“Oi doan't want vor to hurt ee,” he said again, “but if ee will have it, why, it won't be moi vault;” and swinging his arm round, he brought it down with such force upon the nose of Tompkins that the latter was knocked down like a ninepin, and, once down, evinced no intention of continuing the conflict.
In Ned, however, the lad found an opponent of a different stamp. The latter saw at once that his opponent's far greater weight and strength rendered it hopeless for him to trust to close fighting, and he worked round and round him, every now and then rushing at him and delivering a telling blow, and getting off again before his heavy and comparatively unwieldy companion could reply.
Once or twice, indeed, the lad managed to strike him as he came in, each time knocking him fairly off his feet; but in the fair spirit which at that time animated2 English men and boys of all classes he allowed Ned each time to regain3 his feet without interference.
“Thou bee'st a plucky4 one,” he said, as Ned after his third fall again faced him, “but thou bain't strong enough for oi.”
Ned made no reply, but nerved himself for a fresh effort. The blows he had received had been heavy, and the blood was streaming from his face; but he had no idea of giving in, although Tompkins, in spite of his calls and reproaches, refused to raise himself beyond a sitting position.
“It's no good, Ned,” he replied, “the brute5 is too big for us, and I'd rather try to walk home all the way round than get another like the last. My nose feels as big as my head.”
Ned hardly heard what his companion said. He would have been killed rather than yield now, and gathering6 all his strength he sprang at his opponent like a tiger. Avoiding the blow which the boy aimed at him, he leaped upon him, and flung his arms round his neck. The sudden shock overthrew7 him, and with a crash both boys came to the ground together.
Ned at once loosened his hold, and springing to his feet again, awaited the rising of his opponent. The latter made a movement to get up, and then fell back with a cry.
“Thou hast beaten me,” he said. “Oi think moi leg be broke.”
Ned saw now that as the lad had fallen his leg had been twisted under him, and that he was unable to extricate8 it. In a moment he was kneeling before the prostrate9 lad.
“Oh! I am sorry,” he exclaimed; “but you know I didn't mean to do it. Here, Tompkins, don't sit there like a fool, but come and help me move him and get his leg straight.”
“Where is it?” Ned asked.
“Aboove the knee somewhere,” the lad said, and Ned put his hand gently to the spot, and to his horror could feel something like the end of a bone.
“Oh! dear, what is to be done? Here, Tompkins, either you or I must go on to the town for help.”
“It's getting dark already,” Tompkins said; “the sun has set some time. How on earth is one to find the way?”
“Well, if you like I will go,” Ned said, “and you stop here with him.”
The lad, who had been lying with closed eyes and a face of ghastly pallor, now looked up.
“There be soom men not a quarter of a mile away; they be a-drilling, they be, and oi was sot here to stop any one from cooming upon em; but if so bee as thou wilt11 go and tell em oi has got hurt, oi don't suppose as they will meddle12 with ye.”
Ned saw now why the lad had opposed his going any further. Some of the croppers were drilling on the moor13, and the boy had been placed as sentry14. It wasn't a pleasant business to go up to men so engaged, especially with the news that he had seriously injured the boy they had placed on watch. But Ned did not hesitate a moment.
“You stop here, Tompkins, with him,” he said quietly, “I will go and fetch help. It is a risk, of course, but we can't let him lie here.”
So saying, Ned mounted the rock to get a view over the moor. No sooner had he gained the position than he saw some thirty or forty men walking in groups across the moor at a distance of about half a mile. They had evidently finished their drill, and were making their way to their homes. This at least was satisfactory. He would no longer risk their anger by disturbing them at their illegal practices, and had now only to fear the wrath15 which would be excited when they heard what had happened to the boy.
He started at a brisk run after them, and speedily came up to the last of the party. They were for the most part men between twenty and thirty, rough and strongly built, and armed with billhooks and heavy bludgeons, two or three of them carrying guns.
One of them looked round on hearing footsteps approaching, and gave a sudden exclamation16. The rest turned, and on seeing Ned, halted with a look of savage17 and menacing anger on their faces.
“Who be'est, boy? dang ee, what brings ye here?”
Ned gulped18 down the emotion of fear excited by their threatening appearance, and replied as calmly as he could: “I am sorry to say that I have had a struggle with a boy over by that rock yonder. We fell together, and he has broken his leg. He told me if I came over in this direction I should find some one to help him.”
“Broaken Bill's leg, did'st say, ye young varmint?” one of the men exclaimed. “Oi've a good moinde to wring19 yer neck.”
“I am very sorry,” Ned said; “but I did not mean it. I and another boy were walking back to Marsden from fishing, and he wouldn't let us pass; it was too far to go back again, so of course we had to try, and then there was a fight, but it was quite an accident his breaking his leg.”
“Did'st see nowt afore ye had the voight?” one of the other men inquired.
“No,” Ned replied; “we saw no one from the time we left the stream till we met the boy who would not let us pass, and I only caught sight of you walking this way from the top of the rock.”
“If 'twere a vair voight, John, the boy bain't to be blamed, though oi be main grieved about thy brother Bill; but we'd best go back for him, voor on us. And moind, youngster, thee'd best keep a quiet tongue in thy head as to whaat thou'st seen here.”
“I haven't seen anything,” Ned said; “but of course if you wish it I will say nothing about it.”
“It were best for ee, for if thou go'st aboot saying thou'st seen men with guns and clubs up here on the moor, it ull be the worsest day's work ee've ever done.”
“I will say nothing about it,” Ned replied, “but please come on at once, for I am afraid the boy is in terrible pain.”
Four of the men accompanied Ned back to the rock.
“Hullo, Bill! what's happened ee?” his brother asked.
“Oi've had a fight and hurted myself, and broke my leg; but it wa'nt that chap's fault; it were a vair voight, and a right good 'un he be. Doan't do nowt to him.”
“Well, that's roight enough then,” the man said, “and you two young 'uns can go whoam. Marsden lies over that way; thou wilt see it below ye when ye gets to yon rock over there; and moind what I told ee.”
“I will,” Ned said earnestly; “but do let me come up to see how he is getting on, I shall be so anxious to know.”
The man hesitated, but the lad said, “Let um coom, John, he bee a roight good un.”
“Well, if thou would'st like it, Bill, he shall coom.”
“If thou coom oop to Varley and ask vor Bill Swinton, anyone will show ee the place.”
“Goodby,” Ned said to the boy, “I am so sorry you have got hurt. I will come and see you as soon as I can.”
Then he and Tompkins set off toward the rock the man had pointed20 out, which by this time, in the fast growing darkness, could scarce be made out. They would indeed probably have missed it, for the distance was fully21 a mile and a half; but before they had gone many yards one of the four men passed by them on a run on his way down to Marsden to summon the parish doctor, for a moment's examination had sufficed to show them that the boy's injury was far too serious to treat by themselves.
Tired as the boys were, they set off in his footsteps, and managed to keep him in sight until they reached the spot whence Marsden could be seen, and they could no longer mistake the way.
“Now, look here, Tompkins,” Ned said as they made their way down the hill; “don't you say a word about this affair. You haven't got much to boast about in it, sitting there on the grass and doing nothing to help me. I shan't say anything more about that if you hold your tongue; but if you blab I will let all the fellows know how you behaved.”
“But they will all notice my nose directly I get in,” Tompkins said. “What am I to say?”
“Yes, there's no fear about their not noticing your nose,” Ned replied. “I don't want you to tell a lie. You can say the exact truth. We were coming home across the moors22; a boy interfered23 with us, and would not let us pass; we both pitched into him, and at last he got the worst of it, and we came home.”
“But what's the harm of saying that you and he fell, and he broke his leg?”
“A great deal of harm,” Ned replied. “If it was known that a boy's leg got broke in a fight with us it would be sure to come to Hathorn's ears; then there would be an inquiry24 and a row. Like enough he would go up to see the boy and inquire all about it. Then the men would suppose that we had broken our words, and the next time you and I go out on a fishing expedition there's no saying what mightn't happen to us. They are a rough lot those moor men, and don't stick at trifles.”
“I will say nothing about it,” Tompkins replied hastily; “you may rely on that. What a lucky fellow you are to be going home! Nothing will be said to you for being an hour late. I shall get a licking to a certainty. How I do hate that Hathorn, to be sure!”
They now came to the point where the road separated and each hurried on at his best speed.
“You are late tonight, Ned,” the boy's father said when he entered. “I don't like your being out after dark. I don't mind how far you go so that you are in by sunset; but, halloo!” he broke off, as he caught sight of the boy's face as he approached the table at which the rest of the party were sitting at tea; “what have you been doing to your face?”
Captain Sankey might well be surprised. One of the boy's eyes was completely closed by a swelling25 which covered the whole side of his face. His lip was badly cut, and the effect of that and the swelling was to give his mouth the appearance of being twisted completely on one side.
“Oh! there's nothing the matter,” Ned replied cheerfully; “but I had a fight with a boy on the moor.”
“It is dreadful!—quite dreadful!” Mrs. Sankey said; “your going on like this. It makes me feel quite faint and ill to look at you. I wonder you don't get killed with your violent ways.”
Ned made no reply but took his seat at the table, and fell to work upon the hunches26 of thick brown bread and butter.
“I am sure I don't wish to hear the story of your quarrels and fighting, Edward,” Mrs. Sankey said; “the sight of you is quite enough to upset my nerves and make me wretched. Of course if your father chooses to support you in such goings on I can say nothing. Neither he nor you seem to remember how trying such things as these are to any one with a broken constitution like mine.”
Captain Sankey, knowing from experience how useless it was to attempt to argue with his wife when she was in this mood, continued to eat his meal placidly28. Ned seized his mug of milk and water, and took an impatient drink of it.
“Is there anything I had better do for my face?” he asked his father presently.
“I don't think anything you can do, Ned, will make you presentable for the next few days. I believe that a raw beefsteak is the best thing to put on your eye, but is not such a thing in the house, and if there was, I don't think that I should be justified29 in wasting it for such a purpose. I should say the next best thing would be to keep a cloth soaked in cold water on your face; that will probably take down the swelling to some extent.”
After tea Ned repaired to the kitchen, where Abijah, with much scolding and some commiseration30, applied31 a wet cloth to his face, and fastened a handkerchief over it to keep it in its place. Then the boy went into the little room which his father called his study, where he used to read the papers, to follow the doings of the British armies in the field, and above all to smoke his pipe in quiet. He laughed as Ned entered.
“You look like a wounded hero, indeed, Ned. Now sit down, my boy, and tell me about this business; not, you know, that I have any objection to your fighting when it's necessary. My experience is that it is the nature of boys to fight, and it is no use trying to alter boys' nature. As I have always told you, don't get into a fight if you can help it; but, if you once begin, fight it out like a man.”
“Well, I couldn't help it this time, father, and I will tell you all about it. I promised not to tell; but what was meant by that was that I should not tell any one who would do anything about it; and as I know you won't, why, of course I can tell you.”
“I don't know what you mean in the least, Ned; a promise, whatever it is about, is a promise.”
“I know, father, but all that was meant in my case was that I would say nothing which would cause injury to those to whom I promised; and it will do them no injury whatever by telling you in confidence. Besides, it is probable you may learn about it in some other way; because, unfortunately, I broke the other fellow's leg very badly, and there is no saying what may come of it, so I think you ought to know all the circumstances.”
“Very well, Ned,” his father said quietly; “this seems to be a serious business. Go on, my boy.”
Ned related the whole circumstances, his father saying no word until he had finished.
“You have been in no way to blame in the matter, nor could you have acted otherwise. The breaking of the boy's leg is unfortunate, but it was a pure accident, and even the boy's friends did not blame you in the matter. As to the illegal drilling, that is no new thing; it has been known to be going on for many months, and, indeed, in some places for years. The authorities take but little notice of it. An outbreak of these poor fellows would, indeed, constitute a considerable local danger. Mills might be burned down, and possibly some obnoxious32 masters killed, but a few troops of dragoons, or half a regiment33 of light infantry34, would scatter35 them like chaff36.
“The Irish rebellion thirteen years ago was a vastly more formidable affair. There it may be said that the whole country was in arms, and the element of religious fanaticism37 came into play; but in spite of that the resistance which they opposed to the troops was absolutely contemptible38; however, it is just as well that you did not see them drill, because now, if by any chance this lad should die, and inquiry were made about it, there would be no occasion for you to allude39 to the subject at all. You would be able to say truthfully that finding that he was hurt, you went off, and happened to come upon four men on the moor and brought them to his assistance.”
“I promised to go up to see the boy, father. I suppose that there is no harm?”
“None at all, Ned, it is only natural that you should entertain the wish; in fact you have injured him seriously, and we must do all in our power to alleviate40 his pain. I will go in the morning and see Dr. Green. I shall, of course, tell him that the boy was hurt in a tussle41 with you, and that you are very sorry about it. The fact that he is some two years older, as you say, and ever so much stronger and bigger, is in itself a proof that you were not likely to have wantonly provoked a fight with him. I shall ask the doctor if there is anything in the way of food and comforts I can send up for him.”
Accordingly, the next morning, the first thing after breakfast, Captain Sankey went out and called upon the doctor. Ned awaited his return anxiously.
“The doctor says it's a bad fracture, Ned, a very bad fracture, and the boy must have had his leg curiously42 twisted under him for the bone to have snapped in such a way. He questions whether it will be possible to save the leg; indeed, he would have taken it off last night, but the boy said he would rather die, and the men were all against it. By the help of half a dozen men he got the bones into their places again, and has bandaged the leg up with splints; but he is very doubtful what will come of it.”
Ned was crying now.
“I would give anything if it hadn't happened, father, and he really seemed a nice fellow. He said over and over again he didn't want to hurt us, and I am sure he didn't, only he thought he oughtn't to let us pass, and as we would go on he had to stop us.”
“Well, it can't be helped, Ned,” his father said kindly43. “It is very natural that you should be grieved about it; but you see it really was an accident; there was nothing willful or intentional44 about it, and you must not take it to heart more than you can help.”
But Ned did take it to heart, and for the next fortnight was very miserable45. The doctor's reports during that time were not hopeful. Fever had set in, and for some days the boy was delirious46, and there was no saying how it would turn out. At the end of that time the bulletins became somewhat more hopeful. The lad was quiet now from the complete exhaustion47 of his strength. He might rally or he might not; his leg was going on favorably. No bad symptom had set in, and it was now purely48 a question of strength and constitution whether he would pull through it.
Mrs. Sankey had been kept in entire ignorance of the whole matter. She had once or twice expressed a languid surprise at Ned's altered manner and extreme quietness; but her interest was not sufficient for her to inquire whether there were any reasons for this change. Abijah had been taken into Captain Sankey's counsels, and as soon as the fever had abated49, and the doctor pronounced that the most nourishing food was now requisite50, she set to work to prepare the strongest broths51 and jellies she could make, and these, with bottles of port wine, were taken by her every evening to the doctor, who carried them up in his gig on his visits to his patient in the morning. On the third Saturday the doctor told Ned that he considered that the boy had fairly turned the corner and was on the road to recovery, and that he might now go up and see him. His friends had expressed their warm gratitude52 for the supplies which had been sent up, and clearly cherished no animosity against Ned. The boy had been informed of the extreme anxiety of his young antagonist53 as to his condition, and had nodded feebly when asked if he would see Ned should he call upon him. It was therefore without any feeling of trepidation54 as to his reception that Ned on the Saturday afternoon entered Varley.
Varley was a scattered55 village lying at the very edge of the moor. The houses were built just where the valley began to dip down from the uplands, the depression being deep enough to shelter them from the winds which swept across the moor. Some of those which stood lowest were surrounded by a few stumpy fruit trees in the gardens, but the majority stood bleak56 and bare. From most of the houses the sound of the shuttle told that hand weaving was carried on within, and when the weather was warm women sat at the doors with their spinning wheels. The younger men for the most part worked as croppers in the factories in Marsden.
In good times Varley had been a flourishing village, that is to say its inhabitants had earned good wages; but no one passing through the bare and dreary57 village would have imagined that it had ever seen good days, for the greater proportion of the earnings58 had gone in drink, and the Varley men had a bad name even in a country and at a time when heavy drinking was the rule rather than the exception. But whatever good times it may have had they were gone now. Wages had fallen greatly and the prices of food risen enormously, and the wolf was at the door of every cottage. No wonder the men became desperate, and believing that all their sufferings arose from the introduction of the new machinery59, had bound themselves to destroy it whatever happened.
A woman of whom he inquired for John Swinton's cottage told him that it was the last on the left. Although he told himself that he had nothing to be afraid of, it needed all Ned's determination to nerve himself to tap at the door of the low thatched cottage. A young woman opened it.
“If you please,” Ned said, “I have come to see Bill; the doctor said he would see me. It was I who hurt him, but indeed I didn't mean to do it.”
“A noice bizness yoi've made of it atween ee,” the woman said, but in a not unkind voice. “Who'd ha' thought as Bill would ha' got hurted by such a little un as thou be'st; but coom in, he will be main glad to see ee, and thy feyther ha' been very good in sending up all sorts o' things for him. He's been very nigh agooing whoam, but I believe them things kept un from it.”
The cottage contained but two rooms. In a corner of the living room, into which Ned followed the woman, Bill Swinton lay upon a bed which Captain Sankey had sent up. Ned would not have known him again, and could scarce believe that the thin, feeble figure was the sturdy, strong built boy with whom he had struggled on the moor. His eyes filled with tears as he went up to the bedside.
“I am so sorry!” he said; “I have grieved so all the time you have been ill.”
“It's all roight, young un,” the boy said in a low voice, “thar's no call vor to fret60. It warn't thy fault; thou couldn't not tell why oi would not let ee pass, and ye were roight enough to foight rather than to toorn back. I doan't blame ee nohow, and thou stoodst up well agin me. Oi doan't bear no malice61 vor a fair foight, not loikely. Thy feyther has been roight good to oi, and the things he sends oi up has done oi a power o' good. Oi hoap as how they will let oi eat afore long; oi feels as if oi could hearty62, but the doctor he woin't let oi.”
“I hope in a few days he will let you,” Ned said, “and then I am sure father will send you up some nice things. I have brought you up some of my books for you to look at the pictures.”
The boy looked pleased.
“Oi shall like that,” Bill said; “but oi shan't know what they be about.”
“But I will come up every Saturday if you will let me, and tell you the stories all about them.”
“Willee now? That will be main koinde o' ye.”
“I don't think you are strong enough to listen today,” Ned said, seeing how feebly the boy spoke63; “but I hope by next Saturday you will be much stronger. And now I will say goodby, for the doctor said that I must not talk too long.”
So saying Ned left the cottage and made his way back to Marsden in better spirits than he had been for the last three weeks.
From that time Ned went up regularly for some weeks every Saturday to see Bill Swinton, to the great disgust of his schoolfellows, who could not imagine why he refused to join in their walks or games on those days; but he was well repaid by the pleasure which his visits afforded. The days passed very drearily64 to the sick boy, accustomed as he was to a life spent entirely65 in the open air, and he looked forward with eager longing66 to Ned's visits.
On the occasion of the second visit he was strong enough to sit up in bed, and Ned was pleased to hear that his voice was heartier67 and stronger. He listened with delight as Ned read through the books he had brought him from end to end, often stopping him to ask questions as to the many matters beyond his understanding, and the conversations on these points were often so long that the continuance of the reading had to be postponed68 until the next visit. To Bill everything he heard was wonderful. Hitherto his world had ended at Marsden, and the accounts of voyages and travels in strange lands were full of surprise and interest to him. Especially he loved to talk to Ned of India, where the boy had lived up to the time when his father had received his wound, and Ned's account of the appearance and manners of the people there were even more interesting to him than books.
At the end of two months after Ned's first visit Bill was able to walk about with a stick, and Ned now discontinued his regular visits; but whenever he had a Saturday on which there was no particular engagement he would go for a chat with Bill, for a strong friendship had now sprung up between the lads.
On Ned's side the feeling consisted partly of regret for the pain and injury he had inflicted69 upon his companion, partly in real liking70 for the honesty and fearlessness which marked the boy's character. On Bill's side the feeling was one of intense gratitude for the kindness and attention which Ned had paid him, for his giving up his play hours to his amusement, and the pains which he had taken to lighten the dreary time of his confinement71. Added to this there was a deep admiration72 for the superior knowledge of his friend.
“There was nothing,” he often said to himself, “as oi wouldn't do for that young un.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
defense
|
|
| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
regain
|
|
| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
plucky
|
|
| adj.勇敢的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
brute
|
|
| n.野兽，兽性 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
overthrew
|
|
| overthrow的过去式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
extricate
|
|
| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
prostrate
|
|
| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
groan
|
|
| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
wilt
|
|
| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
meddle
|
|
| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
moor
|
|
| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
sentry
|
|
| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
wrath
|
|
| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
gulped
|
|
| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
wring
|
|
| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
moors
|
|
| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
interfered
|
|
| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
swelling
|
|
| n.肿胀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
hunches
|
|
| 预感，直觉( hunch的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
placidly
|
|
| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
justified
|
|
| a.正当的，有理的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
commiseration
|
|
| n.怜悯，同情 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
applied
|
|
| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
obnoxious
|
|
| adj.极恼人的，讨人厌的，可憎的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
regiment
|
|
| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
infantry
|
|
| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
scatter
|
|
| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
chaff
|
|
| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
fanaticism
|
|
| n.狂热，盲信 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
contemptible
|
|
| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
allude
|
|
| v.提及，暗指 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
alleviate
|
|
| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
tussle
|
|
| n.&v.扭打，搏斗，争辩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
curiously
|
|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
kindly
|
|
| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
intentional
|
|
| adj.故意的，有意（识）的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
delirious
|
|
| adj.不省人事的，神智昏迷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
exhaustion
|
|
| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
purely
|
|
| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
abated
|
|
| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
broths
|
|
| n.肉汤( broth的名词复数 )；厨师多了烧坏汤；人多手杂反坏事；人多添乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
antagonist
|
|
| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
trepidation
|
|
| n.惊恐，惶恐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
bleak
|
|
| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
earnings
|
|
| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
fret
|
|
| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
malice
|
|
| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
hearty
|
|
| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
drearily
|
|
| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
heartier
|
|
| 亲切的( hearty的比较级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
postponed
|
|
| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
inflicted
|
|
| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
liking
|
|
| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |