Nevertheless, in this old house of mine, so strangely spared, some monument of departed days survived. Nor was this the only one. Amidst the warehouse8 ranges some few other dwellings13 likewise stood. The street's transmutation was not yet complete. Like those old English friars and nuns14, long haunting the[88] ruins of their retreats after they had been despoiled15, so some few strange old gentlemen and ladies still lingered in the neighborhood, and would not, could not, might not quit it. And I thought that when, one spring, emerging from my white-blossoming orchard16, my own white hairs and white ivory-headed cane17 were added to their loitering census18, that those poor old souls insanely fancied the ward2 was looking up—the tide of fashion setting back again.
For many years the old house had been occupied by an owner; those into whose hands it from time to time had passed having let it out to various shifting tenants19; decayed old townspeople, mysterious recluses20, or transient, ambiguous-looking foreigners.
While from certain cheap furbishings to which the exterior21 had been subjected, such as removing a fine old pulpit-like porch crowning the summit of six lofty steps, and set off with a broad-brimmed sounding-board overshadowing the whole, as well as replacing the original heavy window shutters22 (each pierced with a crescent in the upper panel to admit an Oriental and moony light into the otherwise shut-up[89] rooms of a sultry morning in July) with frippery Venetian blinds; while, I repeat, the front of the house hereby presented an incongruous aspect, as if the graft23 of modernness had not taken in its ancient stock; still, however it might fare without, within little or nothing had been altered. The cellars were full of great grim, arched bins24 of blackened brick, looking like the ancient tombs of Templars, while overhead were shown the first-floor timbers, huge, square, and massive, all red oak, and through long eld, of a rich and Indian color. So large were those timbers, and so thickly ranked, that to walk in those capacious cellars was much like walking along a line-of-battle ship's gun-deck.
All the rooms in each story remained just as they stood ninety years ago with all their heavy-moulded, wooden cornices, paneled wainscots, and carved and inaccessible25 mantels of queer horticultural and zoological devices. Dim with longevity27, the very covering of the walls still preserved the patterns of the times of Louis XVI. In the largest parlor4 (the drawing-room, my daughters called it, in distinction from two smaller parlors, though I did[90] not think the distinction indispensable) the paper hangings were in the most gaudy28 style. Instantly we knew such paper could only have come from Paris—genuine Versailles paper—the sort of paper that might have hung in Marie Antoinette's boudoir. It was of great diamond lozenges, divided by massive festoons of roses (onions, Biddy the girl said they were, but my wife soon changed Biddy's mind on that head); and in those lozenges, one and all, as in an over-arbored garden-cage, sat a grand series of gorgeous illustrations of the natural history of the most imposing29 Parisian-looking birds; parrots, macaws, and peacocks, but mostly peacocks. Real Prince Esterhazies of birds; all rubies30, diamonds and Orders of the Golden Fleece. But, alas31! the north side of this old apartment presented a strange look; half mossy and half mildew33; something as ancient forest trees on their north sides, to which particular side the moss32 most clings, and where, they say, internal decay first strikes. In short, the original resplendence of the peacocks had been sadly dimmed on that north side of the room, owing to a small leak in the eaves, from which the rain had slowly trickled34 its way[91] down the wall, clean down to the first floor. This leak the irreverent tenants, at that period occupying the premises35, did not see fit to stop, or rather, did not think it worth their while, seeing that they only kept their fuel and dried their clothes in the parlor of the peacocks. Hence many of the glowing birds seemed as if they had their princely plumage bedraggled in a dusty shower. Most mournfully their starry36 trains were blurred37. Yet so patiently and so pleasantly, nay38, here and there so ruddily did they seem to hide their bitter doom39, so much of real elegance40 still lingered in their shapes, and so full, too, seemed they of a sweet engaging pensiveness41, meditating42 all day long, for years and years, among their faded bowers43, that though my family repeatedly adjured44 me (especially my wife, who, I fear, was too young for me) to destroy the whole hen-roost, as Biddy called it, and cover the walls with a beautiful, nice, genteel, cream-colored paper, despite all entreaties45, I could not be prevailed upon, however submissive in other things.
But chiefly would I permit no violation46 of the old parlor of the peacocks or room of roses (I call it by both names) on account of its long[92] association in my mind with one of the original proprietors47 of the mansion—the gentle Jimmy Rose.
Poor Jimmy Rose!
He was among my earliest acquaintances. It is not many years since he died; and I and two other tottering48 old fellows took hack49, and in sole procession followed him to his grave.
Jimmy was born a man of moderate fortune. In his prime he had an uncommonly50 handsome person; large and manly51, with bright eyes of blue, brown curling hair, and cheeks that seemed painted with carmine52; but it was health's genuine bloom, deepened by the joy of life. He was by nature a great ladies' man, and like most deep adorers of the sex, never tied up his freedom of general worship by making one willful sacrifice of himself at the altar.
Adding to his fortune by a large and princely business, something like that of the great Florentine trader, Cosmo the Magnificent, he was enabled to entertain on a grand scale. For a long time his dinners, suppers and balls, were not to be surpassed by any given in the party-giving city of New York. His uncommon[93] cheeriness; the splendor53 of his dress; his sparkling wit; radiant chandeliers; infinite fund of small-talk; French furniture; glowing welcomes to his guests; his bounteous54 heart and board; his noble graces and his glorious wine; what wonder if all these drew crowds to Jimmy's hospitable55 abode56? In the winter assemblies he figured first on the manager's list. James Rose, Esq., too, was the man to be found foremost in all presentations of plate to highly successful actors at the Park, or of swords and guns to highly successful generals in the field. Often, also, was he chosen to present the gift on account of his fine gift of finely saying fine things.
"Sir," said he, in a great drawing-room in Broadway, as he extended toward General G— a brace57 of pistols set with turquoise58, "Sir," said Jimmy with a Castilian flourish and a rosy59 smile, "there would have been more turquoise here set, had the names of your glorious victories left room."
Ah, Jimmy, Jimmy! Thou didst excel in compliments. But it was inwrought with thy inmost texture60 to be affluent61 in all things which give pleasure. And who shall reproach thee[94] with borrowed wit on this occasion, though borrowed indeed it was? Plagiarize62 otherwise as they may, not often are the men of this world plagiarists in praise.
But times changed. Time, true plagiarist63 of the seasons.
Sudden and terrible reverses in business were made mortal by mad prodigality64 on all hands. When his affairs came to be scrutinized65, it was found that Jimmy could not pay more than fifteen shillings in the pound. And yet in time the deficiency might have been made up—of course, leaving Jimmy penniless—had it not been that in one winter gale66 two vessels67 of his from China perished off Sandy Hook; perished at the threshold of their port.
Jimmy was a ruined man.
It was years ago. At that period I resided in the country, but happened to be in the city on one of my annual visits. It was but four or five days since seeing Jimmy at his house the centre of all eyes, and hearing him at the close of the entertainment toasted by a brocaded lady, in these well-remembered words: "Our noble host; the bloom on his cheek, may it last long as the bloom in his heart!" And they, the sweet[95] ladies and gentlemen there, they drank that toast so gayly and frankly68 off; and Jimmy, such a kind, proud, grateful tear stood in his honest eye, angelically glancing round at the sparkling faces, and equally sparkling, and equally feeling, decanters.
Ah! poor, poor Jimmy—God guard us all—poor Jimmy Rose!
Well, it was but four or five days after this that I heard a clap of thunder—no, a clap of bad news. I was crossing the Bowling69 Green in a snow-storm not far from Jimmy's house on the Battery, when I saw a gentleman come sauntering along, whom I remembered at Jimmy's table as having been the first to spring to his feet in eager response to the lady's toast. Not more brimming the wine in his lifted glass than the moisture in his eye on that happy occasion.
Well, this good gentleman came sailing across the Bowling Green, swinging a silver-headed rattan70; seeing me, he paused: "Ah, lad, that was rare wine Jimmy gave us the other night. Sha'n't get any more, though. Heard the news? Jimmy's burst. Clean smash, I assure you. Come along down to the Coffeehouse[96] and I'll tell you more. And if you say so, we'll arrange over a bottle of claret for a sleighing party to Cato's to-night. Come along."
"Thank you," said I, "I—I—I am engaged."
Straight as an arrow I went to Jimmy's. Upon inquiring for him, the man at the door told me that his master was not in; nor did he know where he was; nor had his master been in the house for forty-eight hours.
Walking up Broadway again, I questioned passing acquaintances; but though each man verified the report, no man could tell where Jimmy was, and no one seemed to care, until I encountered a merchant, who hinted that probably Jimmy, having scraped up from the wreck71 a snug72 lump of coin, had prudently73 betaken himself off to parts unknown. The next man I saw, a great nabob he was too, foamed74 at the mouth when I mentioned Jimmy's name. "Rascal75; regular scamp, Sir, is Jimmy Rose! But there are keen fellows after him." I afterward76 heard that this indignant gentleman had lost the sum of seventy-five dollars and seventy-five cents indirectly77 through Jimmy's failure.[97] And yet I dare say the share of the dinners he had eaten at Jimmy's might more than have balanced that sum, considering that he was something of a wine-bibber, and such wines as Jimmy imported cost a plum or two. Indeed, now that I bethink me, I recall how I had more than once observed this same middle-aged79 gentleman, and how that toward the close of one of Jimmy's dinners he would sit at the table pretending to be earnestly talking with beaming Jimmy, but all the while, with a half furtive80 sort of tremulous eagerness and hastiness, pour down glass after glass of noble wine, as if now, while Jimmy's bounteous sun was at meridian81, was the time to make his selfish hay.
At last I met a person famed for his peculiar82 knowledge of whatever was secret or withdrawn83 in the histories and habits of noted84 people. When I inquired of this person where Jimmy could possibly be, he took me close to Trinity Church rail, out of the jostling of the crowd, and whispered me, that Jimmy had the evening before entered an old house of his (Jimmy's), in C— Street, which old house had been for a time untenanted. The inference seemed to be that perhaps Jimmy might be[98] lurking85 there now. So getting the precise locality, I bent86 my steps in that direction, and at last halted before the house containing the room of roses. The shutters were closed, and cobwebs were spun87 in their crescents. The whole place had a dreary88, deserted89 air. The snow lay unswept, drifted in one billowed heap against the porch, no footprint tracking it. Whoever was within, surely that lonely man was an abandoned one. Few or no people were in the street; for even at that period one fashion of the street had departed from it, while trade had not as yet occupied what its rival had renounced91.
Looking up and down the sidewalk a moment, I softly knocked at the door. No response. I knocked again, and louder. No one came. I knocked and rung both; still without effect. In despair I was going to quit the spot, when, as a last resource, I gave a prolonged summons, with my utmost strength, upon the heavy knocker, and then again stood still; while from various strange old windows up and down the street, various strange old heads were thrust out in wonder at so clamorous92 a stranger. As if now frightened from its silence,[99] a hollow, husky voice addressed me through the keyhole.
"Who are you?" it said.
"A friend."
"Then shall you not come in," replied the voice, more hollowly than before.
Great heavens! this is not Jimmy Rose, thought I, starting. This is the wrong house. I have been misdirected. But still, to make all sure, I spoke93 again.
"Is James Rose within there?"
No reply.
Once more I spoke:
"Oh, I can not, I can not! I am afraid of every one."
It was Jimmy Rose!
"Let me in, Rose; let me in, man. I am your friend."
"I will not. I can trust no man now."
"Let me in, Rose; trust at least one, in me."
"Quit the spot, or—"
With that I heard a rattling95 against the huge lock, not made by any key, as if some small tube were being thrust into the keyhole. Horrified96, I fled fast as feet could carry me.
[100]
I was a young man then, and Jimmy was not more than forty. It was five-and-twenty years ere I saw him again. And what a change. He whom I expected to behold97—if behold at all—dry, shrunken, meagre, cadaverously fierce with misery98 and misanthropy—amazement! the old Persian roses bloomed in his cheeks. And yet poor as any rat; poor in the last dregs of poverty; a pauper99 beyond almshouse pauperism100; a promenading101 pauper in a thin, threadbare, careful coat; a pauper with wealth of polished words; a courteous102, smiling, shivering gentleman.
Ah, poor, poor Jimmy—God guard us all—poor Jimmy Rose!
Though at the first onset103 of his calamity104, when creditors105, once fast friends, pursued him as carrion106 for jails; though then, to avoid their hunt, as well as the human eye, he had gone and denned107 in the old abandoned house; and there, in his loneliness, had been driven half mad, yet time and tide had soothed108 him down to sanity109. Perhaps at bottom Jimmy was too thoroughly110 good and kind to be made from any cause a man-hater. And doubtless it at last[101] seemed irreligious to Jimmy even to shun111 mankind.
Sometimes sweet sense of duty will entice112 one to bitter doom. For what could be more bitter now, in abject113 need, to be seen of those—nay, crawl and visit them in an humble114 sort, and be tolerated as an old eccentric, wandering in their parlors—who once had known him richest of the rich, and gayest of the gay? Yet this Jimmy did. Without rudely breaking him right down to it, fate slowly bent him more and more to the lowest deep. From an unknown quarter he received an income of some seventy dollars, more or less. The principal he would never touch, but, by various modes of eking115 it out, managed to live on the interest. He lived in an attic116, where he supplied himself with food. He took but one regular repast a day—meal and milk—and nothing more, unless procured117 at others' tables. Often about the tea-hour he would drop in upon some old acquaintance, clad in his neat, forlorn frock coat, with worn velvet118 sewed upon the edges of the cuffs119, and a similar device upon the hems120 of his pantaloons, to hide that dire78 look of having been grated off by rats. On Sunday he made a[102] point of always dining at some fine house or other.
It is evident that no man could with impunity121 be allowed to lead this life unless regarded as one who, free from vice26, was by fortune brought so low that the plummet122 of pity alone could reach him. Not much merit redounded123 to his entertainers because they did not thrust the starving gentleman forth124 when he came for his alms of tea and toast. Some merit had been theirs had they clubbed together and provided him, at small cost enough, with a sufficient income to make him, in point of necessaries, independent of the daily dole125 of charity; charity not sent to him either, but charity for which he had to trudge126 round to their doors.
But the most touching127 thing of all were those roses in his cheeks; those ruddy roses in his nipping winter. How they bloomed; whether meal or milk, and tea and toast could keep them flourishing; whether now he painted them; by what strange magic they were made to blossom so; no son of man might tell. But there they bloomed. And besides the roses, Jimmy was rich in smiles. He smiled ever. The lordly door which received him to his eleemosynary[103] teas, know no such smiling guest as Jimmy. In his prosperous days the smile of Jimmy was famous far and wide. It should have been trebly famous now.
Wherever he went to tea, he had all of the news of the town to tell. By frequenting the reading-rooms, as one privileged through harmlessness, he kept himself informed of European affairs and the last literature, foreign and domestic. And of this, when encouragement was given, he would largely talk. But encouragement was not always given. At certain houses, and not a few, Jimmy would drop in about ten minutes before the tea-hour, and drop out again about ten minutes after it; well knowing that his further presence was not indispensable to the contentment or felicity of his host.
How forlorn it was to see him so heartily128 drinking the generous tea, cup after cup, and eating the flavorous bread and butter, piece after piece, when, owing to the lateness of the dinner hour with the rest, and the abundance of that one grand meal with them, no one besides Jimmy touched the bread and butter, or exceeded a single cup of Souchong. And knowing[104] all this very well, poor Jimmy would try to hide his hunger, and yet gratify it too, by striving hard to carry on a sprightly129 conversation with his hostess, and throwing in the eagerest mouthfuls with a sort of absent-minded air, as if he ate merely for custom's sake, and not starvation's.
Poor, poor Jimmy—God guard us all—poor Jimmy Rose!
Neither did Jimmy give up his courtly ways. Whenever there were ladies at the table, sure were they of some fine word; though, indeed, toward the close of Jimmy's life, the young ladies rather thought his compliments somewhat musty, smacking130 of cocked hats and small clothes—nay, of old pawnbrokers131' shoulder-lace and sword belts. For there still lingered in Jimmy's address a subdued132 sort of martial133 air; he having in his palmy days been, among other things, a general of the State militia134. There seems a fatality135 in these militia generalships. Alas! I can recall more than two or three gentlemen who from militia generals became paupers136. I am afraid to think why this is so. Is it that this military learning in a man of an unmilitary heart—that is, a gentle, peaceable[105] heart—is an indication of some weak love of vain display? But ten to one it is not so. At any rate, it is unhandsome, if not unchristian, in the happy, too much to moralize on those who are not so.
So numerous were the houses that Jimmy visited, or so cautious was he in timing137 his less welcome calls, that at certain mansions138 he only dropped in about once a year or so. And annually139 upon seeing at that house the blooming Miss Frances or Miss Arabella, he would profoundly bow in his forlorn old coat, and with his soft, white hand take hers in gallant-wise, saying, "Ah, Miss Arabella, these jewels here are bright upon these fingers; but brighter would they look were it not for those still brighter diamonds of your eyes!"
Though in thy own need thou hadst no pence to give the poor, thou, Jimmy, still hadst alms to give the rich. For not the beggar chattering140 at the corner pines more after bread than the vain heart after compliment. The rich in their craving141 glut142, as the poor in their craving want, we have with us always. So, I suppose, thought Jimmy Rose.
But all women are not vain, or if a little[106] grain that way inclined, more than redeem143 it all with goodness. Such was the sweet girl that closed poor Jimmy's eyes. The only daughter of an opulent alderman, she knew Jimmy well, and saw to him in his declining days. During his last sickness, with her own hands she carried him jellies and blanc-mange; made tea for him in his attic, and turned the poor old gentleman in his bed. And well hadst thou deserved it, Jimmy, at that fair creature's hands; well merited to have the old eyes closed by woman's fairy fingers, who through life, in riches and in poverty, was still woman's sworn champion and devotee.
I hardly know that I should mention here one little incident connected with this young lady's ministrations, and poor Jimmy's reception of them. But it is harm to neither; I will tell it.
Chancing to be in town, and hearing of Jimmy's illness, I went to see him. And there in his lone90 attic I found the lovely ministrant. Withdrawing upon seeing another visitor, she left me alone with him. She had brought some little delicacies144, and also several books, of such a sort as are sent by serious-minded well-wishers to[107] invalids145 in a serious crisis. Now whether it was repugnance146 at being considered next door to death, or whether it was but the natural peevishment brought on by the general misery of his state; however it was, as the gentle girl withdrew, Jimmy, with what small remains147 of strength were his, pitched the books into the furthest corner, murmuring, "Why will she bring me this sad old stuff? Does she take me for a pauper? Thinks she to salve a gentleman's heart with Poor Man's Plaster?"
Poor, poor Jimmy—God guard us all—poor Jimmy Rose!
Well, well, I am an old man, and I suppose these tears I drop are dribblets from my dotage148. But Heaven be praised, Jimmy needs no man's pity now.
Jimmy Rose is dead!
Meantime, as I sit within the parlor of the peacocks—that chamber7 from which his husky voice had come ere threatening me with the pistol—I still must meditate149 upon his strange example, whereof the marvel150 is, how after that gay, dashing, nobleman's career, he could be content to crawl through life, and peep about the marbles and mahoganies for contumelious[108] tea and toast, where once like a very Warwick he had feasted the huzzaing world with Burgundy and venison.
