Coningsby entertained for his grandfather a sincere affection. With the exception of their last unfortunate interview, he had experienced from Lord Monmouth nothing but kindness both in phrase and deed. There was also something in Lord Monmouth, when he pleased it, rather fascinating to young men; and as Coningsby had never occasioned him any feelings but pleasurable ones, he was always disposed to make himself delightful5 to his grandson. The experience of a consummate6 man of the world, advanced in life, detailed7 without rigidity8 to youth, with frankness and facility, is bewitching. Lord Monmouth was never garrulous9: he was always pithy10, and could be picturesque11. He revealed a character in a sentence, and detected the ruling passion with the hand of a master. Besides, he had seen everybody and had done everything; and though, on the whole, too indolent for conversation, and loving to be talked to, these were circumstances which made his too rare communications the more precious.
With these feelings, Coningsby resolved, the moment that he learned that his grandfather was established at Richmond, to pay him a visit. He was informed that Lord Monmouth was at home, and he was shown into a drawing-room, where he found two French ladies in their bonnets12, whom he soon discovered to be actresses. They also had come down to pay a visit to his grandfather, and were by no means displeased13 to pass the interval14 that must elapse before they had that pleasure in chatting with his grandson. Coningsby found them extremely amusing; with the finest spirits in the world, imperturbable15 good temper, and an unconscious practical philosophy that defied the devil Care and all his works. And well it was that he found such agreeable companions, for time flowed on, and no summons arrived to call him to his grandfather’s presence, and no herald16 to announce his grandfather’s advent17. The ladies and Coningsby had exhausted18 badinage19; they had examined and criticised all the furniture, had rifled the vases of their prettiest flowers; and Clotilde, who had already sung several times, was proposing a duet to Ermengarde, when a servant entered, and told the ladies that a carriage was in attendance to give them an airing, and after that Lord Monmouth hoped they would return and dine with him; then turning to Coningsby, he informed him, with his lord’s compliments, that Lord Monmouth was sorry he was too much engaged to see him.
Nothing was to be done but to put a tolerably good face upon it. ‘Embrace Lord Monmouth for me,’ said Coningsby to his fair friends, ‘and tell him I think it very unkind that he did not ask me to dinner with you.’
Coningsby said this with a gay air, but really with a depressed20 spirit. He felt convinced that his grandfather was deeply displeased with him; and as he rode away from the villa, he could not resist the strong impression that he was destined21 never to re-enter it. Yet it was decreed otherwise. It so happened that the idle message which Coningsby had left for his grandfather, and which he never seriously supposed for a moment that his late companions would have given their host, operated entirely22 in his favour. Whatever were the feelings with respect to Coningsby at the bottom of Lord Monmouth’s heart, he was actuated in his refusal to see him not more from displeasure than from an anticipatory23 horror of something like a scene. Even a surrender from Coningsby without terms, and an offer to declare himself a candidate for Darlford, or to do anything else that his grandfather wished, would have been disagreeable to Lord Monmouth in his present mood. As in politics a revolution is often followed by a season of torpor24, so in the case of Lord Monmouth the separation from his wife, which had for a long period occupied his meditation25, was succeeded by a vein26 of mental dissipation. He did not wish to be reminded by anything or any person that he had still in some degree the misfortune of being a responsible member of society. He wanted to be surrounded by individuals who were above or below the conventional interests of what is called ‘the World.’ He wanted to hear nothing of those painful and embarrassing influences which from our contracted experience and want of enlightenment we magnify into such undue27 importance. For this purpose he wished to have about him persons whose knowledge of the cares of life concerned only the means of existence, and whose sense of its objects referred only to the sources of enjoyment28; persons who had not been educated in the idolatry of Respectability; that is to say, of realising such an amount of what is termed character by a hypocritical deference29 to the prejudices of the community as may enable them, at suitable times, and under convenient circumstances and disguises, to plunder30 the public. This was the Monmouth Philosophy.
With these feelings, Lord Monmouth recoiled31 at this moment from grandsons and relations and ties of all kinds. He did not wish to be reminded of his identity, but to swim unmolested and undisturbed in his Epicurean dream. When, therefore, his fair visitors; Clotilde, who opened her mouth only to breathe roses and diamonds, and Ermengarde, who was so good-natured that she sacrificed even her lovers to her friends; saw him merely to exclaim at the same moment, and with the same voices of thrilling joyousness,—
‘Why did not you ask him to dinner?’
And then, without waiting for his reply, entered with that rapidity of elocution which Frenchwomen can alone command into the catalogue of his charms and accomplishments32, Lord Monmouth began to regret that he really had not seen Coningsby, who, it appeared, might have greatly contributed to the pleasure of the day. The message, which was duly given, however, settled the business. Lord Monmouth felt that any chance of explanations, or even allusions33 to the past, was out of the question; and to defend himself from the accusations34 of his animated35 guests, he said,
‘Well, he shall come to dine with you next time.’
There is no end to the influence of woman on our life. It is at the bottom of everything that happens to us. And so it was, that, in spite of all the combinations of Lucretia and Mr. Rigby, and the mortification36 and resentment37 of Lord Monmouth, the favourable38 impression he casually39 made on a couple of French actresses occasioned Coningsby, before a month had elapsed since his memorable40 interview at Monmouth House, to receive an invitation again to dine with his grandfather.
The party was agreeable. Clotilde and Ermengarde had wits as sparkling as their eyes. There was a manager of the Opera, a great friend of Villebecque, and his wife, a splendid lady, who had been a prima donna of celebrity41, and still had a commanding voice for a chamber42; a Carlist nobleman who lived upon his traditions, and who, though without a sou, could tell of a festival given by his family, before the revolution, which had cost a million of francs; and a Neapolitan physician, in whom Lord Monmouth had great confidence, and who himself believed in the elixir43 vitae, made up the party, with Lucian Gay, Coningsby, and Mr. Rigby. Our hero remarked that Villebecque on this occasion sat at the bottom of the table, but Flora44 did not appear.
In the meantime, the month which brought about this satisfactory and at one time unexpected result was fruitful also in other circumstances still more interesting. Coningsby and Edith met frequently, if to breathe the same atmosphere in the same crowded saloons can be described as meeting; ever watching each other’s movements, and yet studious never to encounter each other’s glance. The charms of Miss Millbank had become an universal topic, they were celebrated45 in ball-rooms, they were discussed at clubs: Edith was the beauty of the season. All admired her, many sighed even to express their admiration46; but the devotion of Lord Beaumanoir, who always hovered47 about her, deterred48 them from a rivalry49 which might have made the boldest despair. As for Coningsby, he passed his life principally with the various members of the Sydney family, and was almost daily riding with Lady Everingham and her sister, generally accompanied by Lord Henry and his friend Eustace Lyle, between whom, indeed, and Coningsby there were relations of intimacy50 scarcely less inseparable. Coningsby had spoken to Lady Everingham of the rumoured51 marriage of her elder brother, and found, although the family had not yet been formally apprised52 of it, she entertained little doubt of its ultimate occurrence. She admired Miss Millbank, with whom her acquaintance continued slight; and she wished, of course, that her brother should marry and be happy. ‘But Percy is often in love,’ she would add, ‘and never likes us to be very intimate with his inamoratas. He thinks it destroys the romance; and that domestic familiarity may compromise his heroic character. However,’ she added, ‘I really believe that will be a match.’
On the whole, though he bore a serene53 aspect to the world, Coningsby passed this month in a state of restless misery54. His soul was brooding on one subject, and he had no confidant: he could not resist the spell that impelled55 him to the society where Edith might at least be seen, and the circle in which he lived was one in which her name was frequently mentioned. Alone, in his solitary56 rooms in the Albany, he felt all his desolation; and often a few minutes before he figured in the world, apparently57 followed and courted by all, he had been plunged58 in the darkest fits of irremediable wretchedness.
He had, of course, frequently met Lady Wallinger, but their salutations, though never omitted, and on each side cordial, were brief. There seemed to be a tacit understanding between them not to refer to a subject fruitful in painful reminiscences.
The season waned59. In the fulfilment of a project originally formed in the playing-fields of Eton, often recurred60 to at Cambridge, and cherished with the fondness with which men cling to a scheme of early youth, Coningsby, Henry Sydney, Vere, and Buckhurst had engaged some moors61 together this year; and in a few days they were about to quit town for Scotland. They had pressed Eustace Lyle to accompany them, but he, who in general seemed to have no pleasure greater than their society, had surprised them by declining their invitation, with some vague mention that he rather thought he should go abroad.
It was the last day of July, and all the world were at a breakfast given, at a fanciful cottage situate in beautiful gardens on the banks of the Thames, by Lady Everingham. The weather was as bright as the romances of Boccaccio; there were pyramids of strawberries, in bowls colossal62 enough to hold orange-trees; and the choicest band filled the air with enchanting63 strains, while a brilliant multitude sauntered on turf like velvet64, or roamed in desultory65 existence amid the quivering shades of winding66 walks.
‘My fête was prophetic,’ said Lady Everingham, when she saw Coningsby. ‘I am glad it is connected with an incident. It gives it a point.’
‘You are mystical as well as prophetic. Tell me what we are to celebrate.’
‘Theresa is going to be married.’
‘You have been more prescient than I,’ said Lady Everingham, ‘perhaps because I was thinking too much of some one else.’
‘It seems to me an union which all must acknowledge perfect. I hardly know which I love best. I have had my suspicions a long time; and when Eustace refused to go to the moors with us, though I said nothing, I was convinced.’
‘At any rate,’ said Lady Everingham, sighing, with a rather smiling face, ‘we are kinsfolk, Mr. Coningsby; though I would gladly have wished to have been more.’
‘Were those your thoughts, dear lady? Ever kind to me! Happiness,’ he added, in a mournful tone, ‘I fear can never be mine.’
‘And why?’
‘Ah! ‘tis a tale too strange and sorrowful for a day when, like Seged, we must all determine to be happy.’
‘Here comes a group that will make you gay,’ said Coningsby as he moved on. Edith and the Wallingers, accompanied by Lord Beaumanoir, Mr. Melton, and Sir Charles Buckhurst, formed the party. They seemed profuse69 in their congratulations to Lady Everingham, having already learnt the intelligence from her brother.
Coningsby stopped to speak to Lady St. Julians, who had still a daughter to marry. Both Augustina, who was at Coningsby Castle, and Clara Isabella, who ought to have been there, had each secured the right man. But Adelaide Victoria had now appeared, and Lady St. Julians had a great regard for the favourite grandson of Lord Monmouth, and also for the influential70 friend of Lord Vere and Sir Charles Buckhurst. In case Coningsby did not determine to become her son-in-law himself, he might counsel either of his friends to a judicious71 decision on an inevitable72 act.
‘Strawberries and cream?’ said Lord Eskdale to Mr. Ormsby, who seemed occupied with some delicacies73.
‘Egad! no, no, no; those days are passed. I think there is a little easterly wind with all this fine appearance.’
‘I am for in-door nature myself,’ said Lord Eskdale. ‘Do you know, I do not half like the way Monmouth is going on? He never gets out of that villa of his. He should change his air more. Tell him.’
‘It is no use telling him anything. Have you heard anything of Miladi?’
‘I had a letter from her to-day: she writes in good spirits. I am sorry it broke up, and yet I never thought it would last so long.’
‘I gave them two years,’ said Mr. Ormsby. ‘Lord Monmouth lived with his first wife two years. And afterwards with the Mirandola at Milan, at least nearly two years; it was a year and ten months. I must know, for he called me in to settle affairs. I took the lady to the baths at Lucca, on the pretence74 that Monmouth would meet us there. He went to Paris. All his great affairs have been two years. I remember I wanted to bet Cassilis, at White’s, on it when he married; but I thought, being his intimate friend; the oldest friend he has, indeed, and one of his trustees; it was perhaps as well not to do it.’
‘You should have made the bet with himself,’ said Lord Eskdale, ‘and then there never would have been a separation.’
‘Hah, hah, hah! Do you know, I feel the wind?’
About an hour after this, Coningsby, who had just quitted the Duchess, met, on a terrace by the river, Lady Wallinger, walking with Mrs. Guy Flouncey and a Russian Prince, whom that lady was enchanting. Coningsby was about to pass with some slight courtesy, but Lady Wallinger stopped and would speak to him, on slight subjects, the weather and the fête, but yet adroitly75 enough managed to make him turn and join her. Mrs. Guy Flouncey walked on a little before with her Russian admirer. Lady Wallinger followed with Coningsby.
‘The match that has been proclaimed to-day has greatly surprised me,’ said Lady Wallinger.
‘Indeed!’ said Coningsby: ‘I confess I was long prepared for it. And it seems to me the most natural alliance conceivable, and one that every one must approve.’
‘Lady Everingham seems much surprised at it.’
‘Ah! Lady Everingham is a brilliant personage, and cannot deign76 to observe obvious circumstances.’
‘Do you know, Mr. Coningsby, that I always thought you were engaged to Lady Theresa?’
‘I!’
‘Indeed, we were informed more than a month ago that you were positively77 going to be married to her.’
‘I am not one of those who can shift their affections with such rapidity, Lady Wallinger.’
Lady Wallinger looked distressed78. ‘You remember our meeting you on the stairs at —— House, Mr. Coningsby?’
‘Painfully. It is deeply graven on my brain.’
‘Edith had just been informed that you were going to be married to Lady Theresa.’
‘Not surely by him to whom she is herself going to be married?’ said Coningsby, reddening.
‘I am not aware that she is going to be married to any one. Lord Beaumanoir admires her, has always admired her. But Edith has given him no encouragement, at least gave him no encouragement as long as she believed; but why dwell on such an unhappy subject, Mr. Coningsby? I am to blame; I have been to blame perhaps before, but indeed I think it cruel, very cruel, that Edith and you are kept asunder79.’
‘You have always been my best, my dearest friend, and are the most amiable80 and admirable of women. But tell me, is it indeed true that Edith is not going to be married?’
At this moment Mrs. Guy Flouncey turned round, and assuring Lady Wallinger that the Prince and herself had agreed to refer some point to her about the most transcendental ethics81 of flirtation82, this deeply interesting conversation was arrested, and Lady Wallinger, with becoming suavity83, was obliged to listen to the lady’s lively appeal of exaggerated nonsense and the Prince’s affected84 protests, while Coningsby walked by her side, pale and agitated85, and then offered his arm to Lady Wallinger, which she accepted with an affectionate pressure. At the end of the terrace they met some other guests, and soon were immersed in the multitude that thronged86 the lawn.
‘There is Sir Joseph,’ said Lady Wallinger, and Coningsby looked up, and saw Edith on his arm. They were unconsciously approaching them. Lord Beaumanoir was there, but he seemed to shrink into nothing to-day before Buckhurst, who was captivated for the moment by Edith, and hearing that no knight87 was resolute88 enough to try a fall with the Marquess, was impelled by his talent for action to enter the lists. He had talked down everybody, unhorsed every cavalier. Nobody had a chance against him: he answered all your questions before you asked them; contradicted everybody with the intrepidity89 of a Rigby; annihilated90 your anecdotes91 by historiettes infinitely92 more piquant93; and if anybody chanced to make a joke which he could not excel, declared immediately that it was a Joe Miller94. He was absurd, extravagant95, grotesque96, noisy; but he was young, rattling97, and interesting, from his health and spirits. Edith was extremely amused by him, and was encouraging by her smile his spiritual excesses, when they all suddenly met Lady Wallinger and Coningsby.
The eyes of Edith and Coningsby met for the first time since they so cruelly encountered on the staircase of —— House. A deep, quick blush suffused98 her face, her eyes gleamed with a sudden coruscation99; suddenly and quickly she put forth100 her hand.
Yes! he presses once more that hand which permanently to retain is the passion of his life, yet which may never be his! It seemed that for the ravishing delight of that moment he could have borne with cheerfulness all the dark and harrowing misery of the year that had passed away since he embraced her in the woods of Hellingsley, and pledged his faith by the waters of the rushing Darl.
He seized the occasion which offered itself, a moment to walk by her side, and to snatch some brief instants of unreserved communion.
‘Forgive me!’ she said.
‘Ah! how could you ever doubt me?’ said Coningsby.
‘I was unhappy.’
‘And now we are to each other as before?’
‘And will be, come what come may.’
END OF BOOK VIII.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
authentic
|
|
| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
permanently
|
|
| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
consummate
|
|
| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
detailed
|
|
| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
rigidity
|
|
| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
garrulous
|
|
| adj.唠叨的，多话的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
pithy
|
|
| adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
picturesque
|
|
| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
bonnets
|
|
| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
displeased
|
|
| a.不快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
interval
|
|
| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
imperturbable
|
|
| adj.镇静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
herald
|
|
| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
advent
|
|
| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
badinage
|
|
| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
depressed
|
|
| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
anticipatory
|
|
| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
torpor
|
|
| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
vein
|
|
| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
deference
|
|
| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
plunder
|
|
| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
accomplishments
|
|
| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
allusions
|
|
| 暗指，间接提到( allusion的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
accusations
|
|
| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
mortification
|
|
| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
resentment
|
|
| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
casually
|
|
| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
celebrity
|
|
| n.名人，名流；著名，名声，名望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
elixir
|
|
| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
flora
|
|
| n.(某一地区的)植物群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
celebrated
|
|
| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
hovered
|
|
| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
deterred
|
|
| v.阻止，制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
rivalry
|
|
| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
rumoured
|
|
| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
apprised
|
|
| v.告知，通知( apprise的过去式和过去分词 )；评价 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
serene
|
|
| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
impelled
|
|
| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
waned
|
|
| v.衰落( wane的过去式和过去分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
recurred
|
|
| 再发生，复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 )； 治愈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
enchanting
|
|
| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
desultory
|
|
| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
winding
|
|
| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
prophesy
|
|
| v.预言；预示 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
profuse
|
|
| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
influential
|
|
| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
pretence
|
|
| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
adroitly
|
|
| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
deign
|
|
| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
positively
|
|
| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
distressed
|
|
| 痛苦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
asunder
|
|
| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
ethics
|
|
| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
flirtation
|
|
| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
suavity
|
|
| n.温和；殷勤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
agitated
|
|
| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
thronged
|
|
| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
knight
|
|
| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
resolute
|
|
| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
intrepidity
|
|
| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
annihilated
|
|
| v.（彻底）消灭( annihilate的过去式和过去分词 )；使无效；废止；彻底击溃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
anecdotes
|
|
| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
piquant
|
|
| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
miller
|
|
| n.磨坊主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
extravagant
|
|
| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
suffused
|
|
| v.（指颜色、水气等）弥漫于，布满( suffuse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
coruscation
|
|
| n.闪光，焕发 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
100
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |