“Well, colonel,” said Oscar, “I fancy I was not mistaken in thinking the general wanted to speak with you concerning me; I am convinced you will not conceal9 any particulars of a conversation it may be so essential to my honor to hear.” “Why, faith,” cried the colonel, delighted to commence his operations, “he was making a kind of complaint about you; he acknowledges you a brave lad, yet, hang him, he has not generosity10 enough to reward that bravery with his daughter, or any[Pg 101] of his treasure.” “Heaven is my witness!” exclaimed the unsuspicious Oscar, “I never aspired11 to either; I always knew my passion for his daughter as hopeless as fervent12, and my esteem13 for him as disinterested14 as sincere; I would have sooner died than abused the confidence he reposed15 in me, by revealing my attachment16; I see, however, in future, I must be an exile to Woodlawn.” “Not so, neither,” replied the colonel; “only avoid such particularity to the girl; I believe in my soul she has more pride than susceptibility in her nature; in your next visit, therefore, which, for that purpose, I would have you soon make, declare, in a cavalier manner, your affections being engaged previous to your coming to Ireland; this declaration will set all to rights with the general; he will no longer dread17 you on his daughter’s account; you will be as welcome as ever to Woodlawn, and enjoy, during your continuance in the country, the society you have hitherto been accustomed to.” “No,” said Oscar, “I cannot assert so great a falsehood.” “How ridiculous!” replied the colonel; “for heaven’s sake, my dear boy, drop such romantic notions; I should be the last man in the world to desire you to invent a falsehood which could injure any one; but no priest in Christendom would blame you for this.” “And suppose I venture it, what will it do but bind18 faster round my heart chains already too galling19, and destroy in the end all remains20 of peace.”
“Faith, Fitzalan,” said the colonel, “by the time you have had a few more love affairs with some of the pretty girls of this kingdom, you will talk no more in this way; consider, and be not too scrupulous21, how disagreeable it will be to resign the general’s friendship, and the pleasing society you enjoyed at Woodlawn; besides, it will appear strange to those who knew your former intimacy22: in honor, too, you are bound to do as I desire you, for should the girl have been imprudent enough to conceive an attachment for you, this will certainly remove it; for pride would not allow its continuance after hearing of a favorite rival; and the general will be essentially24 served.” “My dear colonel,” said Oscar, his eyes suddenly sparkling, “do you think she has been imprudent enough to conceive a partiality for me?” “I am sure,” said the colonel, “that is a question I cannot possibly answer; but, to give my opinion, I think, from her gay, unembarrassed manner, she has not.” “I suppose not, indeed,” cried Oscar, mournfully sighing; “why then should I be guilty of a falsehood for a person who is already indifferent to me?” “I have told you my reason,” replied the colonel, coldly; “do as you please.” They were[Pg 102] now both silent, but the conversation was soon renewed, and many arguments passed on both sides. Oscar’s heart secretly favored the colonel’s plan, as it promised the indulgence of Adela’s society; to be an exile from Woodlawn was insupportable to his thoughts; reason yielded to the vehemence25 of passion, and he at last fell into the snare26 the perfidious27 Belgrave had spread, thus, by a deviation28 from truth, forfeiting29 the blessings30 a bounteous32 Providence33 had prepared for him.
Oh! never let the child of integrity be seduced34 from the plain and undeviating path of sincerity: oh! never let him hope by illicit35 means to attain36 a real pleasure; the hope of obtaining any good through such means will, like a meteor of the night, allure37 but to deceive.
Soon after his fatal promise to the colonel, a self-devoted38 victim, he accompanied him to Woodlawn; on their arrival, Miss Honeywood was in the garden, and Oscar, trembling, went to seek her; he found her sitting in a flower-woven arbor39—
“Herself the fairest flower.“
Never had she looked more lovely; the natural bloom of her cheeks was heightened by the heat, and glowed beneath the careless curls that fell over them; and her eyes, the moment she beheld40 Oscar, beamed with the softest tenderness, the most bewitching sensibility. “My dear, dear Fitzalan!” cried she, throwing aside the book she had been reading, and extending her hand, “I am glad to see you; I hope you are come to take up your residence for some time at Woodlawn.” “You hope!” repeated Oscar, mournfully. “I do, indeed! but, bless me, what is the matter? You look so pale and thin, you look but the shadow of yourself, or rather like a despairing shepherd, ready to hang himself on the first willow41 tree he meets.” “I am indeed unhappy!” cried Oscar; “nor will you wonder at my being so when I acknowledge I at this present time feel a passion which I must believe hopeless.” “Hopeless! well, now, I insist on being your confidant, and then,” smiling somewhat archly, “I shall see what reason you have to despair,” “Agreed,” exclaimed Oscar; “and now to my story:” then pausing a minute, he started up. “No,” continued he, “I find it impossible to tell it——; let this dear, this estimable object,” drawing a miniature of his sister from his bosom42, “speak for me, and declare whether he who loves such a being can ever lose that love, or help being wretched at knowing it is without hope.”
Adela snatched if hastily from him, and by a sudden start[Pg 103] betrayed her surprise; words indeed are inadequate44 to express her heart-rending emotions as she contemplated45 the beautiful countenance46 of her imaginary rival: and was Oscar, then—that Oscar whom she adored—whose happiness she had hoped to constitute—whose fortune she delighted to think she should advance—really attached to another; alas47! too true, he was—of the attachment she held a convincing proof in her hand; she examined it again and again, and in its mild beauties thought she beheld a striking proof of the superiority over the charms she herself possessed48; the roses forsook49 her cheeks, a mist overspread her eyes, and with a shivering horror she dropped it from her hand. Oscar had quitted the arbor to conceal his agonies. “Well,” said he, now returning with forced calmness, “is it not worthy50 of inspiring the passion I feel?” Unable to answer him, she could only point to the place where it lay, and hastened to the house. “Sweet image!” cried Oscar, taking it from the ground, “what an unworthy purpose have I made you answer!—alas! all is now over—Adela—my Adela!—is lost forever!—lost—ah, heavens! had I ever hopes of possessing her?—oh, no! to such happiness never did I dare to look forward.”
Adela, on reaching the parlor51 which opened into the garden, found her father there. “Ah! you little baggage, do I not deserve a kiss for not disturbing your tete-??-tete? Where is that young rogue52, Fitzalan?” “I beg, I entreat53, sir,” said Adela, whose tears could no longer be restrained, “you will never mention him again to me; too much has already been said about him.” “Nay, pr’ythee, my little girl,” exclaimed the general, regarding her with surprise, “cease thy sighs and tears, and tell me what’s the matter.” “I am hurt,” replied she, in a voice scarcely articulate, “that so much has been said about Mr. Fitzalan, whom I can never regard in any other light than that of a common acquaintance.” The colonel, who had purposely lingered about the wood, now entered. Adela started, and precipitately54 retreated through another door. “Faith, my dear colonel,” said the general, “I am glad you are come; the boy and girl have had a little skirmish; but, like other love quarrels, I suppose it will soon be made up—so let me know how the lad bore the announcement of his good fortune.” “It fills a rational mind with regret,” exclaimed the colonel, seating himself gravely, and inwardly rejoicing at the success of his stratagem56, “to find such a fatality57 prevalent among mankind as makes them reject a proffered58 good, and sigh for that which is unattainable; like wayward children, neglecting their sports to[Pg 104] pursue a rainbow, and weeping as the airy pageant59 mocks their grasp.” “Very true, indeed,” said the general; “very excellent, upon my word; I doubt if the chaplain of a regiment60 ever delivered such a pretty piece of morality; but, dear colonel,” laying his hand on his knee, “what did the boy say?” “I am sorry, sir,” he replied, “that what I have just said is so applicable to him. He acknowledged the lady’s merit, extolled61 her generosity—but pleaded a prior attachment against accepting your offer, which even one more exalted62 would not tempt63 him to forego, though he knows not whether he will ever succeed in it.” “The devil he did!” exclaimed the general, as soon as rage and surprise would allow him to speak. “The little impertinent puppy! the ungrateful young dog! a prior attachment!—reject my girl—my Adela—who has had such suitors already; so, I suppose I shall have the whole affair blazed about the country; I shall hear from every quarter how my daughter was refused; and by whom?—why, by a little ensign, whose whole fortune lies in his sword-knot. A fine game I have played, truly; but if the jackanapes opens his lips about the matter, may powder be my poison if I do not trim his jacket for him!” “Dear general,” said the colonel, “you may depend on his honor; but even supposing he did mention the affair, surely you should know it would not be in his power to injure Miss Honeywood—amiable64—accomplished—in short, possessed, as she is, of every perfection. I know men, at least one man of consequence, both from birth and fortune, who has long sighed for her, and who would, if he received the least encouragement, openly avow65 his sentiments.” “Well,” cried the general, still panting for breath, “we will talk about him at some future time; for I am resolved on soon having my little girl married, and to her own liking66, too.”
Oscar and Adela did not appear till dinner time; both had been endeavoring to regain67 composure; but poor Oscar had been far less successful than Adela in the attempt; not that she loved less, for indeed her passion for him was of the tenderest nature, and she flattered herself with having inspired one equally ardent68 in his breast. Sanctioned by her father, she thought it would constitute the felicity of their lives, and looked forward with a generous delight to the period when she should render her beloved Fitzalan prosperous and independent. The disappointment she experienced, as the first she had ever met, sat heavy on her heart, and the gay visions of youth were in one moment clouded by melancholy69; but her pride was as great as sensibility, and as its powerful impulse, pervaded70 her mind.[Pg 105] She resolved to afford Oscar no triumph by letting him witness her dejection; she therefore wiped away all traces of tears from her eyes, checked the vain sigh that struggled at her heart, and dressed herself with as much attention as ever. Her heavy eyes, her colorless cheeks, however, denoted her feelings; she tried, as she sat at table, to appear cheerful, but in vain; and, on the removal of the cloth, immediately retired71, as no ladies were present.
The general was a stranger to dissimulation, and as he no longer felt, he no longer treated Oscar with his usual kindness. When pale, trembling, and disordered, he appeared before him, he received him with a stern frown, and an air scarcely complaisant73. This increased the agitation74 of Oscar: every feeling of his soul was in commotion75; he was no longer the life of their company; their happiness and mirth formed a striking contrast to his misery76 and dejection; he felt a forlorn wretch43—a mere77 child of sorrow and dependence78; scalding tears dropped from him as he bent79 over his plate; he could have cursed himself for such weakness: fortunately it was unnoticed. In losing the general’s attention, he seemed to lose that of his guests; his situation grew too irksome to be borne; he rose, unregarded, and a secret impulse led him to the drawing-room. Here Adela, oppressed by the dejection of her spirits, had flung! herself upon a couch, and gradually sunk into a slumber80: Oscar stepped lightly forward, and gazed on her with a tenderness as exquisite81 as a mother would have felt in viewing her sleeping babe; her cheek, which rested on her fair hand, was tinged82 with a blush, by the reflection of a crimson83 curtain through which the sun darted84, and the traces of a tear were yet discernible upon it. “Never!” cried Oscar, with folded hands; as he hung over the interesting figure, “never may any tear, except that of soft sensibility for the woes85 of others, bedew the cheek of Adela—perfect as her goodness be her felicity—may every blessing31 she now enjoys be rendered permanent by that Power who smiles benignly86 upon innocence87 like hers! Oh! Adela, he who now prays for your felicity never will lose your idea, he will cherish it in his heart, to ameliorate his sorrows, and, from the dreary88 path which may be appointed for him to tread, sometimes look back to happier scenes!” Adela began to stir; she murmured out some inarticulate words, and, suddenly rising from the couch, beheld the motionless form of Fitzalan: haughtily89 regarding him, she asked the meaning of such an intrusion. “I did not mean indeed to intrude,” said he; “but when I came and found you, can you wonder at my[Pg 106] being fascinated to the spot?” The plaintive90 tone of his voice sunk deep into Adela’s heart; she sighed heavily, and turning away seated herself in a window. Oscar followed; he forgot the character he had assumed in the morning, and gently seizing her hand, pressed it to his bosom: at this critical minute, when mutual91 sympathy appeared on the point of triumphing over duplicity, the door opened, and Colonel Belgrave appeared; from the instant of Oscar’s departure, he had been on thorns to follow him, fearful of the consequences of a tete-??-tete, which was attended by the rest of the gentlemen.
Oscar was determined92 on not staying another night at Woodlawn, and declared his intention by asking Colonel Belgrave if he had any commands for Enniskillen, whither he meant to return immediately. “Why, hang it, boy,” cried the general, in a rough grumbling93 voice, “since you have stayed so long, you may as well stay the night; the clouds look heavy over the lake, and threaten a storm.” “No, sir,” said Oscar, coloring, and speaking in the agitation of his heart, “the raging of a tempest would not make me stay.” Adela sighed, but pride prevented her speaking. Fitzalan approached her: “Miss Honeywood,” said he—he stopped—his voice was quite stifled94. Adela, equally unable to speak, could only encourage him to proceed by a cold glance. “Lest I should not,” resumed he, “have the happiness of again visiting Woodlawn, I cannot neglect this opportunity of assuring you that the attention, the obligations I have received in it, never can be forgotten by me; and that the severest pang95 my heart could possibly experience would result from thinking I lost any part of the friendship you and the general honored me with.” Adela bent her head, and Oscar, seeing that she either would not, or could not speak, bowed to the general, and hurried from the room; the tears he had painfully suppressed gushed96 forth97, and at the bottom of the stairs he leaned against the banisters for support; while he cast his eyes around, as if bidding a melancholy farewell to the scene of former happiness, a hasty footstep advanced, he started, and was precipitately retreating, when the voice of the butler stopped him; this was an old veteran, much attached to Oscar, and his usual attendant in all his fowling98 and fishing parties. As he waited at tea, he heard Oscar’s declaration of departing with surprise, and followed him for the purpose of expressing that and his concern. “Why, Lord now, Mr. Fitzalan,” cried he, “what do you mean by leaving us so oddly? But if you are so positive about going to Enniskillen to-night, let me order Standard to be prepared for you.” Oscar[Pg 107] for some time had had the command of the stables; but knowing as he did that he had lost the general’s favor, he could no longer think of taking those liberties which kindness had once invited him to: he wrung99 the hand of his humble100 friend, and snatching his hat from the hall table, darted out of the house: he ran till he came to the mountain path, on the margin101 of the lake. “Never,” cried he, distractedly striking his breast, “shall I see her here again! oh, never, never, my beloved Adela! shall your unfortunate Fitzalan wander with you through those enchanting102 scenes: oh, how transient was this gleam of felicity!”
Exhausted103 by the violence of his feelings, he fell into a kind of torpid104 state against the side of the mountain; the shadows of night were thickened by a coming storm; a cool blast howled amongst the hills, and agitated105 the gloomy waters of the lake; the rain, accompanied by sleet106, began to fall, but the tempest raged unregarded around the child of sorrow, the wanderer of the night. Adela alone,
“Heard, felt, or seen,”
pervaded every thought. Some fishermen approaching to secure their boats, drove him from this situation, and he flew to the woods which screened one side of the house: by the time he reached it the storm had abated107, and the moon, with a watery108 lustre109, breaking through the clouds, rendered, by her feeble rays, the surrounding and beloved scenes just visible.
Adela’s chamber110 looked into the wood, and the light from it riveted111 Oscar to a spot exactly opposite the window. “My Adela,” he exclaimed, extending his arms as if she could have heard and flown into them; then dejectedly dropping them, “she thinks not on such a forlorn wretch as me; oh, what comfort to lay my poor distracted head for one moment on her soft bosom, and hear her sweet voice speak pity to my tortured heart!” Sinking with weakness from the conflicts of his mind, he sought an old roofless root-house in the centre of the wood, where he and Adela had often sat. “Well,” said he, as he flung himself upon the damp ground, “many a brave fellow has had a worse bed; but God particularly protects the unsheltered head of the soldier and the afflicted112.” The twittering of the birds roused him from an uneasy slumber, or rather lethargy, into which he had fallen; and starting up he hastened to the road, fearful, as day was beginning to dawn, of being seen by any of General Honeywood’s workmen. It was late ere he arrived at Enniskillen, and before he gained his room[Pg 108] he was met by some of the officers, who viewed him with evident astonishment113; his regimentals were quite spoiled; his fine hair, from which the rain had washed all the powder, hung dishevelled about his shoulders; the feather of his hat was broken, and the disorder72 of his countenance was not less suspicious than that of his dress; to their inquiries114 he stammered115 out something of a fall, and extricated116 himself with difficulty from them.
In an obscure village, fifteen miles from Enniskillen, a detachment of the regiment lay; the officer who commanded it disliked his situation extremely; but company being irksome to Oscar, it was just such a one as he desired, and he obtained leave to relieve him: the agitation of his mind, aided by the effects of the storm he had been exposed to, was too much for his constitution: immediately on arriving at his new quarters he was seized with a violent fever; an officer was obliged to be sent to do duty in his place, and it was long ere any symptoms appeared which could flatter those who attended him with hopes of his recovery; when able to sit up he was ordered to return to Enniskillen, where he could be immediately under the care of the regimental surgeon.
Oscar’s servant accompanied him in the carriage, and as it drove slowly along he was agreeably surprised by a view of Mrs. Marlowe’s orchard117; he could not resist the wish of seeing her, and making inquiries relative to the inhabitants of Woodlawn; for with Mrs. Marlowe, I should previously118 say, he had not only formed an intimacy, but a sincere friendship. She was a woman of the most pleasing manners, and to her superintending care Adela was indebted for many of the graces she possessed, and at her cottage passed many delightful119 hours with Oscar.
The evening was far advanced when Oscar reached the orchard, and leaning on his servant, slowly walked up the hill: had a spectre appeared before the old lady, she could not have seemed more shocked than she now did, at the unexpected and emaciated120 appearance of her young friend. With all the tenderness of a fond mother, she pressed his cold hands between her own, and seated him by the cheerful fire which blazed on her hearth121, then procured122 him refreshments123 that, joined to her conversation, a little revived his spirits; yet, at this moment the recollection of the first interview he ever had with her, recurred124 with pain to his heart. “Our friends at Woodlawn, I hope,” cried he—he paused—but his eye expressed the inquiry125 his tongue was unable to make. “They are well and happy,” re[Pg 109]plied Mrs. Marlowe; “and you know, I suppose, of all that has lately happened there?” “No, I know nothing; I am as one awoke from the slumbers126 of the grave.” “Ere I inform you, then,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “let me, my noble Oscar, express my approbation127, my admiration128 of your conduct, of that disinterested nature which preferred the preservation129 of constancy to the splendid independency offered to your acceptance.” “What splendid independency did I refuse?” asked Oscar, wildly staring at her. “That which the general offered.” “The general!” “Yes, and appointed Colonel Belgrave to declare his intentions.” “Oh Heavens!” exclaimed Oscar, starting from his chair; “did the general indeed form such intentions, and has Belgrave then deceived me? He told me my attentions to Miss Honeywood were noticed and disliked! he filled my soul with unutterable anguish130, and persuaded me to a false-hood which has plunged131 me into despair!” “He is a monster!” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “and you are a victim to his treachery.” “Oh no! I will fly to the general, and open my whole soul to him; at his feet I will declare the false ideas of honor which misled me; I shall obtain his forgiveness, and Adela will yet be mine.” “Alas! my child,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, stopping him as he was hurrying from the room, “it is now too late; Adela can never be yours; she is married, and married unto Belgrave.” Oscar staggered back a few paces, uttered a deep groan132, and fell senseless at her feet. Mrs. Marlowe’s cries brought in his servant, as well as her own, to his assistance; he was laid upon a bed, but it was long ere he showed any signs of recovery; at length, opening his heavy eyes, he sighed deeply, and exclaimed, “she is lost to me forever!”
The servants were dismissed, and the tender-hearted Mrs. Marlowe knelt beside him. “Oh! my friend,” said she, “my heart sympathizes in your sorrow; but it is from your own fortitude133, more than my sympathy, you must now derive134 resources of support.” “Oh, horrible! to know the cup of happiness was at my lips, and that it was my own hand dashed it from me.” “Such, alas!” said Mrs. Marlowe, sighing, as if touched at the moment with a similar pang of self-regret, “is the way-wardness of mortals; too often do they deprive themselves of the blessings of a bounteous Providence by their own folly135 and imprudence—oh! my friend, born as you were with a noble ingenuity136 of soul, never let that soul again be sullied by the smallest deviation from sincerity.” “Do not aggravate137 my sufferings,” said Oscar, “by dwelling138 on my error.” “No, I[Pg 110] would sooner die than be guilty of such barbarity; but admonition never sinks so deeply on the heart as in the hour of trial. Young, amiable as you are, life teems139, I doubt not, with various blessings to you—blessings which you will know how to value properly, for early disappointment is the nurse of wisdom.” “Alas!” exclaimed he, “what blessings?” “These, at least,” cried Mrs. Marlowe, “are in your own power—the peace, the happiness, which ever proceeds from a mind conscious of having discharged the incumbent140 duties of life, and patiently submitted to its trials.” “But do you think I will calmly submit to his baseness?” said Oscar, interrupting her. “No; Belgrave shall never triumph over me with impunity141!” He started from the bed, and, rushing into the outer room, snatched his sword from the table on which he had flung it at his entrance. Mrs. Marlowe caught his arm. “Rash young man!” exclaimed she, “whither would you go—is it to scatter142 ruin and desolation around you? Suppose your vengeance143 was gratified, would that restore your happiness? Think you that Adela, the child of virtue3 and propriety144, would ever notice the murderer of her husband, how unworthy, soever, that husband might be? Or that the old general, who so fondly planned your felicity, would forgive, if he could survive, the evils of his house, occasioned by you?” The sword dropped from the hand of the trembling Oscar. “I have been blameable,” cried he, “in allowing myself to be transported to such an effort of revenge; I forgot everything but that; and as to my own life, deprived of Adela, it appears so gloomy as to be scarcely worth preserving.”
Mrs. Marlowe seized this moment of yielding softness to advise and reason with him; her tears mingled145 with his, as she listened to his relation of Belgrave’s perfidy146; tears augmented147 by reflecting that Adela, the darling of her care and affections, was also a victim to it. She convinced Oscar, however, that it would be prudent23 to confine the fatal secret to their own breasts; the agitation of his mind was too much for the weak state of his health; the fever returned, and he felt unable to quit the cottage; Mrs. Marlowe prepared a bed for him, trusting he would soon be able to remove, but she was disappointed; it was long ere Oscar could quit the bed of sickness; she watched over him with maternal148 tenderness, while he, like a blasted flower, seemed hastening to decay.
The general was stung to the soul by the rejection149 of his offer, which he thought would have inspired the soul of Oscar with rapture150 and gratitude151; never had his pride been so se[Pg 111]verely wounded—never before had he felt humbled152 in his own eyes: his mortifying153 reflections the colonel soon found means to remove, by the most delicate flattery, and the most assiduous attention, assuring the general that his conduct merited not the censure154, but the applause of the world. The sophistry155 which can reconcile us to ourselves is truly pleasing; the colonel gradually became a favorite, and when he insinuated156 his attachment for Adela, was assured he should have all the general’s interest with her. He was now more anxious than ever to have her advantageously settled; there was something so humiliating in the idea of her being rejected, that it drove him at times almost to madness: the colonel possessed all the advantages of fortune; but these weighed little in his favor with the general (whose notions we have already proved very disinterested), and much less with his daughter; on the first overture157 about him she requested the subject might be entirely158 dropped; the mention of love was extremely painful to her. Wounded by her disappointment in the severest manner, her heart required time to heal it; her feelings delicacy159 confined to her own bosom; but her languid eyes, and faded cheeks, denoted their poignancy160. She avoided company, and was perpetually wandering through the romantic and solitary161 paths which she and Oscar had trod together; here more than ever she thought of him, and feared she had treated her poor companion unkindly; she saw him oppressed with sadness, and yet she had driven him from her by the repulsive162 coldness of her manner—a manner, too, which, from its being so suddenly assumed, could not fail of conveying an idea of her disappointment; this hurt her delicacy as much as her tenderness, and she would have given worlds, had she possessed them, to recall the time when she could have afforded consolation163 to Oscar, and convinced him that solely164 as a friend she regarded him. The colonel was not discouraged by her coldness; he was in the habit of conquering difficulties, and doubted not that he should overcome any she threw in his way; he sometimes, as if by chance, contrived165 to meet her in her rambles166; his conversation was always amusing, and confined within the limits she had prescribed; but his eyes, by the tenderest expression, declared the pain he suffered from this proscription167, and secretly pleased Adela, as it convinced her of the implicit168 deference169 he paid to her will.
Some weeks had elapsed since Oscar’s voluntary exile from Woodlawn, and sanguine170 as were the colonel’s hopes, he found without a stratagem they would not be realized, at least as[Pg 112] soon as he expected: fertile in invention, he was not long in concerting one. He followed Adela one morning into the garden, and found her reading in the arbor; she laid aside the book at his entrance, and they chatted for some time on indifferent subjects. The colonel’s servant at last appeared with a large packet of letters, which he presented to his master, who, with a hesitating air, was about putting them into his pocket, when Adela prevented him:—"Make no ceremony, colonel,” said she, “with me; I shall resume my book till you have perused171 your letters.” The colonel bowed for her permission and began; her attention was soon drawn172 from her book by the sudden emotion he betrayed; he started, and exclaimed, “Oh heavens! what a wretch!” then, as if suddenly recollecting173 his situation, looked at Adela, appeared confused, stammered out a few inarticulate words, and resumed his letter; when finished, he seemed to put it into his pocket, but in reality dropped it at his feet for the basest purpose. He ran over the remainder of the letters, and rising, entreated174 Adela to excuse his leaving her so abruptly175, to answer some of them. Soon after his departure, Adela perceived an open letter lying at her feet; she immediately took it up with an intention of returning to the house with it, when the sight of her own name, in capital letters, and in the well-known hand of Fitzalan, struck her sight; she threw the letter on the table; an universal tremor176 seized her; she would have given any consideration to know why she was mentioned in a correspondence between Belgrave and Fitzalan: her eye involuntarily glanced at the letter; she saw some words in it which excited still more strongly her curiosity; it could no longer be repressed; she snatched it up, and read as follows:—
TO COLONEL BELGRAVE.
You accuse me of insensibility to, what you call the matchless charms of Adela, an accusation177 I acknowledge I merit; but why, because I have been too susceptible178 to those of another, which in the fond estimation of a lover (at least), appear infinitely179 superior. The general’s offer was certainly a most generous and flattering one, and has gratified every feeling of my soul, by giving me an opportunity of sacrificing, at the shrine180 of love, ambition and self-interest; my disinterested conduct has confirmed me in the affections of my dear girl, whose vanity I cannot help thinking a little elevated by the triumph I have told her she obtained over Adela; but this is excusable indeed when we consider the object I relinquished181 for her. Would to heaven the general was propitious182 to your wishes; it would yield me much happiness to see you, my first and best friend, in possession of a treasure you have long sighed for. I shall, no doubt, receive a long lecture [Pg 113]from you for letting the affair relative to Adela be made known, but faith, I could not resist telling my charmer. Heaven grant discretion183 may seal her lips; if not, I suppose I shall be summoned to formidable combat with the old general. Adieu! and believe me,
Dear colonel, ever yours,
Oscar Fitzalan.
“Wretch!” cried the agitated Adela, dropping the letter (which it is scarcely necessary to say was an infamous184 forgery) in an agony of grief and indignation, “is this the base return we meet for our wishes to raise you to prosperity? Oh! cruel Fitzalan, is it Adela—who thought you so amiable, and who never thoroughly185 valued wealth, till she believed it had given her the power of conducing to your felicity—whom you hold up as an object of ridicule186 for unfeeling vanity to triumph over?” Wounded pride and tenderness raised a whirl of contending passions in her breast; she sunk upon the bench, her head rested on her hand, and sighs and tears burst from her. She now resolved to inform Fitzalan she knew the baseness of his conduct, and sting his heart with keen reproaches: now resolved to pass it over in silent contempt. While thus fluctuating, the colonel softly advanced and stood before her: in the tumult187 of her mind she had quite forgot the probability of his returning, and involuntarily screamed and started at his appearance. By her confusion, she doubted not but he would suspect her of having perused the fatal letter. Oppressed by the idea, her head sunk on her bosom, and her face was covered with blushes. “What a careless fellow I am!” said the colonel, taking up the letter, which he then pretended to perceive; he glanced at Adela. “Curse it!” continued he, “I would rather have had all the letters read than this one.” He suspects me, thought Adela; her blushes faded, and she fell back on her seat, unable to support the oppressive idea of having acted against the rules of propriety. Belgrave flew to support her: “Loveliest of women!” he exclaimed, and with all the softness he could assume, “what means this agitation?” “I have been suddenly affected188,” answered Adela, a little recovering, and, rising, she motioned to return to the house. “Thus,” answered the colonel, “you always fly me; but go, Miss Honeywood; I have no right, no attraction, indeed, to detain you: yet, be assured,” and he summoned a tear to his aid, while he pressed her hand to his bosom, “a heart more truly devoted to you than mine you can never meet; but I see the subject is painful, and again I resume the rigid189 silence you have imposed on me; go, then, most lovely and beloved, and since I dare not aspire[Pg 114] to a higher, allow me, at least, the title of your friend.” “Most willingly,” said Adela, penetrated190 by his gentleness. She was now tolerably recovered, and he prevailed on her to walk instead of returning to the house; she felt soothed191 by his attention; his insidious192 tongue dropped manna; he gradually stole her thoughts from painful recollections; the implicit respect he paid her will flattered her wounded pride, and her gratitude was excited by knowing he resented the disrespectful mention of her name in Fitzalan’s letter; in short, she felt esteem and respect for him—contempt and resentment193 for Oscar. The colonel was too penetrating194 not to discover her sentiments, and too artful not to take advantage of them. Had Adela, indeed, obeyed the real feelings of her heart, she would have declared against marrying; but pride urged her to a step which would prove to Fitzalan his conduct had not affected her. The general rejoiced at obtaining her consent, and received a promise that for some time she should not be separated from him. The most splendid preparations were made for the nuptials195; but though Adela’s resentment remained unabated, she soon began to wish she had not been so precipitate55 in obeying it; an involuntary repugnance196 rose in her mind against the connection she was about forming, and honor alone kept her from declining it forever: her beloved friend, Mrs. Marlowe, supported her throughout the trying occasion, and, in an inauspicious hour, Adela gave her hand to the perfidious Belgrave.
About a fortnight after her nuptials, she heard from some of the officers of Oscar’s illness; she blushed at his name. “Faith,” cried one of them, “Mrs. Marlowe is a charming woman; it is well he got into such snug197 quarters: I really believe elsewhere he would have given up the ghost.” “Poor fellow,” said Adela, sighing heavily, yet without being sensible of it. Belgrave rose, he caught her eye, a dark frown lowered on his brow, and he looked as if he would pierce into the recesses198 of her heart: she shuddered199, and for the first time, felt the tyranny she had imposed upon herself. As Mrs. Marlowe chose to be silent on the subject, she resolved not to mention it to her; but she sent every day to invite her to Woodlawn, expecting by this to hear something of Oscar; but she was disappointed. At the end of a fortnight, Mrs. Marlowe made her appearance; she looked pale and thin. Adela gently reproved her for her long absence, trusting this would oblige her to allege200 the reason of it; but no such thing. Mrs. Marlowe began to converse201 on indifferent subjects; Adela suddenly grew peevish202, and sullenly203 sat at her work.
[Pg 115] In a few days after Mrs. Marlowe’s visit, Adela, one evening immediately after dinner, ordered the carriage to the cottage; by this time she supposed Oscar had left it, and flattered herself, in the course of conversation, she should learn whether he was perfectly204 recovered ere he departed. Proposing to surprise her friend, she stole by a winding path to the cottage, and softly opened the parlor door; but what were her feelings, when she perceived Oscar sitting at the fireside with Mrs. Marlowe, engaged in a deep conversation! She stopped, unable to advance. Mrs. Marlowe embraced and led her forward. The emotions of Oscar were not inferior to Adela’s. He attempted to rise, but could not. A glance from the expressive205 eyes of Mrs. Marlowe, which seemed to conjure206 him not to yield to a weakness which would betray his real sentiments to Adela, somewhat reanimated him. He rose, and tremblingly approached her. “Allow me, madam,” cried he, “to——" The sentence died unfinished on his lips; he had not power to offer congratulations on an event which had probably destroyed the happiness of Adela, as well as his own. “Oh! a truce207 with compliments,” said Mrs. Marlowe, forcing herself to assume a cheerful air; “prithee, good folks, let us be seated, and enjoy, this cold evening, the comforts of a good fire.” She forced the trembling, the almost fainting, Adela to take some wine, and by degrees the flutter of her spirits and Oscar’s abated, but the sadness of their countenances208, the anguish of their souls, increased. The cold formality, the distant reserve they both assumed, filled each with sorrow and regret. So pale, so emaciated, so woe-begone did Fitzalan appear, so much the son of sorrow and despair, that had he half murdered Adela, she could not at that moment have felt for him any other sentiments than those of pity and compassion209. Mrs. Marlowe, in a laughing way, told her of the troubles she had had with him: “for which, I assure you,” said she, “he rewards me badly; for the moment he was enlarged from the nursery, he either forgot or neglected all the rules I had laid down for him. Pray do join your commands to mine, and charge him to take more care of himself.” “I would, most willingly,” cried Adela, “if I thought they would influence him to do so.” “Influence!” repeated Oscar, emphatically; “oh, heavens!” then starting up, he hurried to the window, as if to hide and to indulge his melancholy. The scene he viewed from it was dreary and desolate210. It was now the latter end of autumn; the evening was cold, a savage211 blast howled from the hills, and the sky was darkened by a coming storm. Mrs.[Pg 116] Marlowe roused him from his deep reverie. “I am sure,” said she, “the prospect212 you view from the window can have no great attractions at present.” “And yet,” cried he, “there is something sadly pleasing in it: the leafless trees, the fading flowers of autumn, excite in my bosom a kind of mournful sympathy; they are emblems213 to me of him whose tenderest hopes have been disappointed; but, unlike him, they, after a short period, shall again flourish with primeval beauty.” “Nonsense,” exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe; “your illness has affected your spirits; but this gloom will vanish long before my orchard reassumes its smiling appearance, and haply attracts another smart redcoat to visit an old woman.” “Oh! with what an enthusiasm of tenderness,” cried Oscar, “shall I ever remember the dear, though dangerous, moment I first entered this cottage!” “Now, no flattery, Oscar,” said Mrs. Marlowe; “I know your fickle214 sex too well to believe I have made a lasting215 impression; why, the very first fine old woman you meet at your ensuing quarters, will, I dare say, have similar praise bestowed216 on her.” “No,” replied he, with a languid smile; “I can assure you, solemnly, the impression which has been made on my heart will never be effaced217.” He stole a look at Adela; her head sunk upon her bosom, and her heart began to beat violently. Mrs. Marlowe wished to change the subject entirely; she felt the truest compassion for the unhappy young couple, and had fervently218 desired their union; but since irrevocably separated, she wished to check any intimation of a mutual attachment, which now could answer no purpose but that of increasing their misery. She rung for tea, and endeavored by her conversation to enliven the tea-table; the effort however, was not seconded. “You have often,” cried she, addressing Adela, as they again drew their chairs round the fire, “desired to hear the exact particulars of my life; unconquerable feelings of regret hitherto prevented my acquiescing219 in your desire; but, as nothing better now offers for passing away the hours, I will, if you please, relate them.” “You will oblige me by so doing,” cried Adela; “my curiosity, you know, has been long excited.”
点击收听单词发音
1 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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2 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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3 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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4 onward | |
adj.向前的,前进的;adv.向前,前进,在先 | |
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5 gape | |
v.张口,打呵欠,目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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6 gulf | |
n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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7 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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8 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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9 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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10 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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11 aspired | |
v.渴望,追求( aspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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13 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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14 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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15 reposed | |
v.将(手臂等)靠在某人(某物)上( repose的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 attachment | |
n.附属物,附件;依恋;依附 | |
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17 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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18 bind | |
vt.捆,包扎;装订;约束;使凝固;vi.变硬 | |
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19 galling | |
adj.难堪的,使烦恼的,使焦躁的 | |
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20 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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21 scrupulous | |
adj.审慎的,小心翼翼的,完全的,纯粹的 | |
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22 intimacy | |
n.熟悉,亲密,密切关系,亲昵的言行 | |
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23 prudent | |
adj.谨慎的,有远见的,精打细算的 | |
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24 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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25 vehemence | |
n.热切;激烈;愤怒 | |
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26 snare | |
n.陷阱,诱惑,圈套;(去除息肉或者肿瘤的)勒除器;响弦,小军鼓;vt.以陷阱捕获,诱惑 | |
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27 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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28 deviation | |
n.背离,偏离;偏差,偏向;离题 | |
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29 forfeiting | |
(因违反协议、犯规、受罚等)丧失,失去( forfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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30 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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31 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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32 bounteous | |
adj.丰富的 | |
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33 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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34 seduced | |
诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 ); 勾引; 诱使堕落; 使入迷 | |
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35 illicit | |
adj.非法的,禁止的,不正当的 | |
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36 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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37 allure | |
n.诱惑力,魅力;vt.诱惑,引诱,吸引 | |
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38 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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39 arbor | |
n.凉亭;树木 | |
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40 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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41 willow | |
n.柳树 | |
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42 bosom | |
n.胸,胸部;胸怀;内心;adj.亲密的 | |
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43 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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44 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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45 contemplated | |
adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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46 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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47 alas | |
int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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48 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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49 forsook | |
forsake的过去式 | |
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50 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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51 parlor | |
n.店铺,营业室;会客室,客厅 | |
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52 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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53 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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54 precipitately | |
adv.猛进地 | |
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55 precipitate | |
adj.突如其来的;vt.使突然发生;n.沉淀物 | |
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56 stratagem | |
n.诡计,计谋 | |
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57 fatality | |
n.不幸,灾祸,天命 | |
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58 proffered | |
v.提供,贡献,提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59 pageant | |
n.壮观的游行;露天历史剧 | |
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60 regiment | |
n.团,多数,管理;v.组织,编成团,统制 | |
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61 extolled | |
v.赞颂,赞扬,赞美( extol的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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63 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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64 amiable | |
adj.和蔼可亲的,友善的,亲切的 | |
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65 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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66 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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67 regain | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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68 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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69 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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70 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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72 disorder | |
n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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73 complaisant | |
adj.顺从的,讨好的 | |
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74 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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75 commotion | |
n.骚动,动乱 | |
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76 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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77 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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78 dependence | |
n.依靠,依赖;信任,信赖;隶属 | |
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79 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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80 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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81 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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82 tinged | |
v.(使)发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83 crimson | |
n./adj.深(绯)红色(的);vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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84 darted | |
v.投掷,投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 );向前冲,飞奔 | |
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85 woes | |
困境( woe的名词复数 ); 悲伤; 我好苦哇; 某人就要倒霉 | |
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86 benignly | |
adv.仁慈地,亲切地 | |
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87 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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88 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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89 haughtily | |
adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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90 plaintive | |
adj.可怜的,伤心的 | |
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91 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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92 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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93 grumbling | |
adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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94 stifled | |
(使)窒息, (使)窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 ); 镇压,遏制; 堵 | |
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95 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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96 gushed | |
v.喷,涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 );滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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97 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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98 fowling | |
捕鸟,打鸟 | |
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99 wrung | |
绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 ); 握紧(尤指别人的手); 把(湿衣服)拧干; 绞掉(水) | |
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100 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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101 margin | |
n.页边空白;差额;余地,余裕;边,边缘 | |
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102 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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103 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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104 torpid | |
adj.麻痹的,麻木的,迟钝的 | |
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105 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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106 sleet | |
n.雨雪;v.下雨雪,下冰雹 | |
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107 abated | |
减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 ); 减去; 降价; 撤消(诉讼) | |
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108 watery | |
adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的 | |
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109 lustre | |
n.光亮,光泽;荣誉 | |
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110 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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111 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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112 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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113 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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114 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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115 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 extricated | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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117 orchard | |
n.果园,果园里的全部果树,(美俚)棒球场 | |
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118 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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119 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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120 emaciated | |
adj.衰弱的,消瘦的 | |
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121 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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122 procured | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 );拉皮条 | |
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123 refreshments | |
n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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124 recurred | |
再发生,复发( recur的过去式和过去分词 ); 治愈 | |
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125 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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126 slumbers | |
睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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127 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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128 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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129 preservation | |
n.保护,维护,保存,保留,保持 | |
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130 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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131 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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132 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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133 fortitude | |
n.坚忍不拔;刚毅 | |
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134 derive | |
v.取得;导出;引申;来自;源自;出自 | |
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135 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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136 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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137 aggravate | |
vt.加重(剧),使恶化;激怒,使恼火 | |
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138 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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139 teems | |
v.充满( teem的第三人称单数 );到处都是;(指水、雨等)暴降;倾注 | |
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140 incumbent | |
adj.成为责任的,有义务的;现任的,在职的 | |
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141 impunity | |
n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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142 scatter | |
vt.撒,驱散,散开;散布/播;vi.分散,消散 | |
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143 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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144 propriety | |
n.正当行为;正当;适当 | |
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145 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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146 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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147 Augmented | |
adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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148 maternal | |
adj.母亲的,母亲般的,母系的,母方的 | |
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149 rejection | |
n.拒绝,被拒,抛弃,被弃 | |
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150 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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151 gratitude | |
adj.感激,感谢 | |
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152 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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153 mortifying | |
adj.抑制的,苦修的v.使受辱( mortify的现在分词 );伤害(人的感情);克制;抑制(肉体、情感等) | |
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154 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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155 sophistry | |
n.诡辩 | |
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156 insinuated | |
v.暗示( insinuate的过去式和过去分词 );巧妙或迂回地潜入;(使)缓慢进入;慢慢伸入 | |
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157 overture | |
n.前奏曲、序曲,提议,提案,初步交涉 | |
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158 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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159 delicacy | |
n.精致,细微,微妙,精良;美味,佳肴 | |
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160 poignancy | |
n.辛酸事,尖锐 | |
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161 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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162 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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163 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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164 solely | |
adv.仅仅,唯一地 | |
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165 contrived | |
adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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166 rambles | |
(无目的地)漫游( ramble的第三人称单数 ); (喻)漫谈; 扯淡; 长篇大论 | |
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167 proscription | |
n.禁止,剥夺权利 | |
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168 implicit | |
a.暗示的,含蓄的,不明晰的,绝对的 | |
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169 deference | |
n.尊重,顺从;敬意 | |
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170 sanguine | |
adj.充满希望的,乐观的,血红色的 | |
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171 perused | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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172 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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173 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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174 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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176 tremor | |
n.震动,颤动,战栗,兴奋,地震 | |
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177 accusation | |
n.控告,指责,谴责 | |
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178 susceptible | |
adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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179 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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180 shrine | |
n.圣地,神龛,庙;v.将...置于神龛内,把...奉为神圣 | |
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181 relinquished | |
交出,让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 ); 放弃 | |
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182 propitious | |
adj.吉利的;顺利的 | |
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183 discretion | |
n.谨慎;随意处理 | |
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184 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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185 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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186 ridicule | |
v.讥讽,挖苦;n.嘲弄 | |
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187 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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188 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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189 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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190 penetrated | |
adj. 击穿的,鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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191 soothed | |
v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 );抚慰;使舒服;减轻痛苦 | |
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192 insidious | |
adj.阴险的,隐匿的,暗中为害的,(疾病)不知不觉之间加剧 | |
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193 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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194 penetrating | |
adj.(声音)响亮的,尖锐的adj.(气味)刺激的adj.(思想)敏锐的,有洞察力的 | |
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195 nuptials | |
n.婚礼;婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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196 repugnance | |
n.嫌恶 | |
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197 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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198 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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199 shuddered | |
v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 );发抖;(机器、车辆等)突然震动;颤动 | |
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200 allege | |
vt.宣称,申述,主张,断言 | |
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201 converse | |
vi.谈话,谈天,闲聊;adv.相反的,相反 | |
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202 peevish | |
adj.易怒的,坏脾气的 | |
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203 sullenly | |
不高兴地,绷着脸,忧郁地 | |
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204 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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205 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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206 conjure | |
v.恳求,祈求;变魔术,变戏法 | |
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207 truce | |
n.休战,(争执,烦恼等的)缓和;v.以停战结束 | |
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208 countenances | |
n.面容( countenance的名词复数 );表情;镇静;道义支持 | |
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209 compassion | |
n.同情,怜悯 | |
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210 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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211 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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212 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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213 emblems | |
n.象征,标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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214 fickle | |
adj.(爱情或友谊上)易变的,不坚定的 | |
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215 lasting | |
adj.永久的,永恒的;vbl.持续,维持 | |
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216 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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217 effaced | |
v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 );抹去;超越;使黯然失色 | |
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218 fervently | |
adv.热烈地,热情地,强烈地 | |
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219 acquiescing | |
v.默认,默许( acquiesce的现在分词 ) | |
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