And every time I look at the wilted151 resplendence of those proud peacocks on the wall, I bethink me of the withering152 change in Jimmy's once resplendent pride of state. But still again, every time I gaze upon those festoons of perpetual roses, mid12 which the faded peacocks hang, I bethink me of those undying roses which bloomed in ruined Jimmy's cheek.
Transplanted to another soil, all the unkind past forgot, God grant that Jimmy's roses may immortally153 survive!
点击收听单词发音
1 precisely | |
adv.恰好,正好,精确地,细致地 | |
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2 ward | |
n.守卫,监护,病房,行政区,由监护人或法院保护的人(尤指儿童);vt.守护,躲开 | |
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3 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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4 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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5 parlors | |
客厅( parlor的名词复数 ); 起居室; (旅馆中的)休息室; (通常用来构成合成词)店 | |
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6 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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7 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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8 warehouse | |
n.仓库;vt.存入仓库 | |
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9 warehouses | |
仓库,货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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10 usurp | |
vt.篡夺,霸占;vi.篡位 | |
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11 ledgers | |
n.分类账( ledger的名词复数 ) | |
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12 mid | |
adj.中央的,中间的 | |
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13 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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14 nuns | |
n.(通常指基督教的)修女, (佛教的)尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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15 despoiled | |
v.掠夺,抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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17 cane | |
n.手杖,细长的茎,藤条;v.以杖击,以藤编制的 | |
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18 census | |
n.(官方的)人口调查,人口普查 | |
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19 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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20 recluses | |
n.隐居者,遁世者,隐士( recluse的名词复数 ) | |
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21 exterior | |
adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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22 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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23 graft | |
n.移植,嫁接,艰苦工作,贪污;v.移植,嫁接 | |
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24 bins | |
n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 );宽口箱(如面包箱,垃圾箱等)v.扔掉,丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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25 inaccessible | |
adj.达不到的,难接近的 | |
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26 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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27 longevity | |
n.长命;长寿 | |
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28 gaudy | |
adj.华而不实的;俗丽的 | |
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29 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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30 rubies | |
红宝石( ruby的名词复数 ); 红宝石色,深红色 | |
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31 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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32 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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33 mildew | |
n.发霉;v.(使)发霉 | |
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34 trickled | |
v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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35 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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36 starry | |
adj.星光照耀的, 闪亮的 | |
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37 blurred | |
v.(使)变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 );(使)难以区分;模模糊糊;迷离 | |
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38 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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39 doom | |
n.厄运,劫数;v.注定,命定 | |
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40 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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41 pensiveness | |
n.pensive(沉思的)的变形 | |
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42 meditating | |
a.沉思的,冥想的 | |
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43 bowers | |
n.(女子的)卧室( bower的名词复数 );船首锚;阴凉处;鞠躬的人 | |
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44 adjured | |
v.(以起誓或诅咒等形式)命令要求( adjure的过去式和过去分词 );祈求;恳求 | |
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45 entreaties | |
n.恳求,乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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46 violation | |
n.违反(行为),违背(行为),侵犯 | |
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47 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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48 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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49 hack | |
n.劈,砍,出租马车;v.劈,砍,干咳 | |
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50 uncommonly | |
adv. 稀罕(极,非常) | |
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51 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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52 carmine | |
n.深红色,洋红色 | |
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53 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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54 bounteous | |
adj.丰富的 | |
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55 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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56 abode | |
n.住处,住所 | |
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57 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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58 turquoise | |
n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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59 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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60 texture | |
n.(织物)质地;(材料)构造;结构;肌理 | |
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61 affluent | |
adj.富裕的,富有的,丰富的,富饶的 | |
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62 plagiarize | |
v.剽窃,抄袭(别人学说、著作) | |
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63 plagiarist | |
n.剽窃者,文抄公 | |
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64 prodigality | |
n.浪费,挥霍 | |
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65 scrutinized | |
v.仔细检查,详审( scrutinize的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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67 vessels | |
n.血管( vessel的名词复数 );船;容器;(具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的)人 | |
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68 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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69 bowling | |
n.保龄球运动 | |
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70 rattan | |
n.藤条,藤杖 | |
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71 wreck | |
n.失事,遇难;沉船;vt.(船等)失事,遇难 | |
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72 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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73 prudently | |
adv. 谨慎地,慎重地 | |
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74 foamed | |
泡沫的 | |
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75 rascal | |
n.流氓;不诚实的人 | |
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76 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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77 indirectly | |
adv.间接地,不直接了当地 | |
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78 dire | |
adj.可怕的,悲惨的,阴惨的,极端的 | |
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79 middle-aged | |
adj.中年的 | |
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80 furtive | |
adj.鬼鬼崇崇的,偷偷摸摸的 | |
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81 meridian | |
adj.子午线的;全盛期的 | |
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82 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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83 withdrawn | |
vt.收回;使退出;vi.撤退,退出 | |
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84 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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85 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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86 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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87 spun | |
v.纺,杜撰,急转身 | |
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88 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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89 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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90 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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91 renounced | |
v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 );宣布放弃;宣布与…决裂;宣布摒弃 | |
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92 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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93 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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94 Ford | |
n.浅滩,水浅可涉处;v.涉水,涉过 | |
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95 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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96 horrified | |
a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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97 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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98 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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99 pauper | |
n.贫民,被救济者,穷人 | |
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100 pauperism | |
n.有被救济的资格,贫困 | |
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101 promenading | |
v.兜风( promenade的现在分词 ) | |
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102 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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103 onset | |
n.进攻,袭击,开始,突然开始 | |
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104 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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105 creditors | |
n.债权人,债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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106 carrion | |
n.腐肉 | |
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107 denned | |
vi.穴居(den的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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108 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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109 sanity | |
n.心智健全,神智正常,判断正确 | |
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110 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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111 shun | |
vt.避开,回避,避免 | |
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112 entice | |
v.诱骗,引诱,怂恿 | |
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113 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
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114 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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115 eking | |
v.(靠节省用量)使…的供应持久( eke的现在分词 );节约使用;竭力维持生计;勉强度日 | |
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116 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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117 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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118 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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119 cuffs | |
n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打,拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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120 hems | |
布的褶边,贴边( hem的名词复数 ); 短促的咳嗽 | |
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121 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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122 plummet | |
vi.(价格、水平等)骤然下跌;n.铅坠;重压物 | |
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123 redounded | |
v.有助益( redound的过去式和过去分词 );及于;报偿;报应 | |
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124 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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125 dole | |
n.救济,(失业)救济金;vt.(out)发放,发给 | |
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126 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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127 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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128 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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129 sprightly | |
adj.愉快的,活泼的 | |
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130 smacking | |
活泼的,发出响声的,精力充沛的 | |
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131 pawnbrokers | |
n.当铺老板( pawnbroker的名词复数 ) | |
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132 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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133 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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134 militia | |
n.民兵,民兵组织 | |
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135 fatality | |
n.不幸,灾祸,天命 | |
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136 paupers | |
n.穷人( pauper的名词复数 );贫民;贫穷 | |
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137 timing | |
n.时间安排,时间选择 | |
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138 mansions | |
n.宅第,公馆,大厦( mansion的名词复数 ) | |
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139 annually | |
adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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140 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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141 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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142 glut | |
n.存货过多,供过于求;v.狼吞虎咽 | |
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143 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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144 delicacies | |
n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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145 invalids | |
病人,残疾者( invalid的名词复数 ) | |
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146 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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147 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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148 dotage | |
n.年老体衰;年老昏聩 | |
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149 meditate | |
v.想,考虑,(尤指宗教上的)沉思,冥想 | |
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150 marvel | |
vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异;n.令人惊异的事 | |
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151 wilted | |
(使)凋谢,枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152 withering | |
使人畏缩的,使人害羞的,使人难堪的 | |
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153 immortally | |
不朽地,永世地,无限地 | |
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