Two miles inland from Watchet lies the Cistercian Abbey of St. Mary de Cleeve, or Clive; that is to say, St. Mary of the Cliff—the most notable ruin in these districts of Somerset. The church, the Abbey itself, has quite vanished, and its materials centuries ago passed into such commendably1 useful purposes as building-stones for neighbouring farmsteads, cow-bartons and linhays, while the many excellent roads of the neighbourhood doubtless owe their foundations to the same source. The very interesting and extensive remains2 of the establishment are those of the domestic buildings, which have scarce their equal elsewhere in England.
This once proud and beautiful Abbey was founded in 1188 by one William de Romare, of whom we know little else than that he was of the family of the Earls of Lincoln of that period. It stands, after the manner of all Cistercian monasteries4, in a pleasant fertile vale, watered by a never-failing stream; for the White Monks5 were, next to their religious association, most remarkable6 for their agricultural and stock-breeding 190pursuits. They were not greatly distinguished7 for their learning, as were, for example, the Benedictines; but as farmers they were pre-eminent, growing corn and breeding sheep and horses more scientifically than any secular8 agriculturists of their age.
The Cistercians, who derived9 from Citeaux, in France, were alternatively styled “Bernadines.” They first established themselves in England in 1128: their first Abbey that of Waverley, near Guildford. They stood, originally, for simplicity10, in life and worship. “They spent their life,” says Peter of Blois, “on slender food, in rough vesture, in vigils, confession11, discipline, and psalms12; in humility13, hospitality, obedience14, and charity.” We have also the testimony15 of St. Bernard’s words, that “in praying and fast, in study of Holy Writ16, and hard manual labour” they occupied their time.
They were not so dour17 and solemn as some others of the monastic orders, and typified the spiritual joy that filled their hearts by the white habits they adopted; largely, however, as a protest against the penitential Benedictines. For harmony never did exist between the monks of different rules, who were jealous of some and despiteful to others, according to circumstances. Most orders, however, united in despising and ridiculing18 the Cistercians, who were in this, as in the simplicity of their rule, and in the severe, unornamental character of their original Abbeys, the Plymouth Brethren and the Presbyterians of 191their age. The first type of Cistercian house was almost as simple as a Dissenting19 Chapel20 of our own times. In the churches of other orders the Rood was made as ornate, and of as costly21 materials, as possible: often glowing with gold and silver and precious stones. The Cistercian monks, however, remembering that Our Lord died upon a cross of wood, placed a crucifix of plain wood in their churches, and throughout the whole of the establishment conducted themselves as the sanctified farmers they really were: not even scrupling22 to absent themselves from Mass at harvest-time. If it be true—and it is a noble belief—that “to labour is to pray,” then the early Cistercians prayed well; for with all their might they brought lands under cultivation23, and tended and improved stock, and helped the world along toward the distant ideal.
But as time went on, and the order grew rich by dint24 of its own farming and wool-growing successes, and by a never-failing stream of benefactions, the Abbots and monks by degrees became arrogant25 and lazy. They no longer worked in their fields; leaving the practical farming to the lay-brothers and the horde26 of dependents they had accumulated. As landowners they were even more grasping than secular landlords, and, in common with other orders, were extremely tenacious27 of their rights of market and other monopolies; thus earning for themselves a hatred28 which was in course of time to sweep them out of existence. The Cistercians were not alone—nor 192perhaps even as prominent as others—in these worldly ways; but they shared in the growing arrogance29 and luxury of these bodies originally vowed30 to poverty and practising their vows31 because they did not own the wherewithal to do otherwise. Their churches and domestic buildings were rebuilt elaborately and their Abbots travelled en grand seigneur through the country; persons claiming great consideration.
ENTRANCE TO CLEEVE ABBEY.
