Slow through the church-way path I saw him borne.”
It will now be necessary to account for the sudden appearance of Lord Mortimer at the convent. Our reader may recollect2 that we left him in London, in the deepest affliction for the supposed perfidy3 of Amanda—an affliction which knew no diminution4 from time; neither the tenderness of his aunt, Lady Martha Dormer, nor the kind consideration his father showed for him, who, for the present, ceased to importune5 him about Lady Euphrasia, could have any lenient6 effect upon him—he pined in thought, and felt a distaste to all society. He at last began to think, that though Amanda had been unhappily led astray, she might, ere this, have repented7 of her error, and forsaken8 Colonel Belgrave. To know whether she had done so, or whether she could be prevailed upon to give him up, he believed, would be an alleviation9 of his sorrows. No sooner had he persuaded himself of this, than he determined10 on going to Ireland, without delay, to visit Captain Fitzalan, and, if she was not returned to his protection, advise with him about some method of restoring her to it.
He told Lord Cherbury he thought an excursion into[Pg 328] Wales would be of service to him. His lordship agreed in thinking it might, and, secretly delighted that all danger relative to Amanda was over, gladly concurred12 in whatever could please his son, flattering himself that, on his return to London, he would no lodger13 raise any objections to an alliance with the fair Scotch14 heiress.
Lord Mortimer travelled with as much expedition to Holyhead as if certain that perfect happiness, not a small alleviation of misery15, would be the recompense of his journey. He concealed16 from his aunt the real motives17 which actuated him to it, blushing, even to himself, at the weakness which he still felt relative to Amanda. When he crossed the water he again set off post, attended on horseback only by his own man. Within one mile of Castle Carberry he met the little mournful procession approaching, which was attending poor Fitzalan to his last home. The carriage stopped to let them pass, and in the last of the group he perceived Johnaten, who, at the same moment, recognized him. Johnaten, with much surprise in his countenance18, stepped up to the carriage, and, after bowing, and humbly19 hoping his lordship was well, with a melancholy20 shake of his head informed him whose remains21 he was following.
“Captain Fitzalan dead!” repeated Lord Mortimer, with a face as pale as death, and a faltering22 voice, while his heart sunk within him at the idea that his father was, in some degree, accessory to the fatal event; for, just before he left London, Lord Cherbury had informed him of the letter he wrote to Fitzalan, and this, he believed, joined to his own immediate23 family misfortunes, had precipitated24 him from the world. “Captain Fitzalan dead!” he exclaimed. “Yes, and please you, my lord,” said Johnaten, wiping away a tear, “and he has not left a better or a braver man behind him. Poor gentleman, the world pressed hard upon him.” “Had he no tender friend about him?” asked Lord Mortimer. “Were neither of his children with him?” “Oh! yes my lord, poor Miss Amanda.” “She was with him!” said Lord Mortimer, in an eager accent. “Yes, my lord, she returned here about ten days ago, but so sadly altered, I think she won’t stay long behind him. Poor thing, she is going fast, indeed, and the more’s the pity, for she is a sweet creature.”
Lord Mortimer was inexpressibly shocked. He wished to hide his emotions, and waved his hand to Johnaten to depart; but Johnaten either did not, or would not, understand the motion, and he was obliged, in broken accents, to say, “he would no longer detain him.”
[Pg 329] The return of Amanda was to him a conviction that she had seen her error in its true light. He pictured to himself the affecting scene which must have ensued between a dying father and a penitent25 daughter, so loved, so valued, as was Amanda; her situation, when she received his forgiveness and benediction26; he represented her to himself as at once bewailing the loss of her father, and her offences, endeavoring, by prayers, by tears, by sighs, to obliterate27 them in the sight of Heaven, and render herself fit to receive its awful fiat28.
He heard she was dying; his soul recoiled29 at the idea of seeing her shrouded30 in her native clay, and yet he could not help believing this the only peaceful asylum31 she could find, to be freed from the shafts32 of contempt and malice33 of the world. He trembled lest he should not behold34 the lovely penitent while she was capable of observing him; to receive a last adieu, though dreadful, would yet, he thought, lighten the horrors of an eternal separation, and perhaps, too, it would be some comfort to her departing spirit to know from him he had pardoned her; and conscious, surely, he thought to himself, she must be of needing pardon from him, whom she had so long imposed on by a specious35 pretext36 of virtue37. He had heard from Lord Cherbury that Captain Fitzalan had quitted the castle; he knew not, therefore, at present, where to find Amanda, nor did he choose to make any inquiries38 till he again saw Johnaten.
As soon as the procession was out of sight, he alighted from the carriage, and ordering his man to discharge it, on arriving at Castle Carberry, he took a path across the fields, which brought him to the side of the church-yard where Fitzalan was to be interred39.
He reached it just as the coffin40 was lowering into the earth. A yew-tree, growing by the wall against which he leaned, hid him from observation. He heard many of the rustics41 mentioning the merits of the deceased in terms of warm, though artless, commendation, and he saw Johnaten receiving the hat and sword (which, as military trophies42, he had laid upon the coffin), with a flood of tears.
When the church-yard was cleared, he stepped across the broken wall to the silent mansion43 of Fitzalan. The scene was wild and dreary44, and a lowering evening seemed in unison45 with the sad objects around. Lord Mortimer was sunk in the deepest despondence. He felt awfully46 convinced of the instability of human attainments47, and the vanity of human pursuits, not only from the ceremony he had just witnessed, but his own[Pg 330] situation. The fond hopes of his heart, the gay expectations of his youth, and the hilarity48 of his soul, were blasted, never, he feared, to revive. Virtue, rank, and fortune, advantages so highly prized by mankind, were unable to give him comfort, to remove the malady49 of his heart, to administer one oblivious50 antidote51 to a mind diseased.
“Peace to thy shade, thou unfortunate soldier,” exclaimed he, after standing52 some time by the grave with folded arms. “Peace to thy shade—peace which shall reward thee for a life of toil53 and trouble. Happy should I have deemed myself, had it been my lot to have lightened thy grief, or cheered thy closing hours. But those who were dearer to thee than existence I may yet serve, and thus make the only atonement now in my power for the injustice54, I fear, was done thee. Thy Amanda, and thy gallant55 son, shall be my care, and his path, I trust, it will be in my power to smooth through life.”
A tear fell from Lord Mortimer upon the grave, and he turned mournfully from it towards Castle Carberry. Here Johnaten was arrived before him, and had already a large fire lighted in the dressing-room poor Amanda, on coming to the castle, had chosen for herself. Johnaten fixed56 on this for Lord Mortimer, as the parlors57 had been shut up ever since Captain Fitzalan’s departure, and could not be put in any order till the next day; but it was the worst place Lord Mortimer could have entered, as not only itself but everything in it reminded him of Amanda; and the grief it excited at his first entrance was so violent as to alarm not only his man (who was spreading a table with refreshments), but Johnaten, who was assisting him. He soon checked it, however; but when he again looked round the room, and beheld59 it ornamented60 with works done by Amanda, he could scarcely prevent another burst of grief as violent as the first.
He now learned Amanda’s residence; and so great was his impatience61 to see her that, apprehensive62 the convent would soon be closed, he set off, fatigued63 as he was, without recruiting himself with any refreshment58. He intended to ask for one of the ladies of St. Catherine’s, and entreat64 her, if Amanda was then in a situation to be seen, to announce his arrival to her; but after rapping repeatedly with a rattan65 against the door, the only person who appeared to him was a servant girl. From her he learned the ladies were all in the chapel66, and that Miss Fitzalan was in the prioress’s apartment. He asked, “Was she too ill to be seen?” The girl replied, “No"—for having only entered the room to leave the kettle in it, at a[Pg 331] time when Amanda was composed, she imagined she was very well. Lord Mortimer then told her his name, and desired her to go up to Miss Fitzalan and inquire whether she would see him. The girl attempted not to move. She was in reality so struck of a heap by hearing that she had been talking to a lord, that she knew not whether she was standing on her head or her heels. Lord Mortimer imputing67 her silence to disinclination to comply with his request, put a guinea into her hand, and entreated68 her to be expeditious69. This restored her to animation70, but ere she reached the room she forgot his title, and being ashamed to deliver a blundering message to Miss Fitzalan, or to appear stupid to Lord Mortimer, she returned to him, pretending she had delivered his message, and that he might go up. She showed him the door, and when he entered he imputed71 the silence of Amanda, and her not moving, to the effects of her grief. He advanced to the couch, and was not a little shocked on seeing her eyes closed—concluding from this that she had fainted, but her easy respiration72 soon convinced him that this was a mistake, and he immediately concluded that the girl had deceived him. He leaned over her till she began to stir, and then retreated behind her, lest his presence, on her first awaking, should alarm her.
What took place in the interview between them has already been related. Notwithstanding appearances were so much against her, and no explanation had ensued relative to them, from the moment she asserted her innocence73 with solemnity he could no longer doubt it; and yielding at once to its conviction, to his love, to his pity for her, he again renewed his overtures74 for a union. Hearing of the stratagems75 laid for her destruction, the dangers she had escaped, the distresses76 she had experienced, made him more anxious than ever for completing it, that by his constant protection he might secure her from similar trials, and by his tenderness and care restore her to health, peace, and happiness. He longed for the period of her triumphing over the perfidious78 marchioness, and the detestable Lady Euphrasia, by being raised to that station they had so long attempted to prevent her attaining79, and thus proving to them that virtue, sooner or later, will counteract80 the designs of vice11. He felt a degree of rapture81 at the idea of his being no longer obliged to regret the ardent82, the unabated affection he felt for her. His transports were somewhat checked when she solemnly declared a union between them impossible, and forbade his seeing her again. He was piqued83 by the steadiness with which she repeated this resolution, but her present[Pg 332] weak state prevented his betraying any resentment84, and he flattered himself he would be able to conquer her obstinacy85. He could not now, indeed, despair of any event after the unexpected restoration of Amanda to his esteem86, and the revival87 of those hopes of felicity, which in the certainty of having lost her had faded away. He returned, as Johnaten said, an altered man, to the castle. He no longer experienced horror at entering the dressing-room which displayed so many vestiges88 of his Amanda’s taste.
He resolved on an immediate union as the surest proof he could give her of his perfect confidence in her sincerity89, not allowing himself to suppose she would continue firm in the resolution she had recently avowed91 to him. He then intended setting off for London, and sparing neither time, trouble nor expense, to obtain from the inferior agents in the plot laid against her, a full avowal92 of the part they had themselves acted in it, and all they knew relative to those performed by others. This was not designed for his own satisfaction. He wanted no confirmation93 of what Amanda asserted, as his proposal to marry her immediately demonstrated; it was to cover with confusion those who had meditated94 her destruction, and add to the horrors they would experience when they found her emerging from obscurity—not as Miss Fitzalan, but as Lady Mortimer. Such proofs of her innocence would also prevent malice from saying he was the dupe of art, and he was convinced, for both their sakes, it was requisite95 to procure96 them. He would then avow90 his marriage, return for his wife, introduce her to his friends, and, if his father kept up any resentment against them longer than he expected, he knew in Lady Martha Dormer’s house, and at Tudor Hall, he would find not only an eligible97, but pleasant residence. Those delightful98 schemes kept him awake half the night, and when he fell asleep it was only to dream of happiness and Amanda.
In the morning, notwithstanding the prohibition99 he had received to the contrary, he went to inquire how she was, and to try and see her. The girl who had answered his repeated knocks the preceding evening, appeared, and told him Miss Fitzalan was very bad. He began to think that this must be a pretext to avoid seeing him, and to come at the truth was slipping a bribe100 into her hand, when Sister Mary, who had been watching them from an adjoining room, appeared, and stopped this measure. She repeated what the girl had just said, and, in addition to it, declared that even if Miss Fitzalan was up she would not see him, and that he must come no more to St.[Pg 333] Catherine’s, as both Miss Fitzalan and the prioress would resent such conduct exceedingly; and that, if he wanted to inquire after the health of the former, he might easily send a servant, and it would be much better done than to come frisking over there every moment.
Lord Mortimer was seriously displeased101 with this unceremonious speech. “So, I suppose,” cried he, “you want to make a real nun102 of Miss Fitzalan, and to keep her from all conversation.” “And a happy creature she would be were she to become one of us,” replied Sister Mary; “and as to keeping her from conversation, she might have as much as she pleased with any one. Indeed, I believe the poor thing likes you well enough; the more’s her misfortune for doing so.” “I thank you, madam,” cried Lord Mortimer; “I suppose it one of your vows103 to speak truth; if so, I must acknowledge you keep it religiously.” “I have just heard her,” proceeded Sister Mary, without minding what he had said, “tell the prioress a long story about you and herself, by which I find it was her father’s desire she should have nothing more to say to you, and I dare say the poor gentleman had good reasons for doing so. I beg, my lord, you will come no more here, and, indeed, I think it was a shame for you to give money to the simpleton who answered you. Why, it is enough to turn the girl’s head, and set her mad after one fal-lal or other.”
Lord Mortimer could not depart without an effort to win Sister Mary over to his favor, and engage her to try and persuade Miss Fitzalan to permit his visits, but she was inflexible104; he then entreated to know if Amanda was so ill as to be unable to rise. She assured him she was, and, as some little consolation105 to the distress77 she perceived this assurance gave him, said he might send when he pleased to inquire after her health, and she would take care to answer the messenger herself.
Lord Mortimer began now to be seriously alarmed lest Captain Fitzalan had prevailed on his daughter to make a solemn renunciation of him. If this was the case, he knew nothing could prevail on her to break her promise. He was half distracted with doubt and anxiety, which were scarcely supportable, when he reflected that they could not for some time be satisfied, since, even if he wrote to her for that purpose, she could not at present be able to answer his letter; again he felt convinced of the instability of earthly happiness, and the close connection there has ever been between pleasure and pain.
点击收听单词发音
1 dirges | |
n.挽歌( dirge的名词复数 );忧伤的歌,哀歌 | |
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2 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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3 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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4 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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5 importune | |
v.强求;不断请求 | |
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6 lenient | |
adj.宽大的,仁慈的 | |
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7 repented | |
对(自己的所为)感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 Forsaken | |
adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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9 alleviation | |
n. 减轻,缓和,解痛物 | |
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10 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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11 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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12 concurred | |
同意(concur的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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13 lodger | |
n.寄宿人,房客 | |
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14 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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15 misery | |
n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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16 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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17 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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18 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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19 humbly | |
adv. 恭顺地,谦卑地 | |
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20 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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21 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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22 faltering | |
犹豫的,支吾的,蹒跚的 | |
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23 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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24 precipitated | |
v.(突如其来地)使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 );促成;猛然摔下;使沉淀 | |
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25 penitent | |
adj.后悔的;n.后悔者;忏悔者 | |
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26 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
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27 obliterate | |
v.擦去,涂抹,去掉...痕迹,消失,除去 | |
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28 fiat | |
n.命令,法令,批准;vt.批准,颁布 | |
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29 recoiled | |
v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 );退缩;报应;返回 | |
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30 shrouded | |
v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 );保密 | |
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31 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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32 shafts | |
n.轴( shaft的名词复数 );(箭、高尔夫球棒等的)杆;通风井;一阵(疼痛、害怕等) | |
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33 malice | |
n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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34 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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35 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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36 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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37 virtue | |
n.德行,美德;贞操;优点;功效,效力 | |
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38 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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39 interred | |
v.埋,葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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41 rustics | |
n.有农村或村民特色的( rustic的名词复数 );粗野的;不雅的;用粗糙的木材或树枝制作的 | |
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42 trophies | |
n.(为竞赛获胜者颁发的)奖品( trophy的名词复数 );奖杯;(尤指狩猎或战争中获得的)纪念品;(用于比赛或赛跑名称)奖 | |
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43 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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44 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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45 unison | |
n.步调一致,行动一致 | |
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46 awfully | |
adv.可怕地,非常地,极端地 | |
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47 attainments | |
成就,造诣; 获得( attainment的名词复数 ); 达到; 造诣; 成就 | |
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48 hilarity | |
n.欢乐;热闹 | |
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49 malady | |
n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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50 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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51 antidote | |
n.解毒药,解毒剂 | |
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52 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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53 toil | |
vi.辛劳工作,艰难地行动;n.苦工,难事 | |
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54 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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55 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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56 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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57 parlors | |
客厅( parlor的名词复数 ); 起居室; (旅馆中的)休息室; (通常用来构成合成词)店 | |
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58 refreshment | |
n.恢复,精神爽快,提神之事物;(复数)refreshments:点心,茶点 | |
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59 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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60 ornamented | |
adj.花式字体的v.装饰,点缀,美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 impatience | |
n.不耐烦,急躁 | |
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62 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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63 fatigued | |
adj. 疲乏的 | |
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64 entreat | |
v.恳求,恳请 | |
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65 rattan | |
n.藤条,藤杖 | |
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66 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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67 imputing | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的现在分词 ) | |
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68 entreated | |
恳求,乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69 expeditious | |
adj.迅速的,敏捷的 | |
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70 animation | |
n.活泼,兴奋,卡通片/动画片的制作 | |
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71 imputed | |
v.把(错误等)归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 respiration | |
n.呼吸作用;一次呼吸;植物光合作用 | |
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73 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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74 overtures | |
n.主动的表示,提议;(向某人做出的)友好表示、姿态或提议( overture的名词复数 );(歌剧、芭蕾舞、音乐剧等的)序曲,前奏曲 | |
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75 stratagems | |
n.诡计,计谋( stratagem的名词复数 );花招 | |
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76 distresses | |
n.悲痛( distress的名词复数 );痛苦;贫困;危险 | |
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77 distress | |
n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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78 perfidious | |
adj.不忠的,背信弃义的 | |
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79 attaining | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的现在分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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80 counteract | |
vt.对…起反作用,对抗,抵消 | |
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81 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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82 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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83 piqued | |
v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 );激起(好奇心) | |
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84 resentment | |
n.怨愤,忿恨 | |
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85 obstinacy | |
n.顽固;(病痛等)难治 | |
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86 esteem | |
n.尊敬,尊重;vt.尊重,敬重;把…看作 | |
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87 revival | |
n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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88 vestiges | |
残余部分( vestige的名词复数 ); 遗迹; 痕迹; 毫不 | |
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89 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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90 avow | |
v.承认,公开宣称 | |
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91 avowed | |
adj.公开声明的,承认的v.公开声明,承认( avow的过去式和过去分词) | |
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92 avowal | |
n.公开宣称,坦白承认 | |
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93 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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94 meditated | |
深思,沉思,冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 ); 内心策划,考虑 | |
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95 requisite | |
adj.需要的,必不可少的;n.必需品 | |
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96 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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97 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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98 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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99 prohibition | |
n.禁止;禁令,禁律 | |
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100 bribe | |
n.贿赂;v.向…行贿,买通 | |
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101 displeased | |
a.不快的 | |
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102 nun | |
n.修女,尼姑 | |
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103 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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104 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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105 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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