Passing over these years, then, we find Alice Asher, paler and thinner than before, but still most beautiful, sitting one morning, at the window of her cottage, that looked towards the tower of Drummin, which was partially11 seen from it, through between the thick stems of the trees. Her elbow rested on the window-sill, and supported her head, which was surrounded by a broad fillet of black silk, from beneath which her hair clustered in fair ringlets around her finely formed features, and fell in long tresses [29]over her neck and shoulders. Her close fitting kirtle, and her loose and flowing gown, were of sad-coloured silk, and the embroidered12 bosom13 of her snow-white smock was fastened with a golden brooch, that sparkled with precious stones, and more than one of her fingers glittered with rings of considerable value. Alice was not always wont15 to be so adorned16; but, ornamented17 as she thus was, beyond the simplicity18 of that attire19 which she usually wore, her countenance bore no corresponding expression of gladness upon it. She sat gazing silently towards the distant stronghold of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, sighing deeply from time to time, until the thoughts that filled her heart gradually dimmed her large blue eyes, and the tears swelled20 over her eyelids21, and ran down her cheeks, and she finally began to relieve the heaviness of her soul, by thinking aloud in broken and unconscious soliloquy.
“Aye! he is going to-day!” said she, in a melancholy22 tone. “He is going to the court, to mix with the great, the proud, the gay, and the beautiful; and I shall not see him ere he goes! Yet the vow23 of separation which we mutually [30]took, had a saving condition in it. He might have come—he may at any time approach me—aye, and honourably24 too—when the object of his visit may be to do me and my boy justice. But, after so many years have passed away in disappointment, why should my fond and foolish heart still cling to deceitful hope? a hope, too, that wars with those of a purer and holier nature, which may yet ally me, a penitent25 sinner, to Heaven. Then, what have I to do with those glittering gauds that would better become a bride? Yet they are his pledges, if not of love, at least of kindness and of friendship, sent to me from time to time, to show me that I am not altogether forgotten; and surely there can be no harm in my wearing them? and then to-day—to-day, methought that he might have come. But if he had ever intended to come, would he have sent, as he has done, for Charley? Oh, my boy! would that he could but think of doing thee justice, and thy poor sinful mother would die contented26! But, if he is pleased with the youth, may he not yet come hither along with him? How my silly heart beats at the [31]very thought! What sound was that I heard? Can it be them?—No, no, no, he will never come more to me!—Alas27, alas! my poor boy’s face and person have suffered too much to win a father’s eye, and he knows not the virtues28 that lie so modestly concealed29 within them. But what is that I see yonder?—The bustle30 of the horsemen before the gate, with their pampered31 steeds and their gay attire—their pennons fluttering, and the sun glancing from the broad blades of their Highland32 spears?—What!—was that a distant bugle33 blast I heard?—Again!—Then they are moving—aye, indeed! They are now galloping34 off along the terrace!—Alas, alas, they are gone! and my vain and foolish hopes have gone with them!”
These last words were uttered in the deepest tone of anguish35, and Alice drew hastily back into the darkest recess36 of the apartment, where she seated herself, covered her face with the palms of her hands, and wept aloud. Having thus given full vent37 to her feelings, she retired38 to the privacy of her closet, where she endeavoured to divert her mind by holy exercise from [32]the sorrows that oppressed her. At length, a gentle tap at the door informed her that her son had returned from his visit to Drummin, and tremblingly anxious to know the result of it, she immediately admitted him.
“Mother! my dearest mother!” said Charley Stewart, tenderly embracing her, and with a manifest effort to subdue40 certain emotions that were working within him; “Why hast thou been weeping?”
“Alas! I weep often, my beloved, my darling boy!” replied she, warmly responding to his caresses41; “I weep, and I deserve to weep! But hast thou aught of tidings for me, that may give me a gleam of joy?—Say—how wert thou received?”
“Why, well, mother!” replied Charley, endeavouring to assume a lively air; “I was well and kindly42 received, though neither, forsooth, with parade of arms, nor with flourish of trumpets43, nor of clarions; but Sir Walter received me kindly.”
“Did he embrace thee, dear Charley?” demanded [33]his mother, with great anxiety of expression.
“Um——Aye,” replied her son, with some degree of hesitation44; “he did embrace me, though hardly indeed with the same fervour that thou art wont to do, dearest mother. But then thou knowest, mother, that Sir Walter is a courtly knight45 of high degree, and they tell me that the fashion of such folks allows them not to yield themselves altogether, as we humbler people are wont to do, to the feelings that are within us.”
“Alas! thou say’st that which is but too true!” replied Alice, in a desponding tone; “but go on, boy.”
“Sir Walter put his hand on my shoulder, and turned me round,” continued Charley. “Then he made me walk a step or two, and eyed me narrowly from top to toe, pretty much as if he had been scanning the points and paces of a new horse.—‘How camest thou so lame46 and so disfigured?’ demanded he.—‘By a fall I had in climbing to an eagle’s nest,’ replied I.—‘A [34]silly cause,’ said Sir Walter; ‘and yet, perhaps, the bold blood that is in thee must bear the blame. But know, boy, that fate hath not given to all the power to climb into the eyry of the eagle.’ And having said this much he changed the subject of his talk.”
“Would that thou could’st but have gathered courage enow to have told him all the circumstances of that adventure!”
“Nay47, mother, I had courage for any thing but to speak aught that might have sounded like mine own praise,” replied Charley.
“Would that he but knew thee as thou art!” said Alice, with a sigh. “Would that he but knew the soul that is within thee! With all his faults—and perhaps they are light, save that which concerns thee alone—he hath a generous spirit himself, and he could not but prize a generous spirit in one so kindred to him. But tell me all that passed. Did—did he—did he ask thee for tidings of me?”
“He did question me most particularly about thee,” replied Charley. “He questioned me as if he would have fain gathered from me the [35]appearance and condition of every, the minutest feature of thy face, and of every line of thy form. He questioned as if with the intent of limning48 thy very portrait on the tablet of his mind; and, as if he would have traced it beside some picture, which he still wore in fresh and lively colours there, for the purpose, as it seemed to me, of making close and accurate comparison between them. Thus he would pause at times during his questioning of me; and, after a few moments of deep abstraction, he would say, as if forgetful of my presence, and in converse49 with himself alone, ‘Strange! aye, but she was then but fifteen, scarce ripened50 into woman—the change is nothing more than natural—the same loveliness, but more womanly;’ and so he went on, now to question, and now to talk of thee, for a good half hour or so.”
“And he!” cried Alice, with unwonted animation52; “Say, boy, looked he well? I mean in health; for of his manly51 beauty, his tall and well knit form, his graceful53 air, his noble bearing, and his eagle eye! how could I have lived till now, without hearing from those who have [36]seen and admired him? Alas!” added she, in a melancholy and subdued54 tone, “of such things I have perhaps inquired too much!”
“Sir Walter had all the ruddy hue55, as well as the firmness of vigorous health, dear mother,” replied the youth.
“Thanks be to all the saints!” exclaimed Alice fervently56; “Then, come boy—tell me what passed between you?”
“After all his questions touching57 thee and thy health were done,” said Charley, “and that we had talked of other matters of no import, he sat him down, and thus gravely addressed me as I stood before him: ‘I have been thinking how best to provide for thee, boy. I can see that thou art but ill fitted for hardy58 service, or the toils59 of war. And, by the Rood, it is well for thee that, in these times, there are other ways of winning to high fortune, yea, and to royal favour even, besides that which leads to either by doughty60 deeds of arms, where so many perish ere they have half completed the toilsome and perilous61 journey. Thou must content thee, then, with some peaceful trade. Let me see—let me [37]see. Ah! I have it. Now-a-days, men have more chance to push themselves forward by the point of the needle, than by the point of the lance. What thinkest thou of Master Hommil, the king’s tailor, who, as all men say, hath a fair prospect62 of shaping such a garb63 for himself, as may yet serve him to wear for a peer’s robes, if he doth but use his sheers with due discretion64? This is the very thing for thee, and it is well that I have so luckily hit on it. I’ll have thee apprenticed65 to a tailor, and, when thy time is out, I’ll have thee so taught in all the more curious mysteries of thine art, by its very highest professors, that none in the whole land shall be found to equal thee. Thou shalt travel to France for learning in the nicer parts of thy trade, and then, I will set thee up, close under the royal eye, with such a stock of rarest articles in thy shop, as shall make it a very Campvere, for the variety and richness of its merchandize. But thou must begin thy schooling66 under Master Jonathan Junkins here, who, though but a country cultivator of cabbage, hath an eye towards the cut of a cloak or doublet, that might [38]well beget67 the jealousy68 of the mighty69 Hommil himself. I once wore a rose-coloured suit of Jonathan’s make, that did excite the envy, yea, and the anger, too, of that great master, by the commendations that royalty70 himself was heard to pass upon it. Though there were some there, who, from malice71, no doubt, did say, that the merit lay more in the shape of the wearer, than in that of the garments. But I am trifling72. I have some orders to give ere I mount, and this, as to thy matter with Junkins, shall be one; and time wears, boy, and thou, too, hast some little way before thee to limp home; therefore, God keep thee. Bear my love, or, as she would herself have it to be, my friendship, to thy mother. And, see here; give her this ring as a fresh remembrance of me. Farewell—I shall see that all be well arranged regarding thee ere I go; and I trust that thou wilt73 not idly baulk the prudent74 plans I have laid down for thee, or the good intentions I have towards thee; and so again, farewell, my boy!’—And thus, my dearest mother, was I dismissed.” [39]
“Well, God’s will be done!” said Alice, with a deep sigh, after a long pause, and after having betrayed a variety of emotions during her son’s narrative75. “I had hoped better things for thee, my boy, but God’s will be done! Thou hast no choice but to submit, Charley. Forget not that Sir Walter Stewart is thy father, and that thou art bound by the law of nature to obey him.”
“It is because I do not forget that Sir Walter Stewart is my father, that I find it so hard a thing to obey him in this,” said Charley, with a degree of excitement, which all his earnestly exerted self-command was, for the moment, unable entirely76 to control. “But, as it happens, that it is just because he is bound to me by the law of nature, and by no other law, that he thus condemns77 me to be nailed down to the shop-board of a tailor, instead of giving me a courser to ride, and a lance to wield78, so, as thou most truly sayest dear mother, by the law of nature, but by that law alone, am I compelled to submit to this bitter mortification79, and to obey him.” [40]
“Nay, nay, dearest Charley, talk not thus!” cried Alice, throwing her arms around her son’s neck, and fondly kissing him; “talk not thus frowardly if thou lovest me!”
“Love thee, my dearest mother!” cried Charley, returning her embraces with intense fervour, and weeping from the overpowering strength of his feelings; “Nay, nay, thou canst not doubt my love to thee; thou canst not doubt that, on thy weal, or thy woe80, hangs the happiness or the misery81 of your poor boy. Be not vexed82, dearest mother, for though I have spoken thus idly, trust me that a father’s word shall ever be with me as the strictest law, which I, so far as my nature can support me, shall never wilfully83 contravene84.”
Charley Stewart again tenderly embraced his mother, and, scarcely aware that he was leaving her to weep, he hurried away to seek some consolation85 for himself, in a quarter where he never failed to find it. This was at the cottage of Bessy MacDermot, whither he was wont frequently to wander, for the purpose of listening to the innocent prattle86 of his young plaything [41]Rosa, who, having now seen some eight or nine summers, was fast ripening87 into a very beautiful girl. As Charley approached the widow’s premises88 on the present occasion, he found Rosa by the side of a clear spring, that bubbled and sparkled out from beneath a large mossy stone, that projected from the lower part of the slope of a flowery bank, under the pensile drapery of a grove89 of weeping birches. The moment she beheld90 him, she came tripping to meet him, with a rustic91 wreath of gay marsh92 marigolds and water-lilies in her hand.
“Where have you been all this long, long morning, dearest Charley?” cried Rosa; “I have been so dull without you; and see what a wreath I have made for your bonnet94! But I have a great mind to wear it myself, for you don’t deserve to have it, for being so long in coming to me.”
“I have been over at the castle, Rosa,” said Charley, stooping to embrace her, as she innocently held up her lips to be kissed by him. “I have been over at Drummin, looking at the grand array of steeds and horsemen. But what [42]are these flowers?—Water-lilies, as I hope to be saved! Holy Virgin95! Rosa, how didst thou come by them?”
“I got them from the pool,” replied Rosa, hesitating, and gently tapping his cheek with a few stray flowers which she held in her hand; “I got them in the same way that you pulled them for me the other day, that is with a long hazle rod, with a crook96 at the end of it.”
“From the pool, Rosa?” cried Charley; “What could tempt97 thee to risk thy life for such trifles? If thou hadst slipt over the treacherous98 brink99, where there was no one by to save thee—thou wert gone! irrecoverably gone! How couldst thou be so rash? my very flesh creeps to think on’t!”
“Don’t be angry with me, Charley!” said Rosa coaxingly—“what risk would I not run to give thee pleasure?”
“But you have given me any thing but pleasure in this matter, Rosa,” said Charley; “I tremble too much to think of the hazard thou hast run, to look with pleasure on any thing that could have occasioned it.” [43]
“So thou wilt not let me put the wreath on thy bonnet, then?” said Rosa, with a tear half disclosing itself in her eye-lid; “Come, come, Charley! sit down—sit down on this bank, and do let me put it upon thy bonnet.”
“If it will pleasure thee to make a fool of me, Rosa,” said Charley, smiling on her, and kissing her; “Thou shalt do with me as thou mayest list.”
“That is a dear kind Charley,” cried Rosa, her moist eyes sparkling with delight, and throwing her arms around his neck; “I’ll make no fool of thee: I’ll make thee so handsome!”
“Handsome!” exclaimed Charley, laughing. “Why Rosa, it is making a fool of me, indeed, to say that thou can’st make me handsome, with this ugly deep cross-mark on my cheek.”
“That cross-mark on your cheek, Charley!” cried the little girl, with an intensity100 of feeling much beyond anything which her years might have warranted; “To me that cross-mark is beautiful! I love that noble brow of thine—those eyes, that whenever they look upon me, tell me that I am dear to thee—those lips, that [44]so often kiss me, and instruct me, and say kind things to me—but that mark of the cross on thy cheek—oh, that hath to me a holy influence in’t; it reminds me that, but for thy noble courage which earned it for thee, I should have been food for the young eagles of the craig. Charley! I could not fail to love thee, for thy kindness to me; but I never could have loved thee as I do love thee, but for these living marks which you bear of all that you suffered for thine own little Rosa. Kiss me my dear, dear Charley!”
“My little wifey!” cried Charley, clasping the innocent girl in his arms, and smothering101 her with kisses.
“Aye,” said Rosa, artlessly, “I am thy little wifey. All the gossips say that I am fated to be so; for you know I have got my cross mark as well as you, aye, and on my left cheek too. The eagles did that kind turn for me. They marked us both with the cross alike. See! you can see my cross here quite plain.”
“I do see it,” said Charley, kissing the place. [45]“But thanks be to the Virgin thy beauty hath not suffered one whit14 by it. I can just discern that the mark is there, and that is all; and I trust that it will altogether disappear as you grow up to be a woman.”
“The Virgin forbid!” cried Rosa energetically. “The gossips say that we have been so miraculously102 signed with the cross expressly for each other, and I would not lose so happy a mark, no, not to be made a queen! But do let me put on thy chaplet, dear Charley. I hope to see thee some day with a grand casque on thy head—a tilting103 spear in thy hand—bestriding a noble steed, and riding at the ring with the best of them.”
“Alas, Rosa!” said Charley, with a deep sigh, “that will never be my fate!”
“Why not?” demanded Rosa; “surely Sir Walter Stewart may make thee his esquire?”
“Alas, no!” said Charley, despondingly. “The casque he dooms105 me to is a tailor’s cowl—the shield a thimble—the lance a needle—and the gallant106 steed I am to mount is a tailor’s [46]shop-board, and if ever I tilt104 with silk, velvet107, or gold, it will be to convert them into cloaks and doublets for my betters!”
“A tailor!” exclaimed Rosa, with astonishment108; “surely thou art jesting, Charley.”
“I’faith, it is too serious a matter to jest about,” replied Charley. “Truly I am doomed109 to handle the goosing iron of Master Jonathan Junkins.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha!” shouted Rosa—“Ha, ha, ha, ha!—What an odd fancy of Sir Walter!”
“Nay, laugh not at my misery, Rosa,” said Charley, gravely, and somewhat piteously. “I cannot bear the thought of such a life! What think you, Rosa, of being a tailor’s wife?”
“So that thou wilt always call me thine own dear little wifey, I care not what thou art,” replied Rosa, tenderly, and throwing her arms around his neck. “And why, after all, mayest thou not be quite happy as a tailor? Old Johnny Junkins sings at his task from morning till night. Besides, he hath no risk of being killed in battle, as my poor father was. He always sleeps in a whole skin, save when his [47]wife Janet beats him with the ell-wand, and surely thou wouldst have no fears that I should do that for thee, dear Charley?”
It was now Charley’s turn to laugh, which he did very heartily110, and having thus gained a temporary victory over his chagrin111, he improved upon it by immediately taking a small Missal from his sporran, and commencing his daily occupation of giving instructions to Rosa, who greedily learned from him all that he could impart.
I mean now to give you some little account of Sir Walter Stewart, gentlemen. You must know that he was one of the prettiest and most accomplished112 men of his time, and a great favourite at court. His perfection in all warlike exercises—his fondness for horses—and his fearless riding, were qualifications which fitted him for being the companion of the king’s brothers, the spirited Alexander Duke of Albany, and the tall and graceful John Earl of Mar93, whilst his skill in fencing—his proficiency113 in music—and his taste in dress, secured for him a high place in the good graces of that elegant, [48]but weak monarch114, James the Third. With young Ramsay of Balmain, afterwards created Earl of Bothwell, he was in the best habits of intimacy115. But with the lower minions116 of the king, I mean, with such as Cochran the mason—Rogers the musician—Leonard the smith—Hommil the tailor—Torfefan the fencing-master, and Andrew the Flemish astrologer, he was more polite than familiar. With the ladies of the court Sir Walter Stewart was an object of admiration117, nay, he was the theme of the praise of every one of them, from the beautiful, fascinating, and virtuous118 Queen Margaret herself, down to the humblest of her maids of honour. It is no wonder, then, that Sir Walter was induced to spend more of his time at court than among the wilds of his native mountains. On the occasion of which I am now speaking, he was on his way to the castle of Stirling, where James the Third was at that time residing, and after a long and tiresome119 journey, he and his attendants entered the city, and rode up to their hostel120 in the main street, at such an hour of the evening, as made [49]it neither very seemly nor very convenient for him to report himself to his majesty121.
Sir Walter Stewart was too well known not to command immediate39 attention from every one belonging to the inn. The horse-boys, who were grooming122 the numerous steeds, that were hooked up to various parts of the walls surrounding the yard, made way respectfully, not only for himself, but also for his people and their animals, and the cattle of some persons of less note and consideration, were turned out of their stalls for the accommodation of his horses. Meanwhile, the knight was ushered123 up stairs into the common room, by mine host in person, who, with his portly figure, stripped to his close yellow jacket and galligaskins, and with a fair linen124 towel hanging from his girdle, puffed125 and sweated up the steps before him, his large rubicund126 visage vying127 in the brightness of its scarlet128, with the fiery129 coloured cap of coarse red cloth which he wore. Sir Walter found the large apartment surrounded by oaken tables and chairs, which were occupied by various guests, [50]some eating, and some drinking, whilst the rattling130 of trenchers, the clinking of cans, the buzz of voices, and the hum of tongues, were so loud and continuous, as to render it difficult for him to detect a word of the conversation that was going on any where, except the clamorous131 calls for fresh supplies of provender132, ale, or wine, which the bustling133 serving men and tapsters were hurrying to and fro to satisfy.
As the host showed Sir Walter to an unoccupied table at the upper end of the place, most of the guests arose and saluted134 him as he passed by them. To some of these he gave a condescending136 bow of recognition, whilst to others he hardly deigned137 to bestow138 more than a dignified139 acknowledgment of their courtesy. But he was no sooner seated, than he was left to his own reflections, for each man again turned his attention to his own particular comforts, and the knight was not sorry to be very soon enabled to do the same thing for himself, by paying his own addresses to the smoking pasty that was placed on the table before him. He had but [51]just finished his meal, when the host entered, ushering140 in a very elegant young man, the richness of whose attire, as well as the perfection of its make, together with his noble air, at once showed him to be a gentleman of the court. His rose-coloured jacket, and amber141 trewse, were of the richest silk, and made to fit tight, so as to show off, to the greatest advantage, his very handsome person. His girdle-belt of black velvet, together with the pouch142 of the same material, sparkled with gems143, as did also the sheaths and hilts of his sword and dagger144. Several rich chains of gold were hung about his neck; his shoes had those long thin points, which were worn at that period, though they were not, in his instance, carried to any very absurd extravagance. His cloak was of blue velvet richly bordered with silver, and his broad jewelled hat, of scarlet stuff of the same material, was drawn145 over one side of his head, as a necessary precaution of counterpoise to the weight of the long feathers of green, blue, red, and yellow, which stretched out from it so far as to threaten to overbalance it on [52]the other. From beneath this his brown hair hung down, curling over his ample brow, and spread itself in wide profusion146 over his shoulders.
“What, Ramsay!” exclaimed Sir Walter Stewart, rising to meet him with a cordial salutation, which again silenced the clatter147 of the trenchers and cans, and brought all eyes for some moments upon the two gentlemen. “This is a lucky meeting indeed.”
“Lucky!” replied Ramsay, smiling jocularly; “what a boorish148 phrase!—It is indeed well worthy149 of one, who hath been rusticating150 so long amidst northern moors151 and mountains.”
“Cry your mercy, my lord of the court,” said Sir Walter Stewart, laughing.
“Nay,” continued Ramsay; “I know not whether thy clownish expression be most discourteous152 to me, or to thyself,—to me, as it would deny me all credit for this mine expressly purposed visit to thee,—or to thyself, for supposing that such a preux-chevalier, as thou art, could be, for the smallest fraction of time, within the atmosphere of the court, without being run after by those who love thee.” [53]
“Thank thee! thank thee, my dear Ramsay,” replied Sir Walter, shaking him cordially by the hand, and laughing heartily; “Then will I say, that it was most kind of thee to find me out so soon, and to come thus purposely to take a stoup of French claret with me, and to pour thine agreeable talk into mine ear, so as to fill the empty vessel153 of mine ignorance, to a level with that of thine own full knowledge of courtly affairs, and of all the interesting occurrents which have chanced about the court since I last left it. So, sit thee down, I pray thee. We shall be private enow at this table, which is well out of ear-shot of all those noisy gormandizers and guzzlers.”
“Nay,” replied Ramsay, as he seated himself beside his friend; “thine emptiness is of too vast a profundity154 for me to be able to fill it at this time. On some other occasion I shall do my best to replenish155 thee, when we can have leisure for a longer talk together, than we can look to have to-night. I came hither only to carry thee away with me.”
“Whither wouldst have me go?” demanded [54]Sir Walter. “Trust me, I am more disposed, at this moment, to enjoy mine ease in mine inn, than to move any where else.”
“But I must have thee,” replied Ramsay; “rustic as thou art, thou must submit to be led by me for some little time, like a blind man who hath but newly recovered his eyesight, lest thou shouldst stumble amidst the blaze of courtly sunshine. I came to bring thee to a small supper, at the lodging156 of Sir William Rogers, that most cunning fingerer of the lute135 and harp157, and whose practice thereupon,” continued he, sinking his voice almost to a whisper, “seems to have taught him a most marvellous power, of bringing what music may be most profitable for himself, out of that strange and many-stringed instrument called a Royal Sovereign.”
“Hush158, hush, Ramsay!” replied Sir Walter. “Thy talk is dangerous in such a place as this. But say, does the King go to this party?”
“No,” replied Ramsay; “He is to be employed to-night in the occult science, to which he hath of late so much addicted159 himself. He is [55]to be occupied with that knave160 Andrew the Astrologer, in regarding and reading the stars.”
“Then, what boots it for us to go to the party of this empty piece of sounding brass161?” demanded Sir Walter.
“Much, much, my dear Stewart,” replied Ramsay. “In the first place, thou shalt be introduced to his niece, who hath lately arrived from England. Thou shalt see and hear that fair Philomela, yclept Juliet Manvers, who plays and sings to admiration. Though here it behoves me, as thy friend, to bid thee take care of thy heart, for the uncle seems to have imported her, with the wise intent, of marrying her to some one of the court, and mine own heart hath already been very sorely assailed162.”
“A dangerous siren, truly!” said Sir Walter, laughing; “yet methinks I may safely enough bid defiance163 to her enchantment164.”
“We shall see,” replied Ramsay, with a doubtful nod of his head; “But be that as it may, my second reason for taking thee thither165, is that, with exception of our host himself, we may at least spend one tolerably pleasant evening [56]undrugged and unencumbered, with the base society of those vulgar fellows, whom the King, with so much mistaken judgment166, hath chosen to associate in his favour, with two such well-born gentlemen as you and me. Cochran, that man whom nature hath built up of stone and mortar167, and who would yet ape the graces of a finished lord of the court, as a bear would copy the gambols168 of a well educated Italian greyhound.”
“Hommil!” cried Sir Walter, laughing, and following up his friend’s humour. “Hommil! that thread-paper, whose sword and dagger would be better removed, to have their places supplied by his shears169 and his bodkin.”
点击收听单词发音
1 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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2 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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3 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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4 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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5 practitioner | |
n.实践者,从事者;(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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6 meek | |
adj.温顺的,逆来顺受的 | |
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7 submission | |
n.服从,投降;温顺,谦虚;提出 | |
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8 chastisement | |
n.惩罚 | |
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9 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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10 whatsoever | |
adv.(用于否定句中以加强语气)任何;pron.无论什么 | |
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11 partially | |
adv.部分地,从某些方面讲 | |
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12 embroidered | |
adj.绣花的 | |
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13 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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14 whit | |
n.一点,丝毫 | |
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15 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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16 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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17 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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19 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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20 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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21 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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22 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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23 vow | |
n.誓(言),誓约;v.起誓,立誓 | |
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24 honourably | |
adv.可尊敬地,光荣地,体面地 | |
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25 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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26 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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27 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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28 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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29 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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30 bustle | |
v.喧扰地忙乱,匆忙,奔忙;n.忙碌;喧闹 | |
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31 pampered | |
adj.饮食过量的,饮食奢侈的v.纵容,宠,娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32 highland | |
n.(pl.)高地,山地 | |
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33 bugle | |
n.军号,号角,喇叭;v.吹号,吹号召集 | |
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34 galloping | |
adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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35 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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36 recess | |
n.短期休息,壁凹(墙上装架子,柜子等凹处) | |
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37 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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38 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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39 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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40 subdue | |
vt.制服,使顺从,征服;抑制,克制 | |
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41 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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42 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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43 trumpets | |
喇叭( trumpet的名词复数 ); 小号; 喇叭形物; (尤指)绽开的水仙花 | |
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44 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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45 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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46 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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47 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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48 limning | |
v.画( limn的现在分词 );勾画;描写;描述 | |
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49 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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50 ripened | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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52 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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53 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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54 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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55 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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56 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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57 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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58 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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59 toils | |
网 | |
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60 doughty | |
adj.勇猛的,坚强的 | |
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61 perilous | |
adj.危险的,冒险的 | |
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62 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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63 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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64 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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65 apprenticed | |
学徒,徒弟( apprentice的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66 schooling | |
n.教育;正规学校教育 | |
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67 beget | |
v.引起;产生 | |
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68 jealousy | |
n.妒忌,嫉妒,猜忌 | |
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69 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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70 royalty | |
n.皇家,皇族 | |
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71 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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72 trifling | |
adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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73 wilt | |
v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎;(指人)疲倦,衰弱 | |
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74 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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75 narrative | |
n.叙述,故事;adj.叙事的,故事体的 | |
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76 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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77 condemns | |
v.(通常因道义上的原因而)谴责( condemn的第三人称单数 );宣判;宣布…不能使用;迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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78 wield | |
vt.行使,运用,支配;挥,使用(武器等) | |
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79 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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80 woe | |
n.悲哀,苦痛,不幸,困难;int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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81 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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82 vexed | |
adj.争论不休的;(指问题等)棘手的;争论不休的问题;烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 );使苦恼;使生气;详细讨论 | |
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83 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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84 contravene | |
v.违反,违背,反驳,反对 | |
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85 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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86 prattle | |
n.闲谈;v.(小孩般)天真无邪地说话;发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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87 ripening | |
v.成熟,使熟( ripen的现在分词 );熟化;熟成 | |
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88 premises | |
n.建筑物,房屋 | |
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89 grove | |
n.林子,小树林,园林 | |
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90 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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91 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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92 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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93 mar | |
vt.破坏,毁坏,弄糟 | |
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94 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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95 virgin | |
n.处女,未婚女子;adj.未经使用的;未经开发的 | |
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96 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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97 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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98 treacherous | |
adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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99 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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100 intensity | |
n.强烈,剧烈;强度;烈度 | |
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101 smothering | |
(使)窒息, (使)透不过气( smother的现在分词 ); 覆盖; 忍住; 抑制 | |
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102 miraculously | |
ad.奇迹般地 | |
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103 tilting | |
倾斜,倾卸 | |
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104 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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105 dooms | |
v.注定( doom的第三人称单数 );判定;使…的失败(或灭亡、毁灭、坏结局)成为必然;宣判 | |
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106 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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107 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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108 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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109 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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110 heartily | |
adv.衷心地,诚恳地,十分,很 | |
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111 chagrin | |
n.懊恼;气愤;委屈 | |
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112 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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113 proficiency | |
n.精通,熟练,精练 | |
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114 monarch | |
n.帝王,君主,最高统治者 | |
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115 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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116 minions | |
n.奴颜婢膝的仆从( minion的名词复数 );走狗;宠儿;受人崇拜者 | |
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117 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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118 virtuous | |
adj.有品德的,善良的,贞洁的,有效力的 | |
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119 tiresome | |
adj.令人疲劳的,令人厌倦的 | |
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120 hostel | |
n.(学生)宿舍,招待所 | |
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121 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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122 grooming | |
n. 修饰, 美容,(动物)梳理毛发 | |
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123 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124 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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125 puffed | |
adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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126 rubicund | |
adj.(脸色)红润的 | |
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127 vying | |
adj.竞争的;比赛的 | |
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128 scarlet | |
n.深红色,绯红色,红衣;adj.绯红色的 | |
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129 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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130 rattling | |
adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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131 clamorous | |
adj.吵闹的,喧哗的 | |
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132 provender | |
n.刍草;秣料 | |
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133 bustling | |
adj.喧闹的 | |
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134 saluted | |
v.欢迎,致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 );赞扬,赞颂 | |
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135 lute | |
n.琵琶,鲁特琴 | |
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136 condescending | |
adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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137 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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138 bestow | |
v.把…赠与,把…授予;花费 | |
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139 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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140 ushering | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的现在分词 ) | |
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141 amber | |
n.琥珀;琥珀色;adj.琥珀制的 | |
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142 pouch | |
n.小袋,小包,囊状袋;vt.装...入袋中,用袋运输;vi.用袋送信件 | |
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143 gems | |
growth; economy; management; and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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144 dagger | |
n.匕首,短剑,剑号 | |
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145 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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146 profusion | |
n.挥霍;丰富 | |
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147 clatter | |
v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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148 boorish | |
adj.粗野的,乡巴佬的 | |
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149 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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150 rusticating | |
v.罚(大学生)暂时停学离校( rusticate的现在分词 );在农村定居 | |
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151 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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152 discourteous | |
adj.不恭的,不敬的 | |
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153 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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154 profundity | |
n.渊博;深奥,深刻 | |
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155 replenish | |
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满 | |
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156 lodging | |
n.寄宿,住所;(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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157 harp | |
n.竖琴;天琴座 | |
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158 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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159 addicted | |
adj.沉溺于....的,对...上瘾的 | |
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160 knave | |
n.流氓;(纸牌中的)杰克 | |
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161 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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162 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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163 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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164 enchantment | |
n.迷惑,妖术,魅力 | |
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165 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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166 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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167 mortar | |
n.灰浆,灰泥;迫击炮;v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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168 gambols | |
v.蹦跳,跳跃,嬉戏( gambol的第三人称单数 ) | |
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169 shears | |
n.大剪刀 | |
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