She had not had even the excitement of flirtations, a few of which fall to the lot of nearly every girl, be she pretty or plain, rich or poor, town or country-bred. The military depots10 are now so numerous that it is hard, indeed, if at least a couple of subalterns cannot be found to come over any distance in the rumbling11 dog-cart hired from the inn in the provincial12 town where they are quartered; and though in Georgie's days there was no croquet,--that best of excuses for social gathering13 and mild flirtation,--yet there were archery-meetings, horticultural shows, and picnics. Failing the absence of the military, even the most-out-of-the-way country village can produce a curate; and an intending flirt9 has merely to tone-down certain notions and expand others, to modify her scarlets14 and work-up her grays, and she will have, if not a very exciting, at all events a very interesting, time in playing her fish. But there were no barracks within miles of Fishbourne, nor any temptations there to have attracted officers from them, if there had been. There were no resident gentry15 in the place, and the nearest house of any importance--Weston Tower, the seat of old Lady Majoribanks--was twenty miles off, and old Lady Majoribanks kept no company As for the curates, there was one, certainly; but Mr. Lucas had "assisted" Georgie's father for the last eighteen years, was fifty years old, and had a little wife as slow and as gray as the old pony16 which he used to ride to outlying parts of the parish.
Besides, if there had been eligible17 men in scores, what had they to do with Georgie Stanfield, or she with them? Was she not engaged to Charles Mitford?--at least, had she not been so affianced until that dreadful business about something wrong that brought poor Charley into disgrace? and was that sufficient to permit her to break her plighted18 word? Mr. Mitford, Charles's father, had been a banker and brewer19 at Cullompton, and had had a country cottage at Fishbourne, a charming little place for his family to come to in the summer; and Mr. Stanfield had been Charley's tutor; and when the family were away at Cullompton in the winter, Charley had remained at the vicarage; and what so likely as that Charley should fall in love with Georgie, then a tall slip of a girl in short petticoats and frilled trousers and very thin legs, with her hair in a net; or that Georgie should have reciprocated20 the attachment21? Both the fathers were delighted at the arrangement; and there was no mother on either side to talk of extreme youth, the chance of change, or to interpose other womanly objections. There came a time when Charley, then a tall handsome fellow, was to go up to Oxford22; and then Georgie, to whom the outward and visible frill period was long past, and who was a lovely budding girl of sweet seventeen, laid her head on his breast on the night before he went away, and promised never to forget him, but to be his and his alone.
Ah, those promises never to forget--those whispered words of love breathed by lips trembling under the thick cigar-scented moustache into delicate little ears trellised by braids fresh from the fingers of the lady's-maid! They are not much to the Corydons of St. James's Street, or the Phyllises of Belgravia. By how many different lips, and into how many different ears, are the words whispered and the vows23 breathed in the course of one London season! I declare I never pass through any of the great squares and streets, and see the men enclosing the balconies with striped calico, that I do not wonder to myself whether, amongst all the nonsense that has been talked beneath that well-worn awning-stuff, there has been any that has laid the foundation for, or given the crowning touch to, an honest simple love-match, a marriage undertaken by two people out of sheer regard for each other, and permitted by relatives and friends, without a single thought of money or position to be gained on either side. If there be any, they must be very few in number; and this, be it observed, not on account of that supposed favourite pastime of parents--the disposal of their daughters' hands and happiness to the highest bidder25, the outcry against which has been so general, and is really, I believe, so undeserved. The circumstance is, I take it, entirely26 ascribable to the lax morality of the age, under which a girl engages herself to a man without the slightest forethought, often without the least intention of holding to her word, not unfrequently from the increased opportunities such a state of things affords her for flirting27 with some other man, and under which she can break her engagement and jilt her lover without compromising herself in the least in the eyes of society. Besides, in the course of a London life these vows and pledges are tendered so often as to be worn almost threadbare from the number of times they have been pledged; and as excess of familiarity always breeds contempt, the repetition of solemn phrases gradually takes from us the due appreciation28 of their meaning, and we repeat them parrot-wise, without the smallest care for what we are saying.
But that promise of love and truth and remembrance uttered by Georgie Stanfield on the sands at Fishbourne, under the yellow harvest-moon, with her head pillowed on Charles Mitford's breast and her arms clasped round his neck, came from a young heart which had known no guile29, and was kept as religiously as was Sir Galahad's vow24 of chastity. Within a year after Charley's departure for Oxford, his father's affairs, which, as it afterwards appeared, had long been in hopeless confusion, became irretrievably involved. The bank stopped payment, and the old man, unable to face the storm of ignominy by which he imagined he should be assailed30, committed suicide. The smash was complete; Charles had to leave the University, and became entirely dependent on his uncle, Sir Percy Mitford, who declined to see him, but offered to purchase for him a commission in a marching regiment31, and to allow him fifty pounds a year. The young man accepted the offer; and by the same post wrote to Georgie, telling her all, and giving her the option of freeing herself from the engagement. It Was a gentlemanly act; but a cheap bit of generosity32, after all. He might have staked the fifty pounds a year his uncle had promised him, on the fidelity33 of such a girl as Georgie Stanfield, more especially in the time of trouble. Her father, too, with his old disregard of the future, entirely approved of his daughter's standing34 by her lover under the circumstances of his altered fortune; and two letters--one breathing a renewal35 of love and trust, the other full of encouragement and hope--went away from Fishbourne parsonage, and brought tears into the eyes of their recipient36, as he sat on the edge of a truckle-bed in a whitewashed37 room in Canterbury Barracks.
The vow of constancy and its renewal were two little epochs in Georgie's quiet life. Then, not very long after the occurrence of the last,--some six months,--there came a third, destined never to be forgotten. There had been no letter from Charley for some days, and Georgie had been in the habit of walking across the lawn to meet the postman and question him over the garden-wall.
One heavy dun August morning, when the clouds were solemnly gathering up together, the air dead and still, the trees hushed and motionless, Georgie had seen the old man with a letter in his hand, and had hastened, even more eagerly than usual, across the lawn, to be proportionately disappointed when the postman shook his head, and pointing to the letter, said, "For the master, miss." The next minute she heard the sharp clang of the gate-bell, and saw her father take the letter from the postman's hand at his little study-window. Some inward prompting--she knew not what--kept Georgie's eyes on her father. She saw him take out his spectacles, wipe then, and carefully adjust them; then take the letter, and holding it at nearly arm's length, examine its address; then comfortably settling himself in his armchair at the window, prepare to read it. Then Georgie saw the old man fall backward in his chair, his hand dropping powerless by his side, and the letter fluttering from it to the ground. Without uttering a cry, Georgie ran quickly to the house; but when she reached the study, Mr. Stanfield was sitting upright in his chair, and had picked the letter from the floor.
"Papa dearest," said Georgie, "you gave me such a fright. I was watching you from the garden, and I thought I saw you faint. O papa, you are ill! How white and scared you look! What is it, papa darling?--tell me."
But to all this Mr. Stanfield only murmured, gazing up into his daughter's face, "My poor child! my poor darling child!"
"What is it, papa? Oh, I know--it's about Charley! He's not--" and then she blanched39 dead-white, and said in a scarcely audible voice, "He's not dead, papa?"
"No, Georgie, no. It might be better if he were,--be better if he were."
"He's very ill, then?"
"No, darling,--at least--there; perhaps you'd better read it for yourself; here, read it for yourself;" and the old man, after giving her the letter, covered his face with his hands and sobbed40 aloud.
Then Georgie read in Sir Percy Mitford's roundest hand and stiffest style, how his nephew Charles, utterly41 ungrateful for the kindness which he, Sir Percy, had showered upon him, and regardless of the fact that he had no resources of his own nor expectations of any, had plunged42 into "every kind of vice43 and debauchery, notably44 gambling"--(Sir Percy was chairman of Quarter-Sessions, and you might trace the effect of act-of-parliament reading in his style)-how he had lost large sums at cards; and how, with the double object of paying his debts and retrieving45 his losses, lie had at length forged Sir Percy's signature to a bill for ￡200; and when the document became due had absconded46, no one knew where. Sir Percy need scarcely say that all communication between him and this unworthy member of--he grieved to say--his family was at an end for ever; and he took that opportunity, while informing Mr. Stanfield of the circumstance, of congratulating him on having been lucky enough to escape any matrimonial connection with such a rogue47 and a vagabond.
Mr. Stanfield watched her perusal48 of the letter; and when she had finished it, and returned it to him calmly, he said:
"Well, my dear! it's a severe blow, is it not?"
"Yes, papa, it is indeed a severe blow. Poor Charley!"
"Poor Charley, my dear! You surely don't feel the least compassion49 for Charles Mitford; a man who has--who has outraged50 the laws of his country!"
"Not feel compassion for him, papa? Who could help it? Poor Charley, what a bitter degradation51 for him!"
"For him! degradation for him! Bless my soul, I can't understand; for us, Georgina,--degradation for us, you mean! However, there's an end of it. We've washed our hands of him from this time forth1, and never--"
"Papa, do you know what you're saying? Washed our hands of Charles Mitford! Do you recollect52 that I have promised to be his wife?"
"Promised to be his wife! Why, the girl's going mad! Promised to be his wife! Do you know that the man has committed forgery53?"
"Well, papa."
"Well, papa! Good God! I shall go mad myself! You know he's committed forgery, and you still hold to your engagement to him?"
"Unquestionably. Is it for me, his betrothed54 wife, to desert him now that he is in misery55 and disgrace? Is it for you, a Christian56 clergyman, to turn your back on an old friend who has fallen, and who needs your sympathy and counsel now really for the first time in his life? Would you wish me to give up this engagement, which, perhaps, may be the very means of bringing Charles back to the right?"
"Yes, my dear, yes; that's all very well," said the old gentleman,--"all very--well from a woman's point of view. But you see, for ourselves--"
"Well, papa, what then?"
"Well, my dear, of course we ought not to think so much for ourselves; but still, as your father, I've a right to say that I should not wish to see you married to a--a felon57."
"And as a clergyman, papa?-what have you a right to say as a clergyman?"
"I--I: decline to pursue the subject, Georgina; so I'll only say this--that you're my daughter, and you're not of age yet; and I command you to break off this engagement with this--this criminal! That's all."
Georgie simply said, "You know my determination, papa." And there the matter ended.
This was the first quarrel that there had ever been between father and daughter, and both felt it very much indeed. Mr. Stanfield, who had about as much acquaintance with human nature, and as much power of reading character, as if he had been blind and deaf, thought Georgie would certainly give way, and laid all sorts of palpable traps, and gave all sorts of available opportunities for her to throw herself' into his arms, confess how wrong she had been, and promise never to think of Charles Mitford again. But Georgie fell in with none of these ways; she kissed her father's forehead on coming down in the morning, and repeated the process on retiring at night; but she never spoke58 to him at meal-times, and kept away from home as much as possible during the day, roaming over the country on her chestnut59 mare60 Polly, a tremendous favourite, which had been bought and broken for her by Charley in the old days.
During the whole of this time Mr. Stanfield was eminently61 uncomfortable. He had acted upon the ridiculous principle vulgarly rendered by the phrase, cutting off his nose to spite his face. He had deprived himself of a great many personal comforts without doing one bit of good. For a fortnight the Cullompton Chronicle had remained uncut and unread, though he knew there was an account of a bishop's visitation to the neighbouring diocese which would have interested him highly. For two consecutive62 Sundays the parishioners of Fishbourne had been regaled with old sermons in consequence of there being no one to transcribe63 the vicar's notes, which, save to Georgie, were unintelligible64 to--the world in general and to their writer in particular. He missed Georgie's form in the garden as he was accustomed to see it when looking up from his books or his writing; he missed her sweet voice carolling bird-like through the house, and always reminding him of that dead wife whose memory he so tenderly loved; and notwithstanding the constant horse-exercise, he thought, from sly glances which he had stolen across the table at her during dinner, that she was looking pale and careworn65. Worst of all, he was not at all sure that the position he had taken up was entirely defensible on moral grounds. He was differently placed from that celebrated66 character in the Critic, who "as a father softened67, but as a governor was fixed68." As a father he might object to the continuance of an engagement between his child and a man who had proved himself a sinner not merely against religious ordinances69, but against the laws of his country; but he was very doubtful whether, as a Christian and a clergyman, he was not bound to stretch out the hand of forgiveness, and endeavour to reclaim70 the penitent71. If Mr. Stanfield had lived in these days, and been sufficiently72 before the world, he would probably have had "ten thousand college councils" to "thunder anathema73" at him for daring to promulgate74 the doctrine75 that "God is love;" but in the little retired76 parish where he lived, he taught it because he believed it; and he felt that he had rather fallen away from his standard in endeavouring to coerce77 his daughter into giving up Charles Mitford.
So one morning, when Georgie came down to breakfast looking flushed and worried, and very little refreshed by her night's sleep, instead of calmly receiving the frontal kiss, as had been his wont78 during the preceding fortnight, the old man's arms were wound round her, his lips were pressed to hers, while he murmured, "Oh, Georgie! ah, my darling! ah, my child!" and there was a display of grandes eaux on both sides, and the reconciliation79 was complete. At a later period of that day Mr. Stanfield entered fully38 upon the subject of Charles Mitford, told Georgie that if the scapegrace could be found, he should be willingly received at the parsonage; and then the old gentleman concocted80 a mysterious advertisement, to the effect that if C. M., formerly81 of Fishbourne, Devon, would call on Mr. Stevens of Furnival's Inn, Holborn, London, he would hear something to his advantage, and be received with hearty82 welcome by friends who had forgiven, but not forgotten, him.
This advertisement, duly inserted through the medium of Mr. Stevens, the lawyer therein named, in the mystic second column of the Times Supplement, appeared regularly every other day during the space of a month; and good old Mr. Stanfield wrote twice a week to Mr. Stevens. inquiring whether "nothing had come of it;" and Mr. Stevens duly replied (at three shillings and sixpence a letter) that nothing had. It must have been two months after the concoction83 of the advertisement, and one after its last appearance in the columns of the Times, that there came a letter for Georgie, written in the well-known hand, and signed with the well-known initials. It was very short, merely saying that for the second time the writer felt it due to her to leave her unfettered by any past engagement existing between them; that he knew how he had disgraced and placed himself beyond the pale of society; but that he would always cherish her memory, and think of her as some pure and bright star which he might look up to, but to the possession of which he could never aspire84.
Poor little Georgie was dreadfully touched by this epistle, and so was Mr. Stanfield, regarding it as a work of art; but as a practical man he thought he saw a chance for again working the disruption of the engagement-question--this time as suggested by Charles himself; and there was little doubt that he would have enunciated85 these sentiments at length, had he not been abruptly86 stopped by Georgie on his first giving a hint about it. Despairing of this mode of attack, the old gentleman became diplomatic and machiavelian; and I am inclined to think that it was owing to some secret conspiracy87 on his part, that young Frank Majoribanks, staying on a desperately-dreary three-weeks' visit with his aunt and patroness, Lady Majoribanks, took occasion to drive one of the old lady's old carriage-horses over to Fishbourne in a ramshackle springless cart belonging to the gardener, and to accept the vicar's offer of luncheon88. He had not been five minutes in the house before Georgie found he had been at Oxford with Charley Mitford; and as he had nothing but laudatory89 remarks to make of his old chum (he had heard nothing of him since he left college), Georgie was very polite to him. But when, after his second or third visit, he completely threw aside Charley as his stalking-horse, and began to make running on his own account, Georgie saw through the whole thing in an instant, and treated him with such marked coldness that, being a man of the world, he took the hint readily, and never came near the place again. And Mr. Stanfield saw with dismay that his diplomacy90 succeeded no better than his threats, and that his daughter was as much devoted91 to Charles Mitford as ever.
So the two dwellers92 in the parsonage fell back into their ordinary course of life, and time went on, and Mr. Stanfield's hair grew gradually more gray, and his shoulders gradually more rounded, and the sweet girl of seventeen became the budding woman of twenty. Then one Thursday evening, in the discharge of her weekly task of reading to her father the Cullompton Chronicle, Georgie suddenly stopped, and although not in the least given to fainting or "nerves," was obliged to put her hand to her side and wait for breath. Then when a little recovered she read out to the wondering old gentleman the paragraph announcing the fatal accident to Sir Percy Mitford and his sons, and the accession of Charles to the title and estates. Like Paolo and Francesca,--though from a very different reason,--"that night they read no more," the newspaper was laid by, and each sat immersed in thought. The old man's simple faith led him to believe that at length the long-wished-for result had arrived, and that all his daughter's patience, long-suffering, and courage would be rewarded. But Georgie, though she smiled at her father's babble93, knew that throughout her acquaintance with Charley he had gone through no such trial as that to which the acquisition of wealth and position would now subject him; and she prayed earnestly with all her soul and strength that in this time of temptation her lover might not fall away.
A fortnight passed, and Mr. Stanfield, finding not merely that he had not heard from the new baronet, but that no intelligence of him had been received at Redmoor, at the town house, or by the family lawyers, determined94 upon renewing his advertisement in the Times. By its side presently appeared another far less reticent95, boldly calling on "Charles Mitford, formerly of Cullompton, Devon; then of Brasenose College, Oxford; then of the 26th regiment of the line;" to communicate with Messrs. Moss96 and Moss, Solicitors97, Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and hear something to his advantage. To this advertisement a line was added, which sent a thrill through the little household at the parsonage: "As the said Charles Mitford has not been heard of for some months, any one capable of legally proving his death should communicate with Messrs. M. and M. above named." Capable of legally proving his death! Could that be the end of all poor Georgie's life-dream? Could he have died without ever learning all her love for him, her truth to him? No! it was not so bad as that; though, but for the shrewdness of Edward Moss and the promptitude of Inspector98 Stellfox, it might have been. A very few hours more would have done it. As it was, little Dr. Prater99, who happened to be dining with Marshal Moss at the Hummums when Mitford was brought there by the inspector, and who immediately undertook the case, scarcely thought he should pull his patient through. When the fierce stage of the disorder100 was past, there remained a horrible weakness and languor101, which the clever little physician attacked in vain. "Nature, my dear sir,--nature and your native air, they must do the rest for you; the virtues102 of the pharmacopoeia are exhausted103."
So one autumn evening, as Mr. Stanfield sat poring over his book, and Georgie, her hope day by day dying away within her, was looking out over the darkening landscape, the noise of wheels was heard at the gate; a grave man in black descended104 from the box of a postchaise, a worn, thin, haggard face peered out of the window; and the next instant, before Mr. Stanfield at all comprehended what had happened, the carriage door was thrown open, and Georgie was hanging round the neck of the carriage occupant; and kiss, kiss, and bless, bless! and thank God! and safe once more! was all the explanation audible.
Dr. Prater was quite right; nature and the patient's native air effected a complete cure. By the end of a month--such a happy month for Georgie!--Sir Charles was able to drive to Redmoor to see the men of business from London; by the end of two months he stood at the altar of the little Fishbourne church, and received his darling from the hands of her father; the ceremony being performed by the old curate, who had learned to love Georgie as his own child, and who wept plentifully105 as he bestowed106 on her his blessing107.
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hegira
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| n.逃亡 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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snip
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| n.便宜货，廉价货，剪，剪断 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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swells
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| 增强( swell的第三人称单数 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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gruel
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| n.稀饭，粥 | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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depots
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| 仓库( depot的名词复数 )； 火车站； 车库； 军需库 | |
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rumbling
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provincial
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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scarlets
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| 鲜红色，猩红色( scarlet的名词复数 ) | |
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gentry
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pony
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eligible
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plighted
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brewer
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| n. 啤酒制造者 | |
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reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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Oxford
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vows
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vow
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bidder
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entirely
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flirting
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appreciation
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guile
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assailed
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regiment
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generosity
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fidelity
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standing
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renewal
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recipient
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whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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41
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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42
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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43
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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notably
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| adv.值得注意地，显著地，尤其地，特别地 | |
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45
retrieving
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| n.检索（过程），取还v.取回( retrieve的现在分词 )；恢复；寻回；检索（储存的信息） | |
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absconded
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| v.（尤指逃避逮捕）潜逃，逃跑( abscond的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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48
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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50
outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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51
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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52
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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53
forgery
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| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
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54
betrothed
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| n. 已订婚者 动词betroth的过去式和过去分词 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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57
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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58
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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59
chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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transcribe
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| v.抄写，誉写；改编(乐曲)；复制，转录 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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careworn
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| adj.疲倦的，饱经忧患的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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ordinances
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| n.条例，法令( ordinance的名词复数 ) | |
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reclaim
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| v.要求归还，收回；开垦 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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anathema
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| n.诅咒；被诅咒的人(物)，十分讨厌的人(物) | |
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promulgate
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| v.宣布；传播；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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concoction
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| n.调配(物)；谎言 | |
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84
aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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85
enunciated
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| v.（清晰地）发音( enunciate的过去式和过去分词 )；确切地说明 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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87
conspiracy
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| n.阴谋，密谋，共谋 | |
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88
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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laudatory
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| adj.赞扬的 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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93
babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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reticent
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| adj.沉默寡言的；言不如意的 | |
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96
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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prater
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| 多嘴的人，空谈者 | |
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100
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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101
languor
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| n.无精力，倦怠 | |
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102
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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103
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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104
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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105
plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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106
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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107
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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