Cleeve Abbey derives32 its name from the swelling33 hills in the recesses34 of this valley of the stream, called the Roadwater, i.e. the “Roodwater.” “Cleeve” indicates, in its old meaning, not only a cliff or cleft36, but any bold hill. The word is found in the place-names of Clevedon, 193near by, and at Clieveden, on the Thames. There are no cliffs in this gentle vale nearer than the not remarkably37 large cliffs at Watchet. The valley is, indeed, more noted38 for its quiet pastoral beauty than for ruggedness39, and was in olden times known as Vallis Florida, the “Vale of Flowers.”
Although only the ground plan of the monastic church remains, showing it to have been a building 161 feet in length, and of the transitional period between the Norman and the Early English styles, the domestic buildings are in very fair preservation40, considering their use by so many generations of farmers as hay, corn, and straw lofts41. The cloister-garth, now a lawn-like expanse, was, until Mr. Luttrell cleared it out about 1865, a typical farm-yard, rich in muck. At the same period, the pigsties42 and various farming outbuildings that had been added in the course of over three hundred years, were cleared away, and the place made more accessible to those interested in these relics43 of the past. The Luttrells, however, do not allow the place to be seen for nothing, and have indeed at least an adequate idea of its worth as a show; a notice confronting the pilgrim to the effect that Cleeve Abbey is shown on weekdays at one shilling a head: sixpence each for two or more: “special arrangements for Parties.”
Cleeve Abbey is not shown on Sundays and that traveller who from force of circumstances comes to it on the Sabbath must be content 194with a view of its entrance-gateway only. If he cannot contain his artistic44 or antiquarian enthusiasm, but must needs peer and quest about on the edge of the precincts, then the fury of the people who occupy the farm, and are at the same time caretakers of and guides to the Abbey ruins, and without whose unwelcome company you may not see the place at all, at any time, is let loose over him. Whether this be a respect for the Sabbath, or for the merely secular rules imposed by the Luttrells, or whether it is not more likely to be the rage aroused by the prospect45 of a stranger seeing for nothing that for which a fee is charged, I will not pretend to declare. You may come at any time over the ancient two-arched Gothic bridge from the road, and so through the gatehouse, and through that into the outer court, which is now a meadow, without being challenged: arriving at the further end at the farmhouse46, beside which is a wicket-gate admitting into the cloister-garth. “Ring the Bell,” curtly47 says a notice-board, with a small “Please” added, in hesitating manner, for politeness’ sake; probably by some satirical visitor, wishful of imparting a lesson in manners.
The present explorer was one of those whom circumstances conspire48 to bring hither on Sunday, without the prospect of a return in the near future. He left a bicycle in the gatehouse and came across the meadow, where the base of the old Abbot’s market-cross stands with a sycamore growing in the empty socket49 of its shaft50, to the wicket-gate. 195It being Sunday, he did not ring, but entered and sat down there in an ancient archway, in would-be peaceful and holy contemplation. What more Christian51 and Sabbath-like spirit than this would you have? Better, I take it, than the occupation of most of the villagers at that same moment, reading the Sunday newspapers, filled (after the manner of the Sunday newspaper) with the raked-together garbage of the last seven days.
But this holy calm was not to continue. It was entirely52 owing to that bicycle. A strategist would have concealed53 it. Its presence under the archway of the gatehouse brought the peaceful interlude to an abrupt54 conclusion, as shall presently appear.
Within the space of an all too short minute or two there appeared two little girls through the wicket-gate, coming home to the farmhouse from a walk, or from Sunday school, evidently excited by the sight of that machine, and by the very obvious deduction55 that the owner of it must be somewhere near. “And very pretty it was,” as Pepys might have put it, to see them questing about everywhere except in the right place, and not finding him, sitting there in the grateful shade quite close to them, and really easily to be seen, you know. And after all, it was the intruder himself who revealed his own presence, with the remark, “I suppose you are looking for the owner of that bicycle?” Whereupon they ran away and there presently entered upon the scene an angry woman, with inflamed56 visage and furious 196words; with offensive epithets57 about “trippers,” and the like. Outrageous58!
Now, to beat a leisurely59 and dignified60 retreat under such circumstances is difficult. You owe it to yourself not to be ignominiously61 routed in disorder62, but to draw off your forces from the stricken field calmly and collectedly, inflicting63 losses upon the enemy, if possible. And then, you know, to be styled a “tripper,” and by a fat farmer-woman! Does that not demand retribution?
Therefore, “Do you presume, woman, to call me a tripper?” seemed the best retort: effective and injurious, and at the same time restrained and dignified.
“Woman!” What a deadly offence, what a god-addressing-a-blackbeetle effect this has! It produces rage of the foaming64, abusive, incoherent order, in midst of which, with a cold-drawn, blighting65 smile, you retire, with the consciousness that the thing will rankle66 for days. But the incident renders a comparison of old times with new in Somerset unfavourable to the present age. In the olden days, before every historic spot or architectural rarity had become a show-place, resorted to by a constant stream of visitors, the farmer whose farm happened to be on the site of some ruined abbey would, as a rule, make the visitor courteously67 welcome at all times, in his homely68 fashion, and would indeed be pleased to see the rare strangers who came his way; but in these times, now that excursionists are everywhere, 197and in great numbers, ruins have acquired a certain commercial value, and must be hedged about with restrictions69.
THE REFECTORY, CLEEVE ABBEY.
But here we are in the twentieth century, and it were hopeless and foolish to wish ourselves back in the early years of the nineteenth; for not the most perfect examples of that old-time courtesy could recompense for other incidental discomforts70.
Here, then, facing the road, across the little Gothic bridge spanning the Roodwater, stands the Gatehouse. Let us enter—it being weekday—beneath the ample arch of that mingled71 Decorated and Late Perpendicular72 building. The upper storey, the work of William Dovell, 198the last Abbot, bears the hospitable73 Latin welcome:
Porta patens esto
Nulli claudaris honesto,
metrically rendered:
Gate, open be;
To honest men all free.
but more literally74 translated, “Gate, be open; and be closed to no honest man.” It was a favourite threshold invitation with the Cistercians; but the later corruption75, avarice76, and sloth77 that marked them, in common with other orders, led to a double meaning being fastened upon it, both in England and in France. The Latin construction easily admits of a cynical78 interpretation79, figured for us by the still-surviving French punning proverb: “Faute d’un point Martin perdit son ane; i.e. By the mistake of a full-stop, Martin lost his ass;” the original Martin of this cryptic80 saw being the Abbot of Alne, who was so unscholarly that in setting up the honoured motto, he placed a full-stop after the word “nulli”; thus making the phrase read scandalously,
Gate opened be to none.
Closed to the honest man.
That unfortunate Abbot’s lack of learning caused the enraged81 people of the district, headed by rival churchmen, to demolish82 his Abbey.
But to return to the sea, at Blue Anchor, by way of Old Cleeve.
199Past Washford—i.e. “Watchet-ford”—railway station, and down a leafy lane to the right hand, we come in a mile to the village of Old Cleeve; its pleasant rustic83, vine-grown cottages commanding views of the beautiful bay between Blue Anchor and the bold promontory84 of North Hill, Minehead, from their bedroom windows in the heavily thatched roofs.
There is not much of Old Cleeve, but what there is, bears the impress of simplicity and innocence85, not at all in unison86 with the scandalous rhyme:
There was a young fellow of Cleeve
Who said, “It is pleasant to thieve!”
So he spent all his time
In commission of crime—
Now he’s out on a Ticket-of-Leave.
The church of Old Cleeve is of the usual fine Perpendicular character to which we grow accustomed in these parts; with the curious individual feature of a floor gradually, but most distinctly, ascending87 from the west end of the nave88 to the chancel. Here is an alms-box, dated 1634, and inscribed89 “Tob. 4. Pro3. 19. Remember ye poore. Bee mercifvll after thy power. He that hath pitie vpon ye poore lendeth vnto the Lord.”
In a recess35 contrived90 in the wall of the nave and surmounted91 by a boldly moulded ogee arch, finished off with a finial in the shape of a human face wearing a somewhat satanic expression of 200countenance, is a recumbent effigy92 of a civilian93 of the fifteenth century. This, although blunted and damaged by time and ill-usage, was evidently a fine work in the days of its prime. The effigy has not been identified, and whether it be that of a merchant-prince, or some great local landowner, cannot be said; but the original was, at all events, if we may judge from the care evidently taken by the sculptor94 with the effigy, a person of importance. A peculiarly charming and dainty—almost a feminine—effect is given by the decorated fillet that encircles the long hair, and by the girdle around the waist; but what will most keenly arouse the interest and the speculation95 of those who examine the figure is the very striking little sculptured group, of a cat with one paw resting on a mouse, on which the feet of the effigy rest. Although the head of the cat is somewhat worn down, the group is still tolerably perfect, and the cat is seen to be looking up at the figure, as though seeking her master’s approval.
The question visitors will naturally ask, “Has this representation of sculptured cat and mouse any particular meaning here?” at once arises; but no facts, or legends even, are available. It is curious to note, however, that Sir Richard Whittington—the famous “Dick Whittington,” the hero of the “Dick Whittington and his Cat” story—was contemporary, or very nearly contemporary, with the unknown man represented here. It is not suggested that the 201fact is more than a coincidence: but it is a curious one.
MYSTERIOUS EFFIGY AT OLD CLEEVE.
In the porch is an ancient, greatly timeworn 202chest, with three locks and a slit96 in the lid, for the reception of “Peter’s Pence” and other contributions. As the chest is about six feet in length and proportionably deep, it is evident that the expectations were not modest. Let us trust the faithful took the hint and contributed accordingly.
And so by delightful97 lanes to Blue Anchor, where the railway runs along the shore and has a station of that name. Blue Anchor station must in its time have misled many strangers, for where a railway station is, there one expects a town, or village, also. But here is a void, an emptiness, a vacuum. Only a solitary98 bay is disclosed before the astounded99 stranger’s gaze. It is a noble bay, it is true, and commands lovely views of the great North Hill at Minehead, with Dunster nestling midway; and the sunsets are magnificent. But railway companies don’t build railway stations merely for the convenience of those few people who would take a journey especially for sake of a view or a sunset; and it certainly seems as though the Great Western expected building developments here, long ago, and was still awaiting them. In short, all there is of Blue Anchor is an old inn of that name, not remotely suggesting a past intimately connected with smuggling100, together with a cottage or two.
BLUE ANCHOR.
Unfortunately for the lover of an unspoiled seashore, a formal sea-wall has recently been built, to protect the marshes101 that here fringe 205the bay from being drowned. The Somerset County Council built it, at a cost of some £30,000. Let us hope the Luttrells are properly grateful for this public work that so efficiently102 protects their lands.
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1 commendably | |
很好地 | |
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2 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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3 pro | |
n.赞成,赞成的意见,赞成者 | |
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4 monasteries | |
修道院( monastery的名词复数 ) | |
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5 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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6 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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7 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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8 secular | |
n.牧师,凡人;adj.世俗的,现世的,不朽的 | |
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9 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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10 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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11 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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12 psalms | |
n.赞美诗( psalm的名词复数 );圣诗;圣歌;(中的) | |
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13 humility | |
n.谦逊,谦恭 | |
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14 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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15 testimony | |
n.证词;见证,证明 | |
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16 writ | |
n.命令状,书面命令 | |
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17 dour | |
adj.冷酷的,严厉的;(岩石)嶙峋的;顽强不屈 | |
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18 ridiculing | |
v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的现在分词 ) | |
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19 dissenting | |
adj.不同意的 | |
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20 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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21 costly | |
adj.昂贵的,价值高的,豪华的 | |
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22 scrupling | |
v.感到于心不安,有顾忌( scruple的现在分词 ) | |
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23 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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24 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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25 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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26 horde | |
n.群众,一大群 | |
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27 tenacious | |
adj.顽强的,固执的,记忆力强的,粘的 | |
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28 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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29 arrogance | |
n.傲慢,自大 | |
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30 vowed | |
起誓,发誓(vow的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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31 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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32 derives | |
v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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33 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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34 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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35 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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36 cleft | |
n.裂缝;adj.裂开的 | |
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37 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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38 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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39 ruggedness | |
险峻,粗野; 耐久性; 坚固性 | |
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40 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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41 lofts | |
阁楼( loft的名词复数 ); (由工厂等改建的)套房; 上层楼面; 房间的越层 | |
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42 pigsties | |
n.猪圈,脏房间( pigsty的名词复数 ) | |
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43 relics | |
[pl.]n.遗物,遗迹,遗产;遗体,尸骸 | |
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44 artistic | |
adj.艺术(家)的,美术(家)的;善于艺术创作的 | |
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45 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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46 farmhouse | |
n.农场住宅(尤指主要住房) | |
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47 curtly | |
adv.简短地 | |
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48 conspire | |
v.密谋,(事件等)巧合,共同导致 | |
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49 socket | |
n.窝,穴,孔,插座,插口 | |
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50 shaft | |
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51 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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52 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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53 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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54 abrupt | |
adj.突然的,意外的;唐突的,鲁莽的 | |
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55 deduction | |
n.减除,扣除,减除额;推论,推理,演绎 | |
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56 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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57 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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58 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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59 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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60 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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61 ignominiously | |
adv.耻辱地,屈辱地,丢脸地 | |
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62 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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63 inflicting | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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64 foaming | |
adj.布满泡沫的;发泡 | |
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65 blighting | |
使凋萎( blight的现在分词 ); 使颓丧; 损害; 妨害 | |
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66 rankle | |
v.(怨恨,失望等)难以释怀 | |
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67 courteously | |
adv.有礼貌地,亲切地 | |
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68 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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69 restrictions | |
约束( restriction的名词复数 ); 管制; 制约因素; 带限制性的条件(或规则) | |
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70 discomforts | |
n.不舒适( discomfort的名词复数 );不愉快,苦恼 | |
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71 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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72 perpendicular | |
adj.垂直的,直立的;n.垂直线,垂直的位置 | |
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73 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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74 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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75 corruption | |
n.腐败,堕落,贪污 | |
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76 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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77 sloth | |
n.[动]树懒;懒惰,懒散 | |
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78 cynical | |
adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的,不信世道向善的 | |
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79 interpretation | |
n.解释,说明,描述;艺术处理 | |
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80 cryptic | |
adj.秘密的,神秘的,含义模糊的 | |
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81 enraged | |
使暴怒( enrage的过去式和过去分词 ); 歜; 激愤 | |
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82 demolish | |
v.拆毁(建筑物等),推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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83 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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84 promontory | |
n.海角;岬 | |
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85 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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86 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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87 ascending | |
adj.上升的,向上的 | |
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88 nave | |
n.教堂的中部;本堂 | |
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89 inscribed | |
v.写,刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 );内接 | |
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90 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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91 surmounted | |
战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 ); 克服(困难); 居于…之上; 在…顶上 | |
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92 effigy | |
n.肖像 | |
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93 civilian | |
adj.平民的,民用的,民众的 | |
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94 sculptor | |
n.雕刻家,雕刻家 | |
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95 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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96 slit | |
n.狭长的切口;裂缝;vt.切开,撕裂 | |
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97 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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98 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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99 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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100 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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101 marshes | |
n.沼泽,湿地( marsh的名词复数 ) | |
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102 efficiently | |
adv.高效率地,有能力地 | |
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