is only a faithful index to his heart; he is as frank as brave, and yet as tender-hearted as he looks to be; he is specially29 formed to love and to be loved.”
“Poor Marie! I grieve that you brought her from Durbelli猫re.”
“Not so, Victorine; this is the place for Marie now; indeed, dear girl, she knew that well herself. The Marquis pressed her hard to stay, and I said nothing; but Marie insisted on coming home. I thought Henri looked somewhat more sombre than is his wont55, as he was leading her down the steps: but he cannot, must not, think of love now, Victorine. La Vend茅e now wants all his energies.”
“But you would not forbid him to love her, Charles?”
“I could forbid him nothing, for I love him as Joseph loved his younger brother Benjamin.”
“And he will be here now backwards57 and forwards, will he not?”
“Probably he will—that is as circumstances may arise—he is, at any rate, as likely to be at Clisson as Durbelli猫re.”
“He will be more likely, Charles, take my word for it; you cannot prevent their meeting; you cannot hinder them from loving each other.”
“Were the King upon his throne, it would be my greatest joy to give my sister to my friend, but now—it is the same for all of us—we must take the chance of these horrid58 times; and could they be taught to quench59 the warm feelings of their young hearts, it were well for both of them. The cold, callous60 disposition61 would escape much misery, which will weigh down to the grave the loving and the generous.”
On the next morning, Madame de Lescure spoke62 to her sister-in-law on the same subject. She could not bring herself to look on things around her quite so darkly as her husband did. She could not think that there was no longer any hope in their once happy country for the young and the generous, the beautiful and the brave; of herself and her own lot, her thoughts were sombre enough. De Lescure had imbued63 her with that presentiment64, which he himself felt so strongly, that he should perish in the conflict in which he was about to engage; but all would not surely be doomed65 to share her cup of sorrow. She loved Marie dearly, and she loved Henri, not only from what her husband so often said of him, but from what she knew of him herself; and she longed in her woman’s heart that they should be happy together.
It was still March, but it was on a bright warm spring morning, that Madame de Lescure was walking with her sister-in-law in the gardens at Clisson. Marie was talking of her brother—of the part he was to take in the war—of the gallant66 Cathelineau, and of the events which were so quickly coming on them; but Madame de Lescure by degrees weaned her from the subject and brought her to that on which she wished to speak.
“M. Larochejaquelin will be much here as long as this fighting lasts and M. Denot: we shall have plenty of brave knights67 coming to and fro to lay their trophies68 at your feet.”
“Poor M. Denot—his trophies if he gets any will be taken to Durbelli猫re; and I fear me, when he offers them, they will not be welcomed. Agatha loves him not; she thinks he shares his adoration69 too equally between her and his looking-glass.”
“I do not wonder at it; no one can deny that M. Denot is attractive, but he attracts without retaining; were I ever so much in want of lovers, I could not endure M. Denot’s attentions for more than one evening at the utmost; but our other knight—our other preux chevalier, sans peur et sans reproche—at whose feet will he lay his trophies, Marie? who is to wreath a crown of bay leaves for his brow?”
“His countrywomen should all unite to do it, Victorine—for he is going out to battle for them all—every village girl, whose lover is still left to walk with her on the Sabbath evening—every young wife, who can still lay her baby in her husband’s arms—every mother, who still rejoices in the smile of her stalwart son; they should all unite to wreath a crown for the brow of Henri Larochejaquelin.”
“And so they shall, Marie; but there will be others also, whose valour will claim a token of admiration70 from the gratitude71 of their countrywomen; we will all do this for Henri and our other brave defenders72; but if I know his character, the gratitude of many will not make him happy without the favour of one, and she will be the lady of his love; the remembrance of whose smiles will bear him scatheless73 through the din56 of the battle.”
“I should be vain, Victorine, if I pretended to misunderstand your questions,” said Marie; “but why you should mix my name with that of M. Larochejaquelin, without vanity I do not know.”
“It does not offend you, Marie?”
“Offend me, dearest Victorine! how should I be offended with anything you could say?”
“But would it offend you to see Henri Larochejaquelin at your feet.”
“Is there any girl in France who would have a right to be offended at seeing him there, if he came with a tale of true love?”
“You may be sure at least that Henri will never sully his lips with false vows74,” said Madame de Lescure.
“He has at any rate made no vows to me, Victorine, nor given me cause to suppose he ever will.”
“But should he do so, Marie?”
“Now you ask me questions which you know it only becomes me to answer in one way.”
“Why, Marie, I declare you and I have changed characters this morning. You are all sobriety when I make a poor attempt at joking with you. Were I, as usual, talking of my sober cares, you would be as giddy as a girl of fifteen, and talk to me of twenty lovers that you have.”
“It is very different talking of twenty lovers, and of one.”
“Then you own there is one lover in the case—eh, Marie?”
“Now you are crafty75, Victorine, and try to trap me into confessions77. You know I have no confession76 to make, or I should have made it long ago to you.”
“I know, Marie, that Larochejaquelin is sad when you are not by, and that he has a word for no one else when you are present; but I know not whether that means love. I know also that your bright eyes brighten when they rest on him, and that your heart beats somewhat faster at the mention of his name; but I know not whether that means love.”
“Victorine,” said Marie, turning round upon her companion her beautiful face, on which two lustrous78 tears were shining, “Victorine, you are treating your poor sister unfairly. I know not that my eyes are turned oftener on him than on others; and when my heart would play the rebel within me, I always try to check it.”
“Nay, Marie, dear Marie, I did but joke! You do not think I would accuse you of an unmaidenly partiality; if it grieves you we will not mention Henri’s name again, though I remember when you did not spare me so easily; when Charles’ name was always in my ear, when you swore that every dress I wore was his choice, that every flower I plucked was for his eye; and there had been no more then between Charles and me, than there has now between you and Henri; and yet you see what has become of it. You thought yourself wonderfully clever then, Marie; you were quite a prophetess then. Why should not I now foresee a little. Why should not I also be clever?”
“Well, Victorine, time will shew,” said Marie, smiling through her tears; “but do not teach me to love him too dearly, till I know whether he will value my love. If he would prize it, I fear he might have it for the asking for; but I will not throw it at his feet, that he should keep it loosely for awhile, and then scorn it, and lay it by.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
influential
|
|
| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
mar
|
|
| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
possessed
|
|
| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
insurgents
|
|
| n.起义，暴动，造反( insurgent的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
sanguine
|
|
| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
chivalry
|
|
| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ardent
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
odds
|
|
| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
followers
|
|
| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
stoutly
|
|
| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
plunge
|
|
| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
honourable
|
|
| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
sanguinely
|
|
| 乐观的，充满希望的； 面色红润的； 血红色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
caressed
|
|
| 爱抚或抚摸…( caress的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
wade
|
|
| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
bliss
|
|
| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
esteem
|
|
| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
vindicate
|
|
| v.为…辩护或辩解，辩明；证明…正确 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
blasphemous
|
|
| adj.亵渎神明的，不敬神的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
presumptuous
|
|
| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
woe
|
|
| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
droop
|
|
| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
solely
|
|
| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
repented
|
|
| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
repent
|
|
| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
betrothed
|
|
| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
ails
|
|
| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
saviour
|
|
| n.拯救者，救星 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
creed
|
|
| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
calamitous
|
|
| adj.灾难的，悲惨的；多灾多难；惨重 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
miseries
|
|
| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
constraint
|
|
| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
adepts
|
|
| n.专家，能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
cynosure
|
|
| n.焦点 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
wont
|
|
| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
din
|
|
| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
backwards
|
|
| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
horrid
|
|
| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
quench
|
|
| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
callous
|
|
| adj.无情的，冷淡的，硬结的，起老茧的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
imbued
|
|
| v.使（某人/某事）充满或激起（感情等）( imbue的过去式和过去分词 )；使充满；灌输；激发（强烈感情或品质等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
presentiment
|
|
| n.预感，预觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
doomed
|
|
| 命定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
knights
|
|
| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
trophies
|
|
| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
defenders
|
|
| n.防御者( defender的名词复数 )；守卫者；保护者；辩护者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
scatheless
|
|
| adj.无损伤的，平安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
74
vows
|
|
| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
crafty
|
|
| adj.狡猾的，诡诈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
confessions
|
|
| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
lustrous
|
|
| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |