“They would hardly have forfeited2 their resting-place had they deserved to retain it,” said Egremont.
“They were rich. I thought it was poverty that was a crime,” replied the stranger in a tone of simplicity3.
“But they had committed other crimes.”
“It may be so; we are very frail4. But their history has been written by their enemies; they were condemned5 without a hearing; the people rose oftentimes in their behalf; and their property was divided with those on whose reports it was forfeited.”
“At any rate, it was a forfeiture6 which gave life to the community,” said Egremont; “the lands are held by active men and not by drones.”
“A drone is one who does not labour,” said the stranger; “whether he wear a cowl or a coronet, ‘tis the same to me. Somebody I suppose must own the land; though I have heard say that this individual tenure7 is not a necessity; but however this may be, I am not one who would object to the lord, provided he were a gentle one. All agree the Monastics were easy landlords; their rents were low; they granted leases in those days. Their tenants8 too might renew their term before their tenure ran out: so they were men of spirit and property. There were yeomen then, sir: the country was not divided into two classes, masters and slaves; there was some resting-place between luxury and misery9. Comfort was an English habit then, not merely an English word.”
“And do you really think they were easier landlords than our present ones?” said Egremont, inquiringly.
“Human nature would tell us that, even if history did not confess it. The Monastics could possess no private property; they could save no money; they could bequeath nothing. They lived, received, and expended10 in common. The monastery11 too was a proprietor12 that never died and never wasted. The farmer had a deathless landlord then; not a harsh guardian13, or a grinding mortgagee, or a dilatory14 master in chancery, all was certain; the manor15 had not to dread16 a change of lords, or the oaks to tremble at the axe17 of the squandering18 heir. How proud we are still in England of an old family, though, God knows, ‘tis rare to see one now. Yet the people like to say, We held under him, and his father and his grandfather before him: they know that such a tenure is a benefit. The abbot was ever the same. The monks were in short in every district a point of refuge for all who needed succour, counsel, and protection; a body of individuals having no cares of their own, with wisdom to guide the inexperienced, with wealth to relieve the suffering, and often with power to protect the oppressed.”
“You plead their cause with feeling,” said Egremont, not unmoved.
“It is my own; they were the sons of the People, like myself.”
“I had thought rather these monasteries19 were the resort of the younger branches of the aristocracy?” said Egremont.
“Instead of the pension list;” replied his companion, smiling, but not with bitterness. “Well, if we must have an aristocracy, I would sooner that its younger branches should be monks and nuns20, than colonels without regiments22, or housekeepers23 of royal palaces that exist only in name. Besides see what advantage to a minister if the unendowed aristocracy were thus provided for now. He need not, like a minister in these days, entrust24 the conduct of public affairs to individuals notoriously incompetent25, appoint to the command of expeditions generals who never saw a field, make governors of colonies out of men who never could govern themselves, or find an ambassador in a broken dandy or a blasted favourite. It is true that many of the monks and nuns were persons of noble birth. Why should they not have been? The aristocracy had their share; no more. They, like all other classes, were benefitted by the monasteries: but the list of the mitred abbots when they were suppressed, shows that the great majority of the heads of houses were of the people.”
“Well, whatever difference of opinion may exist on these points,” said Egremont, “there is one on which there can be no controversy26: the monks were great architects.”
“Ah! there it is,” said the stranger, in a tone of plaintiveness27; “if the world but only knew what they had lost! I am sure that not the faintest idea is generally prevalent of the appearance of England before and since the dissolution. Why, sir, in England and Wales alone, there were of these institutions of different sizes; I mean monasteries, and chantries and chapels29, and great hospitals; considerably30 upwards31 of three thousand; all of them fair buildings, many of them of exquisite32 beauty. There were on an average in every shire at least twenty structures such as this was; in this great county double that number: establishments that were as vast and as magnificent and as beautiful as your Belvoirs and your Chatsworths, your Wentworths and your Stowes. Try to imagine the effect of thirty or forty Chatsworths in this county the proprietors33 of which were never absent. You complain enough now of absentees. The monks were never non-resident. They expended their revenue among those whose labour had produced it. These holy men too built and planted as they did everything else for posterity34: their churches were cathedrals; their schools colleges; their halls and libraries the muniment rooms of kingdoms; their woods and waters, their farms and gardens, were laid out and disposed on a scale and in a spirit that are now extinct: they made the country beautiful, and the people proud of their country.”
“Yet if the monks were such public benefactors35, why did not the people rise in their favour?”
“They did, but too late. They struggled for a century, but they struggled against property and they were beat. As long as the monks existed, the people, when aggrieved36, had property on their side. And now ‘tis all over,” said the stranger; “and travellers come and stare at these ruins, and think themselves very wise to moralize over time. They are the children of violence, not of time. It is war that created these ruins, civil war, of all our civil wars the most inhuman37, for it was waged with the unresisting. The monasteries were taken by storm, they were sacked, gutted38, battered39 with warlike instruments, blown up with gunpowder40; you may see the marks of the blast against the new tower here. Never was such a plunder41. The whole face of the country for a century was that of a land recently invaded by a ruthless enemy; it was worse than the Norman conquest; nor has England ever lost this character of ravage42. I don’t know whether the union workhouses will remove it. They are building something for the people at last. After an experiment of three centuries, your gaols43 being full, and your treadmills44 losing something of their virtue45, you have given us a substitute for the monasteries.”
“I am not viewing the question as one of faith,” said the stranger. “It is not as a matter of religion, but as a matter of right, that I am considering it: as a matter, I should say, of private right and public happiness. You might have changed if you thought fit the religion of the abbots as you changed the religion of the bishops47: but you had no right to deprive men of their property, and property moreover which under their administration so mainly contributed to the welfare of the community.”
“As for community,” said a voice which proceeded neither from Egremont nor the stranger, “with the monasteries expired the only type that we ever had in England of such an intercourse48. There is no community in England; there is aggregation49, but aggregation under circumstances which make it rather a dissociating, than an uniting, principle.”
It was a still voice that uttered these words, yet one of a peculiar50 character; one of those voices that instantly arrest attention: gentle and yet solemn, earnest yet unimpassioned. With a step as whispering as his tone, the man who had been kneeling by the tomb, had unobserved joined his associate and Egremont. He hardly reached the middle height; his form slender, but well proportioned; his pale countenance51, slightly marked with the small pox, was redeemed52 from absolute ugliness by a highly-intellectual brow, and large dark eyes that indicated deep sensibility and great quickness of apprehension53. Though young, he was already a little bald; he was dressed entirely54 in black; the fairness of his linen55, the neatness of his beard, his gloves much worn, yet carefully mended, intimated that his very faded garments were the result of necessity rather than of negligence56.
“You also lament the dissolution of these bodies,” said Egremont.
“There is so much to lament in the world in which we live,” said the younger of the strangers, “that I can spare no pang57 for the past.”
“Yet you approve of the principle of their society; you prefer it, you say, to our existing life.”
“Yes; I prefer association to gregariousness58.”
“It is a community of purpose that constitutes society,” continued the younger stranger; “without that, men may be drawn61 into contiguity62, but they still continue virtually isolated63.”
“And is that their condition in cities?”
“It is their condition everywhere; but in cities that condition is aggravated64. A density65 of population implies a severer struggle for existence, and a consequent repulsion of elements brought into too close contact. In great cities men are brought together by the desire of gain. They are not in a state of co-operation, but of isolation66, as to the making of fortunes; and for all the rest they are careless of neighbours. Christianity teaches us to love our neighbour as ourself; modern society acknowledges no neighbour.”
“Well, we live in strange times,” said Egremont, struck by the observation of his companion, and relieving a perplexed67 spirit by an ordinary exclamation68, which often denotes that the mind is more stirring than it cares to acknowledge, or at the moment is capable to express.
“When the infant begins to walk, it also thinks that it lives in strange times,” said his companion.
“Your inference?” asked Egremont.
“This is a new reign,” said Egremont, “perhaps it is a new era.”
“I think so,” said the younger stranger.
“I hope so,” said the elder one.
“Well, society may be in its infancy,” said Egremont slightly smiling; “but, say what you like, our Queen reigns70 over the greatest nation that ever existed.”
“Which nation?” asked the younger stranger, “for she reigns over two.”
The stranger paused; Egremont was silent, but looked inquiringly.
“Yes,” resumed the younger stranger after a moment’s interval71. “Two nations; between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each other’s habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers72 in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets; who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws.”
“You speak of—” said Egremont, hesitatingly.
“THE RICH AND THE POOR.”
At this moment a sudden flush of rosy73 light, suffusing74 the grey ruins, indicated that the sun had just fallen; and through a vacant arch that overlooked them, alone in the resplendent sky, glittered the twilight75 star. The hour, the scene, the solemn stillness and the softening76 beauty, repressed controversy, induced even silence. The last words of the stranger lingered in the ear of Egremont; his musing59 spirit was teeming77 with many thoughts, many emotions; when from the Lady Chapel28 there rose the evening hymn78 to the Virgin79. A single voice; but tones of almost supernatural sweetness; tender and solemn, yet flexible and thrilling.
Egremont started from his reverie. He would have spoken, but he perceived that the elder of the strangers had risen from his resting-place, and with downcast eyes and crossed arms, was on his knees. The other remained standing80 in his former posture81.
The divine melody ceased; the elder stranger rose; the words were on the lips of Egremont, that would have asked some explanation of this sweet and holy mystery, when in the vacant and star-lit arch on which his glance was fixed82, he beheld83 a female form. She was apparently84 in the habit of a Religious, yet scarcely could be a nun21, for her veil, if indeed it were a veil, had fallen on her shoulders, and revealed her thick tresses of long fair hair. The blush of deep emotion lingered on a countenance, which though extremely young, was impressed with a character of almost divine majesty85; while her dark eyes and long dark lashes86, contrasting with the brightness of her complexion87 and the luxuriance of her radiant locks, combined to produce a beauty as rare as it is choice; and so strange, that Egremont might for a moment have been pardoned for believing her a seraph88, that had lighted on this sphere, or the fair phantom89 of some saint haunting the sacred ruins of her desecrated90 fane.
点击收听单词发音
1 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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2 forfeited | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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4 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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5 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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6 forfeiture | |
n.(名誉等)丧失 | |
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7 tenure | |
n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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8 tenants | |
n.房客( tenant的名词复数 );佃户;占用者;占有者 | |
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9 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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10 expended | |
v.花费( expend的过去式和过去分词 );使用(钱等)做某事;用光;耗尽 | |
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11 monastery | |
n.修道院,僧院,寺院 | |
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12 proprietor | |
n.所有人;业主;经营者 | |
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13 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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14 dilatory | |
adj.迟缓的,不慌不忙的 | |
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15 manor | |
n.庄园,领地 | |
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16 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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17 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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18 squandering | |
v.(指钱,财产等)浪费,乱花( squander的现在分词 ) | |
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19 monasteries | |
修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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20 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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21 nun | |
n.修女,尼姑 | |
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22 regiments | |
(军队的)团( regiment的名词复数 ); 大量的人或物 | |
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23 housekeepers | |
n.(女)管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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24 entrust | |
v.信赖,信托,交托 | |
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25 incompetent | |
adj.无能力的,不能胜任的 | |
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26 controversy | |
n.争论,辩论,争吵 | |
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27 plaintiveness | |
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28 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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29 chapels | |
n.小教堂, (医院、监狱等的)附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 );(在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的)礼拜仪式 | |
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30 considerably | |
adv.极大地;相当大地;在很大程度上 | |
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31 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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32 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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33 proprietors | |
n.所有人,业主( proprietor的名词复数 ) | |
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34 posterity | |
n.后裔,子孙,后代 | |
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35 benefactors | |
n.捐助者,施主( benefactor的名词复数 );恩人 | |
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36 aggrieved | |
adj.愤愤不平的,受委屈的;悲痛的;(在合法权利方面)受侵害的v.令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式);令委屈,令苦恼,侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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37 inhuman | |
adj.残忍的,不人道的,无人性的 | |
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38 gutted | |
adj.容易消化的v.毁坏(建筑物等)的内部( gut的过去式和过去分词 );取出…的内脏 | |
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39 battered | |
adj.磨损的;v.连续猛击;磨损 | |
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40 gunpowder | |
n.火药 | |
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41 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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42 ravage | |
vt.使...荒废,破坏...;n.破坏,掠夺,荒废 | |
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43 gaols | |
监狱,拘留所( gaol的名词复数 ) | |
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44 treadmills | |
n.枯燥无味的工作[生活方式]( treadmill的名词复数 );(尤指旧时由人或牲畜踩动踏板使之转动的)踏车;(锻炼身体的)跑步机,走步机 | |
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45 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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46 lament | |
n.悲叹,悔恨,恸哭;v.哀悼,悔恨,悲叹 | |
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47 bishops | |
(基督教某些教派管辖大教区的)主教( bishop的名词复数 ); (国际象棋的)象 | |
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48 intercourse | |
n.性交;交流,交往,交际 | |
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49 aggregation | |
n.聚合,组合;凝聚 | |
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50 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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51 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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52 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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53 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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54 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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55 linen | |
n.亚麻布,亚麻线,亚麻制品;adj.亚麻布制的,亚麻的 | |
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56 negligence | |
n.疏忽,玩忽,粗心大意 | |
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57 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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58 gregariousness | |
集群性;簇聚性 | |
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59 musing | |
n. 沉思,冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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60 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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61 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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62 contiguity | |
n.邻近,接壤 | |
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63 isolated | |
adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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64 aggravated | |
使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 ); 使更严重; 激怒; 使恼火 | |
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65 density | |
n.密集,密度,浓度 | |
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66 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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67 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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68 exclamation | |
n.感叹号,惊呼,惊叹词 | |
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69 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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70 reigns | |
n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 );君主统治时期;任期;当政期 | |
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71 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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72 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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73 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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74 suffusing | |
v.(指颜色、水气等)弥漫于,布满( suffuse的现在分词 ) | |
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75 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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76 softening | |
变软,软化 | |
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77 teeming | |
adj.丰富的v.充满( teem的现在分词 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
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78 hymn | |
n.赞美诗,圣歌,颂歌 | |
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79 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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80 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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81 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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82 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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83 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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84 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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85 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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86 lashes | |
n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 );鞭子;突然猛烈的一击;急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 );煽动;紧系;怒斥 | |
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87 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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88 seraph | |
n.六翼天使 | |
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89 phantom | |
n.幻影,虚位,幽灵;adj.错觉的,幻影的,幽灵的 | |
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90 desecrated | |
毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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