So Chudleigh Wilmot went back to his hotel in the cab; and the friendly waiter, who had seen him depart so full of life and joyousness10, had to help him up the steps, and thought within himself that the great English doctor would have to seek the assistance of other members of his craft. But no bodily illness had struck down Chudleigh Wilmot; he had not recovered his full strength, and the shock to his nerves had been a little too strong--that was all. So soon as he found himself alone, after refusing the friendly waiter's offer of sending for a physician, of getting him restoratives of a kind which came specially11 within the resources of the H?tel de Russie, such as a roast chicken and a bottle of sparkling Moselle, and after dispensing12 with all further assistance or companionship, Wilmot locked the door of his room, and sat down at the table with the newspaper spread open before him. He read the paragraph again and again, with an odd sort of bewildering wonderment that it remained the same, and did not change before his eyes. No doubt about what it expressed--none. Madeleine Kilsyth, who had been worshipped by him for months past; and with whom as his companion he was looking forward to pass his future, was married to another man--that last fact was expressed in so many words. It was all over now, the hope and the fear and the longing13; there was an end to it all. If he had only known this three months ago, what an agony of heart-sickness, of dull despair, of transient hope, of wearying feverish14 longing he had been spared! She was gone, then, so far as he was concerned--taken from him; the one star that had glimmered15 on his dark lonely path was quenched17, and henceforward he was to stumble through life in darkness as best he might. That was a cruel trick of Fortune's, a wretched cruel trick, to keep him back in his pursuit, to throw obstacles of every kind in his way, but all the time to let him see his love at the end of the avenue, as he thought, beckoning18 to him to overcome them all, to make his way to her, and carry her off in spite of all opposition19; then for all the obstacles to melt away, for him to have naught20 to do but gain the temple unopposed; and when he succeeded in gaining it, for the doors to be open, the shrine21 abandoned, the divinity gone!
Hard fate indeed! hard, hard fate! But it was not to be. His dead wife had said it; Henrietta Prendergast had said it: it was not to be. For him no woman's love, no happy home, no congenial spirit to share his thoughts, his ambition, his success. He sighed as he thought of this, with additional sadness as he remembered that if Henrietta Prendergast's story were true, all this had been his. Such a companion he had had, had never appreciated, and had lost. He had entertained an angel unawares, and he was never to have the chance again. For him a drear blank future--blank save when remorse22 for the probable fate of the woman who had died loving him, regret for the loss of the woman whom he had loved, should goad23 him into new scenes of fresh action. Madeleine married! Was, then, his fancy that she, that Madeleine, during that interview in the drawing-room in Brook-street, had manifested an interest in him different from that which she had previously24 shown, a mere16 delusion25? Had he been so far led away by his vanity as to mistake for something akin26 to his own feeling the mere gratitude27 which the young girl had felt towards her physician? Was she, indeed, "his grateful patient," and no more? Wilmot's heart sunk within him, and his cheeks burned, as this view of the subject presented itself to his mind. Had he, professing28 to be skilled in psychology29, committed this egregious30 blunder? Had he, who was supposed to know what people really were when they had put off the mummeries which they played before the world, and when they had laid by their face-makings and their posturings and their society antics, and revealed to their physician perforce what no one else was allowed to see--had he been deceived in his character study of one who to him was a mere child? The very suddenness of the inspiration had led him to believe in its truth. Until that moment, just before that savage31 brother of hers had burst in upon them, he had acknowledged to himself the existence of his own passion indeed, but had struggled against it, fully4 believing it to be unreciprocated, fully believing in the mere gratitude and respect which--as it now seemed--were the sole feelings by which Madeleine had been animated32. But surely that day, in her downcast eyes and in her fleeting33 blush, he had recognised--A new idea, which rushed through his mind like a flash of light, illumining his soul with a ray of hope. Had this been a forced marriage? Had she been compelled by her brother, her father, Lady Muriel--God knows who--to accept this alliance? Had it been carried out against her own free will? Had his absence from England been made the pretext34 for urging her on to it? Had that been shown to her as a sign of the mistake she had made in supposing that he, Wilmot, eared for her at all? He had never been so near the truth as now, and yet he scouted35 the notion more quickly than any of the others which he discussed within himself. Such a thing was impossible. The idea of a girl being forced to marry against her will, of her judgment36 being warped37, and the truth perverted38 for the sake of warping39 that judgment, was incomprehensible to a man like Wilmot--man of the world in so many phases of his character, but of childlike simplicity40 in the others. He had heard of such things as the stock-in-trade of the novelist, but in real life they did not exist. Mammon-matches, forced marriages, diabolical41 torturings of fact--all these various combinations, neatly42 dovetailed together, filled the shelves of the circulating-library, but were laughed to scorn by all sensible persons when they professed43 to be accurate representations of what takes place in the every-day life of society.
Besides, if it were so, the mischief44 was done, and he was all-powerless to counteract45 it. The marriage had taken place; there was an end of it. It could be undone46 by no word or deed of his. The times were changed from the old days when a sharp sword and a swift steed could nullify the priest's blessing47, and leave the brave gallant48 and the unwilling49 bride to be "happy ever after." He was no young Lochinvar, to swim streams and scour50 countries, to dance but one measure, drink one cup of wine, and bolt with the lady on his saddle-croup. He was a sober, middle-aged51 man, who must get back to England by the mail-train and the packet-boat; and when he got there--well, make his bow to the bride and bridegroom, and congratulate them on the happy event. It was all over. His turn in the wheel of Fortune had arrived too late; the bequest52 which his good old friend had secured to him, had it come two months earlier, might have insured his happiness for life; as it was, it left him where it found him, so far as his great object in life, so far as Madeleine Kilsyth, was concerned.
Another long pause for reflection, a prolonged pacing up and down the room, revolving53 all the circumstances in his mind. Was his whole life bound up in this young girl? did his whole future so entirely54 hang upon her? Here was he in his prime, with fame such as few men ever attained55 to, with fortune newly accruing56 to him--large fortune, leaving him his own master to do as he liked, free, unfettered, with no ties and no responsibilities; and was he to give up this splendid position, or, not giving it up, to forego its advantages, to let its gold turn into withered58 leaves and its fruits into Dead-Sea apples, because a girl, of whose existence he had been ignorant twelve months before, preferred to accept a husband of her choice, of her rank, of her family connection, rather than await in maidenhood59 a declaration of his hitherto unspoken love? He was pining under his solitude60, the want of being appreciated, the lack of someone to confide61 in, to cherish, to educate, to love. Was his choice so circumscribed62 by fate that there was only one person in the world to fulfil all these requirements? Was it preordained that he must either win Madeleine Kilsyth or pass the remainder of his days helplessly, hopelessly celibate63? Was his heart so formed as to be capable of the reception of this one individual and none other, to be impressionable by her and her alone? His pride revolted at the idea; and when a man's pride undertakes the task of combating his passion, the struggle is likely to be a severe one, and none can tell on which side the victory may lie.
He would test it, at all events, and test it at once. The kind old man now gone to his rest had hoped that the fortune which he had bequeathed might be of service to the son of his old friend "and to Mrs. Wilmot;" and why should it not, although Mrs. Wilmot might not be the person whom Mr. Foljambe had intended, nor, as Chudleigh had madly hoped on reading his benefactor's letter, Madeleine Kilsyth? He would go back to England at once; he would show these people that--even if they entertained the idea which had been so plainly set before him by Ronald Kilsyth--he was not the man to sink under an injury, however much he might suffer under an injustice64. "Love flows like the Solway, but ebbs65 like its tide," so far he would say to them with Lochinvar; they should not imagine that he was going to pine away the remainder of his life miserably66 because Miss Kilsyth had chosen to marry someone else. He had been a fool, a weak pliable67 fool, to make such a statement as he had done in that interview with Ronald Kilsyth. His cheeks tingled68 with shame as he remembered how he had confessed the passion which he had nurtured69, and which he acknowledged beset70 him even at the time of speaking. And that cool, calculating young man, with his cursed priggish, pedantic71 airs, his lack of anything approaching enthusiasm, and his would-be frank manner, was doubtless at that moment grinning to himself at the successful result of his calm diplomacy72. Chudleigh Wilmot stamped his foot on the floor and ground his teeth in the impotence of his rage.
Married to Ramsay Caird, eh? Ramsay Caird! Well, they had not made such a great catch after all! To hear them talk, to see the state they kept up at Kilsyth, to listen to or look at my Lady Muriel, one would have thought that an earl, with half England in estates at his back, was the lowest they would have stooped to for their daughter's husband. And now she was married to an untitled Scotchman, without money, and--well, if he remembered club-gossip aright, rather a loose fish. Had not Captain Kilsyth been a little too hurried in the clinching73 of the nail, in the completion of the bargain? As Mr. Foljambe's heir, he, Chudleigh Wilmot, would have been worth a dozen such men as Ramsay Caird; and as to the question of former intimacy74, of acquaintance formed during his wife's lifetime, the world would have forgotten that speedily enough.
He would go back to England at once, but when there he would show them he was not the kind of man which, from Ronald Kilsyth's behaviour, that family apparently75 imagined him. Still the Border song rang in his head--
Not more lovely, and probably never to be anything like so dear to him; but there were other maidens in England besides Madeleine Kilsyth. And why should the remainder of his life be to him utterly77 desolate78 because this girl either did not love him, or, loving him, was weak enough to yield to the interference of others? Was he to pine in solitude, to renounce79 all the pleasures of wifely companionship, to remain, as he had hitherto been, self-contained and solitary80, because he had placed his affections unworthily, and they had not been understood, or cast aside? No; he had existed, he had vegetated81 long enough; henceforward he would live. Wealth and fame were his; he was not yet too old to inspire affection or to requite82 it; by his old friend's death he had obtained an additional claim upon society, which even previously was willing enough to welcome him; he should have the entrée almost where he chose, and he would avail himself of the privilege. So thus it stood. Chudleigh Wilmot left London broken-hearted at having to give up his love, and full of remorse for a crime, not of his commission indeed, but which he imagined had arisen out of his own egotism and selfish preoccupation. He was about to start on his return, with stung sensibility and wounded pride--feelings which rendered him hostile rather than pitying towards the woman to whom he had imagined himself sentimentally84 attached, and which had completely obliterated85 and driven into oblivion all symptoms of his remorse.
He wrote a hurried line to Messrs. Lambert and Lee, informing them of his satisfaction with their proceedings86 hitherto, and notifying his immediate87 return; and he told the friendly waiter that he should start by that night's mail, and get as far as Hanover. But this the friendly waiter would not hear of. The Herr Doctor must know perfectly88 well--for had not he, the friendly waiter, heard the German doctors speak of the English doctor's learning?--that he was in no condition to travel that night. If he, the friendly waiter, might in his turn prescribe for the English doctor, he should say, "Wait here to-night; dine, not at the table d'h?te, where there is hurry and confusion, but in the smaller speise-saal, where you usually breakfast; and the cook shall be instructed to send up to you of his very best; and the Herr Oberkellner, a great man, but to be come over by tact89, and specially kind in cases of illness, shall be persuaded to go to the cellar and fetch you Johannisberg--not that Zeltinger or Marcobrünner, which, under the name of Johannisberg, they sell to you in England, but real Johannisberg, of Prince Metternich's own vintage--pfa!" and the friendly waiter kissed his own fingers, and then tossed them into the air as a loving tribute to the excellence90 of the costly91 drink.
So Wilmot, knowing that there was truth in all the man had said; feeling that he was not strong, and that what little strength he had had gone out of him under the ordeal92 of the morning at the Embassy, gave way, and consented to remain that night. But the next morning he started on his journey, and on the evening of the third day he arrived in London. He drove straight to his house in Charles-street, and saw at once by the expression of his servant's face that the news of his inheritance had preceded him. There was a struggle between solemnity and mirth on the man's countenance93 that betrayed him at once. The man said he expected his master back, was not in the least surprised at his coming; indeed most people seemed to have expected him before. What did he mean? O, nothing--nothing; only there had been an uncommon94 number of callers within the last few days. "Not merely the reg'lars," the man added; "them of course; but there have been many people as we have not seen here these two years past a-rat-tattin', and leavin' reg'lar packs of cards, with their kind regards, and to know how you were, sir." The cards were brought, and Wilmot looked through them. The man was right; scores of his old acquaintance, whom he had not seen or heard of for years, were there represented; people whom he had only known professionally, and who had never been near him since he wrote their last prescription95 and took their last fee months before, had sought him out again. To what could this be accredited96? Either to the earnest desire of all who knew him to console him in the affliction of having lost his friend, or to the information sown broadcast by that diligent97 contributor to the Illustrated98 News, who had given exact particulars of the will of the late John Foljambe, Esq., banker, of Lombard-street and Portland-place. But there was no card from any member of the Kilsyth family in the collection. Wilmot searched eagerly for one, but there was none there.
He had a hurried meal--hurried, not because he had anything to do, and wanted to get through with it, but because he had no appetite, and what was placed before him was tasteless and untempting--and sat himself down in his old writing-chair in his consulting-room to ponder over his past and his future. He should leave that house; he must. Though Mr. Foljambe had made no binding99 requirement, the expression of his wish was enough. Wilmot must leave that house, and obey his benefactor's behests by taking up his residence in Portland-place. He had never thought much of it before, but now he felt that he loved the place in which so much of his life had been passed, and felt very loth to leave it. He recollected100 when he had fire moved into it, when his practice began to increase and his name began to be known. He remembered how his friends had said that it was necessary he should take up his position in a good West-end street, and how alarmed he was, when the lease was signed and the furniture--rather scanty101 and very poor, but made to look its best by Mabel's disposition102 and taste--had been moved in, lest he should be unable to pay the heavy rent. He recollected perfectly the first few patients who had come to see him there: some sent by old Foljambe, some droppers-in from the adjacent military club, allured103 by the bright door-plate; old gentlemen wishing to be young again, and young gentlemen in constitution rather more worn and debilitated104 than the oldest of the veterans. He remembered his delight when the first great person ever sent for him; how he had treasured the note requesting his visit; how he had gone to his club and slily looked up the family in the Peerage; and how when he first stood before Lady Hernshaw, and listened to her account of her infant's feverish symptoms, he could, if he had been required, have gone through an examination in the origin and progress of the Hawke family, with the names of all the sons and daughters extant, and come out triumphantly105. His well-loved books were ranged in due order on the walls round him; on the table before him stood the lamp by whose light he had gathered and reproduced that learning which had gained him his fame and his position. In that house all is early struggles had been gone through; he remembered the first dinner-parties which had been given under Mabel's superintendence, her diffidence and fright, his nervousness and anxiety. And now that was all of the past; Mabel had vanished for ever and aye; and soon the old house and its belongings106, its associations and traditions, would know him no more. What had he gained during those few years? Fame, position, men's good word, the envy of his brother-professionals, and, recently, wealth. What had he lost? Youth, spirit, energy, the at one time all-sufficing love of study and progress in his science, content; and, latterly, the day-spring of a new existence, the hope of a new world which had opened so fairly and so promisingly107 before him. The balance was on the per-contra side, after all.
The fashionable journals found out his return (how, his servant of all men alone knew), and proclaimed it to the world at large. The world at large, consisting of the subscribers to the said fashionable journals, acknowledged the information, and the influx108 of cards was redoubled. Some of these performers of the card-trick lingered at the door, and entered into conversation with the presiding genius in black to whom their credentials109 were delivered. Whether the doctor were well, whethe he intended continuing the practice of his profession, whether the rumour110 that he intended giving up that house and removing to Portland-place had any substantial foundation; whether it were true that he, the presiding genius, was about to have a new mistress, a lady from abroad--for some even went so far as to make that inquiry--all these different points were put, haughtily111, confidentially112, jocosely113, to the presiding genius of the street-door, and all were answered by him as best he thought fit. Only one of the queries114, the last, had any influence on that great man. He fenced with it in public with all the coolness and the dexterity115 of an Angelo, but in private, in the sacred confidence of the pantry engendered116 by the supper-beer, he was heard to declare that "the guv'nor knew better than that; or that if he didn't, and thought to introduce furreners, with their scruin' ways, to sit at the 'ead of his table and give horders to them, he'd have to suit himself, and the sooner he knew that the better."
Some of the callers on seeking admittance were admitted--among them Dr. Whittaker. Perhaps amongst the large circle of Wilmot's acquaintances calling themselves Wilmot's friends, that eminent3 practitioner117 was the only one who had a direct and palpable feeling of annoyance118 at Wilmot's return.
Dr. Whittaker's originally good practice had been considerably119 amplified120 by the patients who, under Wilmot's advice, had yielded themselves up to Dr. Whittaker's direction during Wilmot's absence, and the substitute naturally looked with alarm upon the reappearance of the great original. So Dr. Whittaker presented himself at an early date in Charles-street, and being admitted, had a long and, on his side at least, an earnest talk with his friend. After the state and condition of various of the leading patients had been discussed between then, Whittaker began to touch upon more dangerous, and, to him more interesting, ground, and said, with an attempt at jocosity,--and Whittaker was a ponderous121 man, in whom humour was as natural and as easy as it might have been in Sir Isaac Newton,--
"And now that I have given account of my stewardship122, I suppose my business is ended, and all I have to do is to return my trust into the hands of him from whom I received it."
"I don't clearly understand you," said Wilmot. "If you mean to ask me whether I intend to take up my practice again, my answer is clear and distinct--No. If you wish to inquire whether those patients whom you have been attending in my absence will continue to send for you, I am in no position to say. All I can say is, that if they send for me, I shall let them know that I have retired124 from the profession, and that you are taking my place."
Dr. Whittaker was in ecstasies125. "Of course that is all I could expect," he replied; "and I flatter myself that--hum! ha! well, a man does not boast of his own proceedings--ha! Well then, and so what the little birds whispered is true, eh?"
"I--I beg your pardon," said Wilmot absently--"the--the little birds--"
"Cautious!" murmured Dr. Whittaker in his blandest126 tone--that tone which had such an influence with female patients--"we are quite right to be cautious; but between friends one may refer to the little birds which have whispered," he continued with surprising unction, "that a certain friend of ours, whom the world delights to honour, has succeeded to wealth and station, and is about to exchange that struggle in which the--the, if I may so express it--the pulverem Olympicum is gathered, for a soft easy seat in the balcony, whence he can look on at the contention127 with a smiling conjux by his side."
"Little birds have peculiar128 information, Whittaker, if they have been so communicative as all that," said Wilmot with a rather dreary129 smile; "they know more than I do, at all events."
"Ha, ha! my dear friend," said Whittaker, in a gushing130 transport of delight at the thought of his own good fortune; "we are deep, very deep; but we must allow a little insight into human affairs to others. Why did we fly from the world, dear Bessy, to thee? as the poet Moore, or Milton--I forget which--has it. Why did we give up our practice, and hurry off so suddenly to foreign parts, hum?" Dr. Whittaker gave this last "hum" in his softest and most seductive tones, such as had never failed with a patient. But perhaps because Wilmot was not a patient, and was indeed versed131 in the behind-scenes mechanism132 of the profession, it had no effect on him, and he merely said: "Not for the reason you name. Indeed, you never were farther out in any surmise133."
"Is that really so?" said Whittaker blandly134. "Well, well, you surprise me! It is only a fortnight since that I was discussing the subject at a house where you seem often spoken of, and I said I fully believed the report to be true."
"And where was that, pray?" asked Wilmot, more for the sake of something to say than for any real interest he took in the matter.
"Ah, by the way, you remind me! I intended to speak to you about that case before you left. The young lady whom you attended in Scotland--where you were when poor Mrs. Wilmot died, you know--"
"In Scotland--where I was when--good God! what do you mean?"
"Miss Kilsyth, you know. Well, you left her in charge of poor old Rowe as a special case, didn't you? Yes, I thought so. Well, the poor old gentleman got a frightful135 attack of bronchitis, and was compelled to go back to Torquay--don't think he'll last a month, poor old fellow!--and before he went, he asked me to look after Miss Kilsyth. Thought she had phthisis--all nonsense, old-fashioned nonsense; merely congestion136, I'm sure. I've seen her half-a-dozen times; and about a fortnight ago--yes, just before her intended marriage was announced--she's married since, you know--we were talking about you and I mentioned this rumour, and--and we had a good laugh over your enthusiasm."
"It is a pity, Dr. Whittaker," said Wilmot, quivering with suppressed rage, "it is a pity; and it is not the first time that it has been remarked, both professionally and socially, that you offer opinions and volunteer information on subjects of which you are profoundly ignorant. Good-morning!"
Just before the announcement of her intended marriage! Had the vile83 nonsense talked by that idiot Whittaker had any influence in inducing her to take that step? He thought of that a hundred times, coming at last to the conclusion--what did it matter now? The irrevocable step was taken. Ah, for him it was not to be! His dead wife had said so--Henrietta Prendergast had said so. It was not to be!
What was to be was soon carried out according to his old friend's expressed wish. Wilmot removed from Charles-street to Portland-place, and materially changed his manner of life. All his old patients flocked round him directly his return was announced; but, as he had promised Whittaker, he let it be understood that he had entirely retired from practice. He even declined to attend consultations137, alleging138 as an excuse that his health was delicate, and that for some time at least be required absolute repose139. He had determined140 to take as much enjoyment141 out of life as he could find in it; and that, truth to tell, was little enough. The growth and development of his love for Madeleine Kilsyth had lessened142 his thirst for knowledge and his desire for fame; and when the fierce flames of that love had burned out, there was still enough fire in the ashes to wither57 up and destroy any other passion that might seek to occupy his heart. He tried to find relief for the dead weariness of spirit, the blank desolation always upon him, in society. He gathered around him brilliant men of all c lasses; and "Wilmot's dinners" were soon spoken of as among the pleasantest bachelor réunions in London. He dined out at clubs, he joined men's dinner-parties; but he resolutely143 declined to enter into ladies' society. The resolution which he had formed at the Berlin hotel of proving to the Kilsyth people that there were families equal to theirs into which he could be received, and girls equal to Madeleine who were willing to marry him, never was brought to the test. Many ladies no doubt asked their husbands about Wilmot; but from the answers they received they regarded him as never likely to marry again; and save from hearsay144 report, they had no opportunity of evidence.
He went about constantly, rode on horseback a great deal, visited theatres, and sat with a melancholy145 face at nearly all the public exhibitions. The few persons who had sufficient interest in him to discuss the reason for this change attributed it to the impossibility of his ever recovering the shock of his wife's sudden death; and he was quoted perpetually before many husbands, who sincerely wished they had the opportunity of showing how they would conduct themselves under similar circumstances. So his life passed on, monotonous, blank, aimless, for about three weeks after his installation in Portland-place; when one evening returning from a long ride round the western suburbs, as he turned his horse through the Albert-gate, hecame full upon a carriage containing Lady Muriel and Madeleine. They were so close, that it was impossible to avoid a recognition. Wilmot raised his hat mechanically, Lady Muriel gave him a chilling bow, and then turned rapidly to her companion. Madeleine turned dead-white, and sank back as though she would have fainted; but Lady Muriel's look recalled her, and she recovered herself in time to bow. Then they were gone. Not much hope in that, Chudleigh Wilmot! Not much chance of bridging that gulf146 which is fixed147 between you!
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
eminently
|
|
| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
eminent
|
|
| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
fully
|
|
| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
eloquent
|
|
| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
blowhard
|
|
| n.自吹自擂者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
epithet
|
|
| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
villa
|
|
| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
joyousness
|
|
| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
specially
|
|
| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
dispensing
|
|
| v.分配( dispense的现在分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
feverish
|
|
| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
glimmered
|
|
| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
quenched
|
|
| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
beckoning
|
|
| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
opposition
|
|
| n.反对，敌对 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
naught
|
|
| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
shrine
|
|
| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
goad
|
|
| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
previously
|
|
| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
akin
|
|
| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
professing
|
|
| 声称( profess的现在分词 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
psychology
|
|
| n.心理，心理学，心理状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
egregious
|
|
| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
savage
|
|
| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
fleeting
|
|
| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
pretext
|
|
| n.借口，托词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
scouted
|
|
| 寻找，侦察( scout的过去式和过去分词 )； 物色（优秀运动员、演员、音乐家等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
judgment
|
|
| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
warped
|
|
| adj.反常的；乖戾的；（变）弯曲的；变形的v.弄弯，变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
perverted
|
|
| adj.不正当的v.滥用( pervert的过去式和过去分词 )；腐蚀；败坏；使堕落 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
warping
|
|
| n.翘面，扭曲，变形v.弄弯，变歪( warp的现在分词 )；使（行为等）不合情理，使乖戾， | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
diabolical
|
|
| adj.恶魔似的，凶暴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
neatly
|
|
| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
professed
|
|
| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
counteract
|
|
| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
undone
|
|
| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
unwilling
|
|
| adj.不情愿的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
scour
|
|
| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
middle-aged
|
|
| adj.中年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
bequest
|
|
| n.遗赠；遗产，遗物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
revolving
|
|
| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
attained
|
|
| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
accruing
|
|
| v.增加( accrue的现在分词 )；（通过自然增长）产生；获得；（使钱款、债务）积累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
wither
|
|
| vt.使凋谢，使衰退，(用眼神气势等)使畏缩；vi.枯萎，衰退，消亡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
withered
|
|
| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
maidenhood
|
|
| n. 处女性, 处女时代 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
60
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
confide
|
|
| v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
circumscribed
|
|
| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
celibate
|
|
| adj.独身的，独身主义的；n.独身者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
injustice
|
|
| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
ebbs
|
|
| 退潮( ebb的名词复数 )； 落潮； 衰退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
miserably
|
|
| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
pliable
|
|
| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
tingled
|
|
| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
nurtured
|
|
| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
beset
|
|
| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
pedantic
|
|
| adj.卖弄学问的；迂腐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
diplomacy
|
|
| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
clinching
|
|
| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的现在分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
maidens
|
|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
desolate
|
|
| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
renounce
|
|
| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
vegetated
|
|
| v.过单调呆板的生活( vegetate的过去式和过去分词 )；植物似地生长；（瘤、疣等）长大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
requite
|
|
| v.报酬，报答 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
vile
|
|
| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
sentimentally
|
|
| adv.富情感地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
obliterated
|
|
| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
proceedings
|
|
| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
tact
|
|
| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
costly
|
|
| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
ordeal
|
|
| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
countenance
|
|
| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
prescription
|
|
| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
accredited
|
|
| adj.可接受的；可信任的；公认的；质量合格的v.相信( accredit的过去式和过去分词 )；委托；委任；把…归结于 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
diligent
|
|
| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
illustrated
|
|
| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
binding
|
|
| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
recollected
|
|
| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
scanty
|
|
| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
allured
|
|
| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
debilitated
|
|
| adj.疲惫不堪的，操劳过度的v.使（人或人的身体）非常虚弱( debilitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
triumphantly
|
|
| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
belongings
|
|
| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
promisingly
|
|
| （通常只是开头）给人以希望地，良好地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
influx
|
|
| n.流入，注入 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
credentials
|
|
| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
haughtily
|
|
| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
confidentially
|
|
| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
113
jocosely
|
|
| adv.说玩笑地，诙谐地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
114
queries
|
|
| n.问题( query的名词复数 )；疑问；询问；问号v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的第三人称单数 )；询问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
115
dexterity
|
|
| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
116
engendered
|
|
| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
117
practitioner
|
|
| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
118
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
119
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
120
amplified
|
|
| 放大，扩大( amplify的过去式和过去分词 )； 增强； 详述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
121
ponderous
|
|
| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
122
stewardship
|
|
| n. n. 管理工作；管事人的职位及职责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
123
smirk
|
|
| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
124
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
125
ecstasies
|
|
| 狂喜( ecstasy的名词复数 )； 出神； 入迷； 迷幻药 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
126
blandest
|
|
| adj.（食物）淡而无味的( bland的最高级 )；平和的；温和的；无动于衷的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
127
contention
|
|
| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
128
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
129
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
130
gushing
|
|
| adj.迸出的；涌出的；喷出的；过分热情的v.喷，涌( gush的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
131
versed
|
|
| adj. 精通，熟练 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
132
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
133
surmise
|
|
| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
134
blandly
|
|
| adv.温和地，殷勤地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
135
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
136
congestion
|
|
| n.阻塞，消化不良 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
137
consultations
|
|
| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
138
alleging
|
|
| 断言，宣称，辩解( allege的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
139
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
140
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
141
enjoyment
|
|
| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
142
lessened
|
|
| 减少的，减弱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
143
resolutely
|
|
| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
144
hearsay
|
|
| n.谣传，风闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
145
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
146
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
147
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |