How shall it all be set right? For it must be, of course. A people that did not wait to be pushed off its seat by the Kaiser is not likely now to turn its face to the wall and die inertly1 of shortage of faith and general moral debility. Some day soon we shall have to cease squatting2 among the potsherds and crabbing3 each other, and give all the strength we have left to the job of regaining4 the old control of ourselves and our fate which, in the days of our health, could only be kept by putting forth5 constantly the whole force of the will. "Not to be done," you may say. And, of course, it will be a miracle. But only the everyday miracle done in somebody's body, or else in his soul. When the skin shines white and tight over the joints6, and the face is only a skull7 with some varieties of expression, and the very flame flickers8 and jumps in the lamp, the body will bend itself up to expel a disease that it could not, in all its first splendour of health, keep from the door. In all the breeds of cowardly livers—drunkards, thieves, liars9, sorners, drug-takers, all the kinds that have run from the enemy, throwing away as they ran every weapon that better men use to repel10 him—you will find some that turn in the end and rend11 with their bare hands the fiend that they could not face with their bow and their spear.
But these recoveries only come upon terms: no going back to heaven except through a certain purgatorial12 passage. There, while it lasts, the invalid13 must not expect to enjoy either the heady visions of the fever that is now taking its leave or the more temperate14 beatitude of the health that may presently come. He lies reduced to animal, almost vegetable, matter, quite joyless and unthrilled, and has to abide15 in numb16 passivity, like an unborn child's, whatever may come of the million minute molecular17 changes going on unseen in the enigmatic darkness of his tissues, where tiny cell is adding itself to tiny cell to build he knows not what. And then some day the real thing, the second birth as wonderful as the first, comes of itself and the stars are singing together all right and the sons of God shouting for joy. The same way with the spirit, except that the body faints, and so is eased, at some point in any rising scale of torment18: the spirit has to go on through the mill without such an?sthetics as fainting. So the man who has gone far off the rails in matters of conduct, and tries to get back to them, has such hells of patience to live through, and out of, as no liquid fire known to the war chemists could make for the flesh. To possess your soul in patience, with all the skin and some of the flesh burnt off your face and hands, is a job for a boy compared with the pains of a man who has lived pretty long in the exhilarating world that drugs or strong waters seem to create and is trying to live now in the first bald desolation created by knocking them off, the time in which
The dulled heart feels
That somewhere, sealed with hopeless seals,
The unmeaning heaven about him reels,
Beyond the roar of all the wheels
Of all the world.
And yet no other way out. Disease and imbecility and an early and ignoble21 death, or else that stoic22 facing, through interminable days, of an easily escapable dulness that may be anything from an ache up to an agony.
II
That is about where we stand as a nation. Of course, a few fortunates mailed in a happy, indefeasible genius of wonder and delight at everything round them are all right. And so are a few clods of whole-hog insensibility. Most of us, on the whole, find that effort is less fun than it was, and many things somewhat dull that used to sparkle with interest; the salt has lost, not all, but some of its savour; the grasshopper23 is a bit of a burden; old hobbies of politics, social causes, liberal comradeships, the loves and wars of letters and art, which used to excite, look at times as if they might only have been, at the best, rather a much ado about nothing; buzzing about our heads there come importunate24 suspicions that much of what we used to do so keenly was hardly worth doing, and that the dim, far goals we used to struggle towards were only possibly worth trying for and are, anyhow, out of reach now. That is the somewhat sick spirit's condition. The limp apathy25 that we see at elections, the curious indifference26 in presence of public wrongs and horrors, the epidemic27 of sneaking28 pilferage29, the slackening of sexual self-control—all these are symptomatic like the furred tongue, subnormal heat, and muddy eye.
Like the hard drinker next morning, we suffer a touch of Hamlet's complaint, the malady30 of the dyspeptic soul, of indolent kings and of pampered31 youth before it has found any man's work to try itself on—
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
To me are all the uses of the world!
Not the despair of the battered32, vanquished33, or oppressed, but the moping of the relaxed, the surfeited34, or the morbid35. Glad as we all were to be done with the war, its ends left even the strongest of us a little let down, as the ends of other long and intense excitements, good or bad, do. As Ibsen's young woman out in search of thrills would have said, there were harps36 in the air during the war. Many of them were disagreeable in their timbre37, but still they were harps. Since the war a good many of the weaker vessels38 have somehow failed to find harps in the air, though there are really plenty of them in full vibration39. So they have run about looking for little pick-me-ups and nips of something mildly exciting to keep up to par19 their sagging40 sense of the adventuresomeness of life. Derby sweeps never had such a vogue41; every kind of gamble has boomed; dealers42 in public entertainment have found that the rawest sensationalism pays better than ever—anything that will give a fillip, any poor new-whisky fillip, to jaded43 nerves.
III
Of course, life itself is all right. It never grows dull. All dullness is in the mind; it comes out thence and diffuses44 itself over everything round the dull person, and then he terms everything dull, and thinks himself the victim of the impact of dull things. In stupid rich people, in boys and girls deadeningly taught at dead-alive schools, in all disappointed weaklings and in declining nations, this loss of power to shed anything but dullness upon what one sees and hears is common enough. Second-rate academic people, Victorian official art, the French Second Empire drama, late Latin literature exhibit its ravages45 well. In healthy children, in men and women of high mental vitality46, in places where any of the radio-activity of gifted teaching breaks out for a while, and in swiftly and worthily47 rising nations the mind is easily delighted and absorbed by almost any atom of ordinary experience and its relation to the rest. The wonder and beauty and humour of life go on just the same as ever whether Spain or Holland or Italy feel them or miss them; youth would somewhere hear the chimes at midnight with the stir they made in Shakespeare's wits although all England were peopled for ages with dullards whose pastors48 and masters had trained them to find the divine Falstaffiad as dull as a thaw49.
It need not come to that. Sick as we are, we have still in reserve the last resource of the sick, that saving miracle of recuperative force with which I have bored you. To let the sick part of our soul just be still and recover; to make our alcoholized tissues just do their work long enough on plain water—that, if we can but do it, is all the sweeping50 and garnishing51 needed to make us possible dwelling-places again for the vitalizing spirit of sane52 delight in whatever adventure befalls us. How, then, to do it? Not, I fancy, by any kind of pow-wow or palaver53 of congress, conference, general committee, sub-committee, or other expedient54 for talking in company instead of working alone. This is an individual's job, and a somewhat lonely one, though a nation has to be saved by it. To get down to work, whoever else idles; to tell no lies, whoever else may thrive on their uses; to keep fit, and the beast in you down; to help any who need it; to take less from your world than you give it; to go without the old drams to the nerves—the hero stunt55, the sob56 story, all the darling liqueurs of war emotionalism, war vanity, war spite, war rant57 and cant58 of every kind; and to do it all, not in a sentimental59 mood of self-pity like some actor mounting in an empty theatre and thinking what treasures the absent audience has lost, but like a man on a sheep-farm in the mountains, as much alone and at peace with his work of maintaining the world as God was when he made it.
You remember the little French towns which the pestle60 and mortar61 of war had so ground into dust, red and white, that each separate brick went back at last, dust to dust, to mix with the earth from which it had come. The very clay of them has to be put into moulds and fired again. To some such remaking of bricks, some shaping and hardening anew of the most elementary, plainest units of rightness in action, we have to get back. Humdrum62 decencies, patiently practised through millions of undistinguished lives, were the myriad63 bricks out of which all the advanced architecture of conduct was built—the solemn temples of creeds64, gorgeous palaces of romantic heroism65, cloud-capped towers of patriotic66 exaltation. And now, just when there seems to be such a babble67 as never before about these grandiose68 structures, bricks have run short.
Something simple, minute, and obscure, wholly good and not pulled up at all, something almost atomic—a grain of wheat, a thread of wool, a crystal of clean salt, figures best the kind of human excellence69 of which our world has now most need. We would seem to have plunged70 on too fast and too far, like boys who have taken to spouting71 six-syllabled words until they forget what they had learnt of the alphabet. The moral beauty of perfect contrition72 is preached to a beaten enemy by our Press while the vitals of England are rotting with unprecedented73 growths of venereal disease: an England of boundlessly74 advertised heroes and saints has ousted75 the England in which you would never, wherever you travelled, be given wrong change on a bus.
The wise man saved his little city, "yet no man remembered that same poor man," and no one had better take to this way of saving England if what he wants is public distinction. It will be a career as undistinguished as that of one of the extra corpuscles formed in the blood to enable a lowland man to live on Himalayan heights. Our best friends for a long time to come will not be any of the standing76 cynosures of reporters' eyes; they will find a part of their satisfaction in being nobodies; assured of the truth of the saying that there is no limit to what a man can do so long as he does not care a straw who gets the credit for it. Working apart from the whole overblown world of war valuations, the scramble77 for honours earned and unearned, the plotting and jostling for front places on the stage and larger letters on the bill, the whole life that is commonly held up to admiration78 as great and enviable, they will live in a kind of retreat almost cloistral79; plenty of work for the faculties80, plenty of rest for the nerves, control for desire and atrophy81 for conceit82. Hard?—yes, but England is worth it.
