These are brave words, and spoken in one of those swift flashes of spiritual insight which at first bewilder and then console us. We have our share of sympathy; hearty5, healthy, human sympathy for all that is strong and successful; but the force of moral indignation—either our own or our neighbors’—has well-nigh cowed us into silence. The fashion of the day provides a procrustean6 standard for every form of distinction; and, if it does not fit, it is lopped down to the necessary insignificance7. Those stern, efficient, one-sided men of action who made history at the expense of their finer{166} natures; those fiery8 enthusiasts9 who bore down all just opposition10 to their designs; those loyal servants who saw no right nor wrong save in the will of their sovereigns; those keen-eyed statesmen who served their countries with craft, and guile11, and dissimulation12; those light-hearted prodigals13 who flung away their lives with a smile;—are none of these to yield us either edification or delight? “Do great deeds, and they will sing themselves,” says Emerson; but it must be confessed the songs are often of a very dismal14 and enervating15 character. Columbus did a great deed when he crossed the ocean and discovered the fair, unknown land of promise; yet many of the songs in which we sing his fame sound a good deal like p?ans of reproach. The prevailing16 sentiment appears to be that a person so manifestly ignorant and improper17 should never have been permitted to discover America at all.
This sickly tone is mirrored in much of the depressing literature of our day. It finds amplest expression in such joyless books as “The Heavenly Twins,” the heroine of which remarks with commendable18 self-confidence{167} that “The trade of governing is a coarse pursuit;” and also that “War is the dirty work of a nation; one of the indecencies of life.” She cannot even endure to hear it alluded19 to when she is near; but, like Athene, whose father, Zeus, “by chance spake of love matters in her presence,” she flies chastely20 from the very sound of such ill-doing. Now on first reading this sensitive criticism, one is tempted21 to a great shout of laughter, quite as coarse, I fear, as the pursuit of governing, and almost as indecent as war. Ah! founders22 of empires, and masters of men, where are your laurels23 now? “If some people in public life were acquainted with Mrs. Wititterly’s real opinion of them,” says Mr. Wititterly to Kate Nickleby, “they would not hold their heads perhaps quite as high as they do.” But in moments of soberness such distorted points of view seem rather more melancholy24 than diverting. Evadne is, after all, but the feeble reflex of an over-anxious age which has lost itself in a labyrinth25 of responsibilities. Shelley, whose rigidity26 of mind was at times almost inconceivable, did not hesitate to deny every attribute of greatness wherever he felt{168} no sympathy. To him, Constantine was a “Christian reptile,” a “stupid and wicked monster;” while of Napoleon he writes with the invincible27 gravity of youth. “Buonaparte’s talents appear to me altogether contemptible28 and commonplace; incapable29 as he is of comparing connectedly the most obvious propositions, or relishing31 any pleasure truly enrapturing32.”
To the mundane33 and unpoetic mind it would seem that there were several propositions, obvious or otherwise, which Napoleon was capable of comparing quite connectedly, and that his ruthless, luminous34 fashion of dealing35 with such made him more terrible than fate. As for pleasures, he knew how to read and relish30 “Clarissa Harlowe,” for which evidence of sound literary taste, one Englishman at least, Hazlitt, honored and loved him greatly. If we are seeking an embodiment of unrelieved excellence36 who will work up well into moral anecdotes37 and journalistic platitudes38, the emperor is plainly not what we require. But when we have great men under consideration, let us at least think of their greatness. Let us permit our little{169} hearts to expand, and our little eyes to sweep a broad horizon. There is nothing in the world I dislike so much as to be reminded of Napoleon’s rudeness to Madame de Sta?l, or of C?sar’s vain attempt to hide his baldness. C?sar was human; that is his charm; and Madame de Sta?l would have sorely strained the courtesy of good King Arthur. Had she attached herself unflinchingly to his court, it is probable he would have ended by requesting her to go elsewhere.
On the other hand, it is never worth while to assert that genius repeals39 the decalogue. We cannot believe with M. Waliszewski that because Catherine of Russia was a great ruler she was, even in the smallest degree, privileged to be an immoral40 woman, to give “free course to her senses imperially.” The same commandment binds41 with equal rigor42 both empress and costermonger. But it is the greatness of Catherine, and not her immorality43, which concerns us deeply. It is the greatness of Marlborough, of Richelieu, and of Sir Robert Walpole which we do well to consider, and not their shortcomings, though from the tone assumed too often by critics and histo{170}rians, one would imagine that duplicity, ambition and cynicism were the only attributes these men possessed44; that they stood for their vices alone. One would imagine also that the same sins were quite unfamiliar45 in humble46 life, and had never been practised on a petty scale by lawyers and journalists and bank clerks. Yet vice3, as Sir Thomas Browne reminds us, may be had at all prices. “Expensive and costly47 iniquities48 which make the noise cannot be every man’s sins; but the soul may be foully49 inquinated at a very low rate, and a man may be cheaply vicious to his own perdition.”
It is possible then to overdo50 moral criticism, and to cheat ourselves out of both pleasure and profit by narrowing our sympathies, and by applying modern or national standards to men of other ages and of another race. Instead of realizing, with Carlyle, that eminence51 of any kind is a most wholesome52 thing to contemplate53 and to revere54, we are perpetually longing55 for some crucial test which will divide true heroism—as we now regard it—from those forceful qualities which the world has hitherto been content to call heroic. I have{171} heard people gravely discuss the possibility of excluding from histories, from school histories especially, the adjective “great,” wherever it is used to imply success unaccompanied by moral excellence. Alfred the Great might be permitted to retain his title. Like the “blameless Ethiops,” he is safely sheltered from our too penetrating56 observation. But Alexander, Frederick, Catherine, and Louis should be handed down to future ages as the “well-known.” Alexander the Well-Known! We can all say that with clear consciences, and without implying any sympathy or regard for a person so manifestly irregular in his habits, and seemingly so devoid57 of all altruistic58 emotions. It is true that Mr. Addington Symonds has traced a resemblance between the Macedonian conqueror59, and the ideal warrior60 of the Grecian camp, Achilles the strong-armed and terrible. Alexander, he maintains, is Achilles in the flesh; passionate61, uncontrolled, with an innate62 sense of what is great and noble; but “dragged in the mire63 of the world and enthralled64 by the necessities of human life.” The difference between them is but the difference between the heroic concep{172}tion of a poet and the stern limitations of reality.
Apart, however, from the fact that Mr. Symonds was not always what the undergraduate lightly calls “up in ethics,” it is to be feared that Achilles himself meets with scant65 favor in our benevolent66 age. “Homer mirrors the world’s young manhood;” but we have grown old and exemplary, and shake our heads over the lusty fierceness of the warrior, and the facile repentance67 of Helen, and the wicked wiles68 of Circe, which do not appear to have met with the universal reprobation69 they deserve. On the contrary, there is a blithe70 good-temper in the poet’s treatment of the enchantress, whose very name is so charming it disarms71 all wrath72. Circe! The word is sweet upon our lips; and this light-hearted embodiment of beauty and malice73 is not to be judged from the bleak74 stand-point of Salem witch-hunters. If we are content to take men and women, in and out of books, with their edification disguised, we may pass a great many agreeable hours in their society, and find ourselves unexpectedly benefited even by those who appear least meritorious75 in our eyes. A{173} frank and generous sympathy for any much maligned76 and sorely slandered77 character,—such, for instance, as Graham of Claverhouse; a candid78 recognition of his splendid virtues79 and of his single vice; a clear conception of his temperament80, his ability, and his work,—these things are of more real service in broadening our appreciations81, and interpreting our judgments82, than are a score of unqualified opinions taken ready-made from the most admirable historians in Christendom. It is a liberal education to recognize, and to endeavor to understand any form of eminence which the records of mankind reveal.
As for the popular criticism which fastens on a feature and calls it a man, nothing can be easier or more delusive83. Claverhouse was merciless and densely84 intolerant; but he was also loyal, brave, and reverent85; temperate86 in his habits, cleanly in his life, and one of the first soldiers of his day. Surely this leaves some little balance in his favor. Marlborough may have been as false as Judas and as ambitious as Lucifer; but he was also the greatest of English-speaking generals, and England owes him something better than pic{174}turesque invectives. What can we say to people who talk to us anxiously about Byron’s unkindness to Leigh Hunt, and Dr. Johnson’s illiberal87 attitude towards Methodism, and Scott’s incomprehensible friendship for John Ballantyne; who remind us with austere88 dissatisfaction that Goldsmith did not pay his debts, and that Lamb drank more than was good for him, and that Dickens dressed loudly and wore flashy jewelry89? I don’t care what Dickens wore. I would not care if he had decorated himself with bangles, and anklets, and earrings90, and a nose-ring, provided he wrote “Pickwick” and “David Copperfield.” If there be any living novelist who can give us such another as Sam Weller, or Dick Swiveller, or Mr. Micawber, or Mrs. Gamp, or Mrs. Nickleby, let him festoon himself with gauds from head to foot, and wedge his fingers “knuckle-deep with rings,” like the lady in the old song, and then sit down and write. The world will readily forgive him his embellishments. It has forgiven Flaubert his dressing-gown, and George Sand her eccentricities91 of attire92, and Goldsmith his coat of Tyrian bloom, and the blue silk breeches for which he probably never paid his tailor. It has forgiven Dr. Johnson all his little sins; and Lamb the only sin for which he craves93 forgiveness; and Scott—but here we are not privileged even to offer pardon. “It ill becomes either you or me to compare ourselves with Scott,” said Thackeray to a young writer who excused himself for some literary laxity by saying that “Sir Walter did the same.” “We should take off our hats whenever that great and good man’s name is mentioned in our presence.”
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1 sneaking | |
a.秘密的,不公开的 | |
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2 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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3 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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4 vices | |
缺陷( vice的名词复数 ); 恶习; 不道德行为; 台钳 | |
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5 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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6 procrustean | |
adj.强求一致的 | |
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7 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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8 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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9 enthusiasts | |
n.热心人,热衷者( enthusiast的名词复数 ) | |
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10 opposition | |
n.反对,敌对 | |
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11 guile | |
n.诈术 | |
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12 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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13 prodigals | |
n.浪费的( prodigal的名词复数 );铺张的;挥霍的;慷慨的 | |
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14 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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15 enervating | |
v.使衰弱,使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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16 prevailing | |
adj.盛行的;占优势的;主要的 | |
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17 improper | |
adj.不适当的,不合适的,不正确的,不合礼仪的 | |
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18 commendable | |
adj.值得称赞的 | |
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19 alluded | |
提及,暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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20 chastely | |
adv.贞洁地,清高地,纯正地 | |
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21 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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22 founders | |
n.创始人( founder的名词复数 ) | |
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23 laurels | |
n.桂冠,荣誉 | |
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24 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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25 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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26 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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27 invincible | |
adj.不可征服的,难以制服的 | |
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28 contemptible | |
adj.可鄙的,可轻视的,卑劣的 | |
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29 incapable | |
adj.无能力的,不能做某事的 | |
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30 relish | |
n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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31 relishing | |
v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 );从…获得乐趣;渴望 | |
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32 enrapturing | |
v.使狂喜( enrapture的现在分词 ) | |
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33 mundane | |
adj.平凡的;尘世的;宇宙的 | |
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34 luminous | |
adj.发光的,发亮的;光明的;明白易懂的;有启发的 | |
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35 dealing | |
n.经商方法,待人态度 | |
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36 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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37 anecdotes | |
n.掌故,趣闻,轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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38 platitudes | |
n.平常的话,老生常谈,陈词滥调( platitude的名词复数 );滥套子 | |
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39 repeals | |
撤销,废除( repeal的名词复数 ) | |
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40 immoral | |
adj.不道德的,淫荡的,荒淫的,有伤风化的 | |
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41 binds | |
v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 );装订;捆绑;(用长布条)缠绕 | |
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42 rigor | |
n.严酷,严格,严厉 | |
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43 immorality | |
n. 不道德, 无道义 | |
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44 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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45 unfamiliar | |
adj.陌生的,不熟悉的 | |
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46 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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47 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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48 iniquities | |
n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 );极不公正 | |
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49 foully | |
ad.卑鄙地 | |
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50 overdo | |
vt.把...做得过头,演得过火 | |
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51 eminence | |
n.卓越,显赫;高地,高处;名家 | |
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52 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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53 contemplate | |
vt.盘算,计议;周密考虑;注视,凝视 | |
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54 revere | |
vt.尊崇,崇敬,敬畏 | |
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55 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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56 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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57 devoid | |
adj.全无的,缺乏的 | |
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58 altruistic | |
adj.无私的,为他人着想的 | |
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59 conqueror | |
n.征服者,胜利者 | |
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60 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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61 passionate | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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62 innate | |
adj.天生的,固有的,天赋的 | |
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63 mire | |
n.泥沼,泥泞;v.使...陷于泥泞,使...陷入困境 | |
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64 enthralled | |
迷住,吸引住( enthrall的过去式和过去分词 ); 使感到非常愉快 | |
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65 scant | |
adj.不充分的,不足的;v.减缩,限制,忽略 | |
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66 benevolent | |
adj.仁慈的,乐善好施的 | |
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67 repentance | |
n.懊悔 | |
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68 wiles | |
n.(旨在欺骗或吸引人的)诡计,花招;欺骗,欺诈( wile的名词复数 ) | |
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69 reprobation | |
n.斥责 | |
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70 blithe | |
adj.快乐的,无忧无虑的 | |
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71 disarms | |
v.裁军( disarm的第三人称单数 );使息怒 | |
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72 wrath | |
n.愤怒,愤慨,暴怒 | |
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73 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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74 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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75 meritorious | |
adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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76 maligned | |
vt.污蔑,诽谤(malign的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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77 slandered | |
造谣中伤( slander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78 candid | |
adj.公正的,正直的;坦率的 | |
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79 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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80 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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81 appreciations | |
n.欣赏( appreciation的名词复数 );感激;评定;(尤指土地或财产的)增值 | |
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82 judgments | |
判断( judgment的名词复数 ); 鉴定; 评价; 审判 | |
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83 delusive | |
adj.欺骗的,妄想的 | |
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84 densely | |
ad.密集地;浓厚地 | |
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85 reverent | |
adj.恭敬的,虔诚的 | |
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86 temperate | |
adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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87 illiberal | |
adj.气量狭小的,吝啬的 | |
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88 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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89 jewelry | |
n.(jewllery)(总称)珠宝 | |
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90 earrings | |
n.耳环( earring的名词复数 );耳坠子 | |
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91 eccentricities | |
n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 );反常;怪癖 | |
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92 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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93 craves | |
渴望,热望( crave的第三人称单数 ); 恳求,请求 | |
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