IV
Among the mind's powers is one that comes of itself to many children and artists. It need not be lost, to the end of his days, by anyone who has ever had it. This is the power of taking delight in a thing, or rather in anything, everything, not as a means to some other end, but just because it is what it is, as the lover dotes on whatever may be the traits of the beloved object. A child in the full health of his mind will put his hand flat on the summer turf, feel it, and give a little shiver of private glee at the elastic83 firmness of the globe. He is not thinking how well it will do for some game or to feed sheep upon. That would be the way of the wooer whose mind runs on his mistress's money. The child's is sheer affection, the true ecstatic sense of the thing's inherent characteristics. No matter what the things may be, no matter what they are good or no good for, there they are, each with a thrilling unique look and feel of its own, like a face; the iron astringently84 cool under its paint, the painted wood familiarly warmer, the clod crumbling85 enchantingly down in the hands, with its little dry smell of the sun and of hot nettles86; each common thing a personality marked by delicious differences.
This joy of an Adam new to the garden and just looking round is brought by the normal child to the things that he does as well as those that he sees. To be suffered to do some plain work with the real spade used by mankind can give him a mystical exaltation: to come home with his legs, as the French say, re-entering his body from the fatigue87 of helping88 the gardener to weed beds sends him to sleep in the glow of a beatitude that is an end in itself. Then the paradoxes89 of conduct begin to twinkle into sight; sugar is good, but there is a time to refrain from taking it though you can; a lie will easily get you out of a scrape, and yet, strangely and beautifully, rapture90 possesses you when you have taken the scrape and left out the lie. Divine unreason, as little scrutable and yet as surely a friend as the star that hangs a lamp out from the Pole to show you the way across gorse-covered commons in Surrey. So he will toe the line of a duty, not with a mere91 release from dismay, but exultantly92, with the fire and lifting of heart of the strong man and the bridegroom, feeling always the same secret and almost sensuous93 transport, while he suppresses a base impulse, that he felt when he pressed the warm turf with his hand or the crumbling clay trickled94 warm between his fingers.
The right education, if we could find it, would work up this creative faculty95 of delight into all its branching possibilities of knowledge, wisdom, and nobility. Of all three it is the beginning, condition, or raw material. At present it almost seems to be the aim of the commonplace teacher to take it firmly away from any pupil so blessed as to possess it. How we all know the kind of public school master whose manner expresses breezy comradeship with the boys in facing jointly96 the boredom97 of admittedly beastly but still unavoidable lessons! And the assumption that life out of school is too dull to be faced without the aid of infinitely98 elaborated games! And the girl schools where it seems to be feared that evil must come in any space of free time in which neither a game nor a dance nor a concert nor a lecture with a lantern intervenes to rescue the girls from the presumed tedium99 of mere youth and health! Everywhere the assumption that simple things have failed; that anything like hardy100 mental living and looking about for oneself, to find interests, is destined101 to end ill; that the only hope is to keep up the full dose of drugs, to be always pulling and pushing, prompting and coaxing102 and tickling103 the youthful mind into condescending104 to be interested. You know the effects: the adolescent whose mind seems to drop when taken out of the school shafts105, or at least to look round, utterly106 at a loss, with a plaintive107 appeal for a suggestion of something to do, some excitement to come, something to make it worth while to be alive on this dull earth. We saw the effects in our hapless brain work in the war.
But if we were to wait to save England till thousands of men and women brought up in this way see what they have lost and insist on a better fate for their children we might as well write England off as one with Tyre and Sidon already. Her case is too pressing. She cannot wait for big, slowly telling improvements in big institutions, although improvements must come. She has to be saved by a change in the individual temper. We each have to fall back, with a will, on the only way of life in which the sane simplicity108 of joy in plain things and in common rightness of action can be generated. Health of mind or body comes of doing wholesome109 things—perhaps for a long time without joy in doing them, as the sick man lies chafing110, eating the slops that are all he is fit for, or as the dipsomaniac drinks in weariness and depression the insipid111 water that is to save him. Then, on some great day, self-control may cease to be merely the sum of many dreary112 acts of abstention; it may take life again as an inspiriting force, both a warmth and a light, such as makes nations great.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
inertly
|
|
| adv.不活泼地，无生气地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
2
squatting
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
crabbing
|
|
| v.捕蟹( crab的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
regaining
|
|
| 复得( regain的现在分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
joints
|
|
| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
skull
|
|
| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
flickers
|
|
| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
liars
|
|
| 说谎者( liar的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
repel
|
|
| v.击退，抵制，拒绝，排斥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
rend
|
|
| vt.把…撕开，割裂；把…揪下来，强行夺取 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
purgatorial
|
|
| adj.炼狱的，涤罪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
invalid
|
|
| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
temperate
|
|
| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
abide
|
|
| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
numb
|
|
| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
molecular
|
|
| adj.分子的；克分子的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
hurled
|
|
| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
ignoble
|
|
| adj.不光彩的，卑鄙的；可耻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
stoic
|
|
| n.坚忍克己之人，禁欲主义者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
grasshopper
|
|
| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
importunate
|
|
| adj.强求的；纠缠不休的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
apathy
|
|
| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
epidemic
|
|
| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
sneaking
|
|
| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
pilferage
|
|
| n.行窃，偷盗；v.偷窃 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
pampered
|
|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
battered
|
|
| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
vanquished
|
|
| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
surfeited
|
|
| v.吃得过多( surfeit的过去式和过去分词 )；由于过量而厌腻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
morbid
|
|
| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
harps
|
|
| abbr.harpsichord 拨弦古钢琴n.竖琴( harp的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
timbre
|
|
| n.音色，音质 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
vessels
|
|
| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
vibration
|
|
| n.颤动，振动；摆动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
sagging
|
|
| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
Vogue
|
|
| n.时髦，时尚；adj.流行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
dealers
|
|
| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
jaded
|
|
| adj.精疲力竭的；厌倦的；（因过饱或过多而）腻烦的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
diffuses
|
|
| （使光）模糊，漫射，漫散( diffuse的第三人称单数 )； （使）扩散； （使）弥漫； （使）传播 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
ravages
|
|
| 劫掠后的残迹，破坏的结果，毁坏后的残迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
vitality
|
|
| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
worthily
|
|
| 重要地，可敬地，正当地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
pastors
|
|
| n.（基督教的）牧师( pastor的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
thaw
|
|
| v.（使）融化，（使）变得友善；n.融化，缓和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
sweeping
|
|
| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
garnishing
|
|
| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
palaver
|
|
| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
expedient
|
|
| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
stunt
|
|
| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
sob
|
|
| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
rant
|
|
| v.咆哮；怒吼；n.大话；粗野的话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
cant
|
|
| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
pestle
|
|
| n.杵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
mortar
|
|
| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
humdrum
|
|
| adj.单调的，乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
myriad
|
|
| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
creeds
|
|
| （尤指宗教）信条，教条( creed的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
heroism
|
|
| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
patriotic
|
|
| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
babble
|
|
| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
grandiose
|
|
| adj.宏伟的，宏大的，堂皇的，铺张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
plunged
|
|
| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
spouting
|
|
| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
contrition
|
|
| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
unprecedented
|
|
| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
boundlessly
|
|
| adv.无穷地，无限地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
75
ousted
|
|
| 驱逐( oust的过去式和过去分词 )； 革职； 罢黜； 剥夺 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
scramble
|
|
| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
cloistral
|
|
| adj.修道院的，隐居的，孤独的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
faculties
|
|
| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
atrophy
|
|
| n./v.萎缩，虚脱，衰退 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
conceit
|
|
| n.自负，自高自大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
elastic
|
|
| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
astringently
|
|
| adv.收敛性地，压缩地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
85
crumbling
|
|
| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
nettles
|
|
| n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
helping
|
|
| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
paradoxes
|
|
| n.似非而是的隽语，看似矛盾而实际却可能正确的说法( paradox的名词复数 )；用于语言文学中的上述隽语；有矛盾特点的人[事物，情况] | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
exultantly
|
|
| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
sensuous
|
|
| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
trickled
|
|
| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
faculty
|
|
| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
jointly
|
|
| ad.联合地，共同地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
boredom
|
|
| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
tedium
|
|
| n.单调；烦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
hardy
|
|
| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
destined
|
|
| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
coaxing
|
|
| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
tickling
|
|
| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
condescending
|
|
| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
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） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
plaintive
|
|
| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
simplicity
|
|
| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
wholesome
|
|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
chafing
|
|
| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
111
insipid
|
|
| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
112
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |