From such a gallery did Tommy Burgrave, one November afternoon, look down into the studio of Clementina Wing. She was not alone, as he had expected; for in front of an easel carrying a nearly finished portrait stood the original, a pretty, dainty girl accompanied by a well-dressed, well-fed, bullet-headed, bull-necked, commonplace young man. Clementina, on hearing footsteps, looked up.
“I’m sorry——” he began. “They didn’t tell me——”
“Don’t run away. We’re quite through with the sitting. Come down. This is Mr. Burgrave, a neighbour of mine,” she explained. “Tries to paint, too—Miss Etta Concannon—Captain Hilyard.”
She performed perfunctory introductions. The group lingered round the portrait for a few moments, and then the girl and the young man went away. Clementina scrutinised the picture, sighed, pushed the easel to a corner of the studio and drew up another one into the light. Tommy sat on the model-throne and lit a cigarette.
“Who’s the man?”
“This?” asked Clementina, pointing to the new portrait, that of a stout12 and comfortable-looking gentleman.
“No. The man with Miss Etta Something. I like the name Etta.”
“He’s engaged to her. I told you his name, Captain Hilyard. He called for her. I don’t like him,” replied Clementina, whose language was abrupt13.
“He looks rather a brute—and she’s as pretty as paint. It must be awful hard lines on a girl when she gets hold of a bad lot.”
“You’re right,” she said, gathering14 up palette and brushes. Then she turned on him. “What are you wasting precious daylight for? Why aren’t you at work?”
“I feel rather limp this afternoon, and want stimulating15. So I thought I’d come in. Can I stay?”
“Oh Lord, yes, you can stay,” said Clementina, dabbing16 a vicious bit of paint on the canvas and stepping back to observe the effect. “Though you limp young men who need stimulating make me tired—as tired,” she added, with another stroke, “as this horrible fat man’s trousers.”
“I don’t see why you need have painted his trousers. Why not have made him half-length?”
“Because he’s the kind of cheesemonger that wants value for his money. If I cut him off at the waist he would think he was cheated. He pays to have his hideous17 trousers painted, and so I paint them.”
“But you’re an artist, Clementina.”
“I got over the disease long ago,” she replied grimly, still dabbing at the creases18 of the abominable19 and unmentionable garments. “A woman of my age and appearance hasn’t any illusions left. If she has, she’s a fool. I paint portraits for money, so that one of these days I may be able to retire from trade and be a lady. Bah! Art! Look at that!”
“Hi! Stop!” laughed Tommy, as soon as the result of the fresh brush-stroke was revealed. “Don’t make the infernal things more hideous than they are already.”
“That’s where I get ‘character,’?” she said sarcastically20. “People like it. They say ‘How rugged21! How strong! How expressive22!’ Look at the fat, self-satisfied old pig!—and they pay me in guineas where the rest of you high artistic23 people get shillings. If I had the courage of my convictions and painted him with a snout, they’d pay me in lacs of rupees. Art! Don’t talk of it. I’m sick of it.”
“All right,” said Tommy, calmly puffing24 away at his cigarette, “I won’t. Art is long and the talk about it is longer, thank God. So it will keep.”
He was a fresh-faced, fair-haired boy of two-and-twenty, and the chartered libertine25 of Clementina’s exclusive studio. His uncle, Ephraim Quixtus, had married a distant relation of Clementina, so, in a vague way, she was a family connection. To this fact he owed acquaintance with her—indeed, he had known her dimly from boyhood; but his intimacy27 he owed to a certain charm and candour of youth which found him favour in her not very tolerant eyes.
He sat on the model-throne, clasping his knee, and, wonderingly, admiringly, watched her paint. For all her cynical28 depreciation29 of her art, she was a portrait-painter of high rank, possessing the portrait-painter’s magical gift of getting at essentials, of splashing the very soul, miserable30 or noble, of the subject upon the canvas. She had a rough, brilliant method, direct and uncompromising as her speech. To see her at work was at once Tommy Burgrave’s delight and his despair. Had she been a young and pretty woman, his masculine vanity might have smarted. But Clementina, with her ugliness, gruffness, and untidiness, scarcely ranked as a woman in his disingenuous31 mind. You couldn’t possibly fall in love with her; no one could ever have fallen in love with her. And she, of course, had never had the remotest idea of falling in love with anybody. To his boyish fancy, Clementina in love was a grotesque33 conception. Besides, she might be any age. He decided34 that she must be about fifty. But when you made allowances for her gruffness and eccentricities35, you found that she was a good sort—and, there was no doubt about it, she could paint.
Of course, Clementina might have made herself look much younger and more prepossessing, and thereby36 have pleased the fancy of Tommy Burgrave. As a matter of fact she was only thirty-five. Many a woman with more years and even less foundation of beauty than Clementina flaunts37 about the world breaking men’s hearts, obfuscating38 their common sense, and exerting all the bewildering influences of a seductive sex. She only has to do her hair, attend to her skin, and attire39 herself in more or less becoming raiment. Very little care suffices. Men are ludicrously easy to please in the way of female attractiveness—but they draw the line somewhere. It must be confessed that they drew it at Clementina Wing. Her coarse black hair straggled perpetually in uncared-for strands40 between fortuitous hair-pins. Her complexion41 was dark and oily; her nose had never been powdered since its early infancy42; and her face, even when she walked abroad, was often disfigured, as it was now, by a smudge of paint. She had heedlessly suffered the invasion of lines and wrinkles. A deep vertical43 furrow44 had settled hard between her black, overhanging brows. She had intensified45 and perpetuated46 the crow’s-feet between her eyes by a trick, when concentrating her painter’s vision on a sitter, of screwing her face into a monkey’s myriad47 wrinkles. She dressed, habitually48, in any old blouse, any old skirt, any old hat picked up at random49 in bedroom or studio, and picked up originally, with equal lack of selection, in any miscellaneous emporium of feminine attire. When her figure, which, as women acquaintances would whisper to each other, but never (not daring) to Clementina, had, after all, its possibilities, was hidden by a straight, shapeless, colour-smeared painting-smock, and all of Clementina as God made her that was visible, save her capable hands, was the swarthy face with its harsh contours, its high cheekbones, its unlovely, premature50 furrows51, surmounted52 by the bedraggled hair that would have disgraced a wigwam, Tommy Burgrave may be pardoned for regarding her less as a woman than a painter of genius who somehow did not happen to be a man.
Presently she laid down palette and brushes and pushed the easel to one side.
“I can’t do any more at it without a model. Besides, it’s getting dark. Ring for tea.”
She threw off her painting-smock, revealing herself in an old brown skirt and a soiled white blouse gaping53 at the back, and sank with a sigh of relief into a chair. It was good to sit down, she said. She had been standing54 all day. She would be glad to have some tea. It would take the taste of the trousers out of her mouth.
“If you dislike them so much, why did you rush at them, as soon as those people had gone?”
“To get the girl’s face out of my mind. Look here, mon petit,” she said, turning on him suddenly, “if you ask questions I’ll turn you into the street. I’m tired; give me something to smoke.”
He disinterred a yellow, crumpled55 packet of French tobacco and cigarette-papers from among a litter on the table, and lit the cigarette for her when she had rolled it.
“I suppose you’re the only woman in London who rolls her own cigarettes.”
“Well?” asked Clementina.
He laughed. “That’s all.”
The maid brought in tea, and it was Tommy who played host. She softened57 a little as he waited on her.
“I was meant to be a lady, Tommy, and do nothing. This paint-brush walloping—after all, what is it? What’s the good of painting these fools’ portraits?”
“Each of them is work of genius,” said Tommy.
“Rot and rubbish,” said Clementina. “Let me clear your mind of a lot of foolish nonsense you hear at your high-art tea-parties, where women drivel and talk of their mission in the world. A woman has only one mission; to marry and get babies. Keep that fact in front of you when you’re taking up with any of ’em. Genius! I can’t be a genius for the simple reason that I’m a woman. Did you ever hear of a man-mother? No. It’s a contradiction in terms. So there can’t be a woman-genius.”
“But surely,” Tommy objected, more out of politeness, perhaps, than conviction, for every male creature loves to be conscious of his sex’s superiority. “Surely there was Rosa Bonheur—and—and in your line, Madame Vigée Le Brun.”
“Very pretty,” said Clementina, “but stick them beside Paul Potter and Gainsborough, and what do they look like? Could a woman have painted Paul Potter’s bull?”
“What’s your definition of genius?” asked Tommy, evading58 the direct question. He had visited The Hague, and stood in rapt wonder before what is perhaps the most essentially59 masculine bit of painting in the world. Certainly no woman could have painted it.
“Genius,” said Clementina, screwing up her face and looking at the tip of a discoloured thumb, “is the quality the creative spirit assumes as soon as it can liberate60 itself from the bond of the flesh.”
“Good,” said Tommy. “Did you make up that all at once? It knocks Carlyle’s definition silly. But I don’t see why it doesn’t apply equally to men and women.”
“Woman,” said Clementina, “has always her sex hanging round the neck of her spirit.”
Tommy stared. This was a new conception of woman which he was too young and candid61 to understand. For him women—or rather that class of the sex that counted for him as women, the mothers and sisters and wives of his friends, the women from whose midst one of these days he would select a wife himself—were very spiritual creatures indeed. That twilight62 region of their being in which their sex had a home was holy ground before entering which a man must take the shoes from off his feet. He took it for granted that every unmarried woman believed in the stork63 or gooseberry bush theory of the population of the world. A girl allowed you to kiss her because she was kind and good and altruistic64, realising that it gave you considerable pleasure; but as for the girl craving65 the kiss for the satisfaction of her own needs, that was undreamed of in his ingenuous32 philosophy. And here was Clementina laying it down as a fundamental axiom that woman has her sex always hanging round the neck of her spirit. He was both mystified and shocked.
“I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re talking about, Clementina,” he said at last, with some severity.
Indeed, how on earth could Clementina know?
“Perhaps I don’t, Tommy,” she said, with ironical66 meekness67, realising the gulf68 between them and the reverence69, which, as the Latin Grammar tells us, is especially due to tender youth. She looked into the fire, a half-smile playing round her grim, unsmiling lips, and there was silence for a few moments. Then she asked, brusquely;
“How’s that uncle of yours?”
“All right,” said Tommy. “I’m dining with him this evening.”
“I hear he has taken to calling himself Dr. Quixtus lately.”
“He’s entitled to do so. He’s a Ph.D. of Heidelberg. I wish you didn’t have your knife into him so much, Clementina. He’s the best and dearest chap in the world. Of course, he’s getting rather elderly and precise. He’ll be forty next birthday, you know——”
“Lord save us,” said Clementina.
“—— but one has to make allowances for that. Anyway,” he added, with a flash of championship, “he’s the most courtly gentleman I’ve ever met.”
“He’s civil enough,” said Clementina. “But if I were his wife, I’m sure I would throw him out of a window.”
Tommy stared again for a moment, and then laughed—more at the idea of the quaint26 old thing that was Clementina being married than at the picture of his uncle’s grotesque ejectment.
“I don’t think that’s ever likely to happen,” he remarked.
“Nor do I,” said Clementina.
Soon after that Tommy departed as unceremoniously as he had entered. Not that Tommy Burgrave was by nature unceremonious, being a boy of excellent breeding; but no one stood on ceremony with Clementina; the elaborate politeness of the Petit Trianon was out of place in the studio of a lady who would tell you to go to the devil as soon as look at you.
When the door at the end of the gallery closed behind him she gave a sigh of relief, and rolled another cigarette. There are times when the most obstinate70 woman’s nerves are set on edge, and she craves71 either solitude72 or a sympathetic presence. Now, she was very fond of Tommy; but what, save painting and cricket and the young animal’s joy of life, could Tommy understand? She regretted having spoken of sex and spirit to his uncomprehending ears. Generally she held herself and even her unruly tongue under control. But this afternoon she had lost grip. The sitting had strangely affected73 her, for she had divined, as she had not done on previous occasions, the wistful terror that lurked74 in the depths of the young girl’s soul—a divination75 that had been confirmed by the quick look of fear with which she had greeted the bullet-headed young man when he had arrived to escort her home. And Tommy, with his keen young vision, had summed him up in a few words.
She turned on the great lamp suspended in the middle of the studio, and drew the easel containing the girl’s portrait into the light. She gazed at it for a while intently, and then, throwing herself into her chair by the fire, remained there motionless, with parted lips, in the attitude of a woman overwhelmed by memories.
They went back fifteen years, when she was this girl’s age. She had not this girl’s bearing and flower-like grace; but she had her youth and everything in it that stood for the promise of life. She had memories of her mirrored self—quite a dainty slip of a girl in spite of her homely76 face, her hair wound around a not unshapely head in glossy77 coils, and her figure set off by delicately fitting clothes. And there was a light in her eyes because a man loved her and she had given all the richness of herself to the man. They were engaged to be married. Yet, for all her tremulous happiness, terror lurked in the depths of her soul. Many a night she awoke, gripped by the nameless fear, unreasonable78, absurd; for the man in her eyes was as handsome and debonair79 as any prince out of a fairy tale. Her mother and father, who were then both alive, came under the spell of the man’s fascinations80. He was of good family, fair private income, and was making a position for himself in the higher walks of journalism81; a man too of unsullied reputation. A gallant82 lover, he loved her as in her dreams she had dreamed of being loved. The future held no flaw.
Suddenly, something so grotesque happened as to awaken83 all her laughter and indignation. Roland Thorne was arrested on a charge of theft. A lady, a stranger, the only other occupant of a railway-carriage in which he happened to be travelling from Plymouth to London, missed some valuable diamonds from a jewel-case beside her on the seat. At Bath she had left the carriage for a minute to buy a novel at the bookstall, leaving the case in the compartment84. She brought evidence to prove that the diamonds were there when she left Plymouth and were not there when she arrived at her destination in London. The only person, according to the prosecution85, who could have stolen them was Roland Thorne, during her temporary absence at Bath. Thorne treated the matter as a ludicrous annoyance86. So did Clementina, as soon as her love and anger gave place to her sense of humour. And so did the magistrate87 who dismissed the charge, saying that it ought never to have been brought.
With closed eyes, the woman in front of the fire recalled their first long passionate88 kiss after he had brought the news of his acquittal, and she shivered. She remembered how he had drawn89 back his handsome head and looked into her eyes.
“You never for one second thought me guilty?”
Something in his gaze checked the cry of scorn at her lips. The nameless terror clutched her heart. She drew herself slowly, gradually, out of his embrace, keeping her widened eyes fixed90 on him. He stood motionless as she recoiled91. The horrible truth dawned on her. He was guilty. She sat on the nearest chair, white-lipped and shaken.
“You? You?”
Whether the man had meant to make the confession92, probably he himself did not know. Overwrought nerves may have given way. But there he stood at that moment, self-confessed. In a kind of dream paralysis93 she heard him make his apologia. He said something of sins of his youth, of blackmail94, of large sums of money to be paid, so as to avert95 ruin; how he had idly touched the jewel-case, without thought of theft, how it had opened easily, how the temptation to slip the case of diamonds into his pocket had been irresistible96. His voice seemed a toneless echo, far away. He said many things that she did not hear. Afterwards she had a confused memory that he pleaded for mercy at her hands. He had only yielded in a moment of desperate madness; he would make secret restitution97 of the diamonds. He threw himself on the ground at her feet and kissed her skirt, but she sat petrified98, speechless, stricken to her soul. Then without a word or a sign from her, he went out.
The woman by the fire recalled the anguish99 of the hour of returning life. It returned with the pain of blood returning to frost-bitten flesh. She loved him with every quivering fibre. No crime or weakness in the world could alter that. Her place was by his side, to champion him through evil, to ward11 off temptation, to comfort him in his time of need. Her generous nature cried aloud for him, craved100 to take him into her arms and lay his head against her bosom101. She scorned herself for having turned to him a heart of stone, for letting him go broken and desperate into the world. A touch would have changed his hell to heaven, and she had not given it. She rose and stood for a while, this girl of twenty, transfigured, vibrating with a great purpose—the woman of thirty-five remembered (ah God!) the thrill of it. The flames of the sunrise spread through her veins102.
In a few minutes she was driving through the busy streets to the man’s chambers103; in a few minutes more she reached them. She mounted the stairs. She had no need to ring, as the outer door stood open. She entered. Called:
“Roland, are you here?”
There was no reply. She crossed the hall and went into the sitting-room104. There on the floor lay Roland Thorne with a revolver bullet through his head.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
inevitably
|
|
| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
shrieking
|
|
| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
sedatest
|
|
| adj.镇定的( sedate的最高级 )；泰然的；不慌不忙的（常用于名词前）；宁静的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
5
prim
|
|
| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
primness
|
|
| n.循规蹈矩，整洁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
7
itinerant
|
|
| adj.巡回的；流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
vendors
|
|
| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
wares
|
|
| n. 货物, 商品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
raucous
|
|
| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
abrupt
|
|
| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
gathering
|
|
| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
stimulating
|
|
| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
dabbing
|
|
| 石面凿毛，灰泥抛毛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
creases
|
|
| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的第三人称单数 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
abominable
|
|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sarcastically
|
|
| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
rugged
|
|
| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
expressive
|
|
| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
artistic
|
|
| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
puffing
|
|
| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
libertine
|
|
| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
intimacy
|
|
| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
cynical
|
|
| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
depreciation
|
|
| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
miserable
|
|
| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
disingenuous
|
|
| adj.不诚恳的，虚伪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
ingenuous
|
|
| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
grotesque
|
|
| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
eccentricities
|
|
| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
thereby
|
|
| adv.因此，从而 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
flaunts
|
|
| v.炫耀，夸耀( flaunt的第三人称单数 )；有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
obfuscating
|
|
| v.使模糊，使混乱( obfuscate的现在分词 )；使糊涂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
strands
|
|
| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
complexion
|
|
| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
infancy
|
|
| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
vertical
|
|
| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
furrow
|
|
| n.沟；垄沟；轨迹；车辙；皱纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
intensified
|
|
| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
perpetuated
|
|
| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
myriad
|
|
| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
habitually
|
|
| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
premature
|
|
| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
furrows
|
|
| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
surmounted
|
|
| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
gaping
|
|
| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
crumpled
|
|
| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
idiotic
|
|
| adj.白痴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
softened
|
|
| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
evading
|
|
| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
liberate
|
|
| v.解放，使获得自由，释出，放出；vt.解放，使获自由 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
candid
|
|
| adj.公正的，正直的；坦率的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
stork
|
|
| n.鹳 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
altruistic
|
|
| adj.无私的，为他人着想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
craving
|
|
| n.渴望,热望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
ironical
|
|
| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
meekness
|
|
| n.温顺，柔和 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
gulf
|
|
| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
reverence
|
|
| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
craves
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
lurked
|
|
| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
divination
|
|
| n.占卜，预测 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
homely
|
|
| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
glossy
|
|
| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
unreasonable
|
|
| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
debonair
|
|
| adj.殷勤的，快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
fascinations
|
|
| n.魅力( fascination的名词复数 )；有魅力的东西；迷恋；陶醉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
journalism
|
|
| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
gallant
|
|
| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
awaken
|
|
| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
compartment
|
|
| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
prosecution
|
|
| n.起诉，告发，检举，执行，经营 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
magistrate
|
|
| n.地方行政官，地方法官，治安官 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
passionate
|
|
| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
recoiled
|
|
| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
confession
|
|
| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
paralysis
|
|
| n.麻痹(症)；瘫痪(症) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
blackmail
|
|
| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
avert
|
|
| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
restitution
|
|
| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
petrified
|
|
| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
anguish
|
|
| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
craved
|
|
| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
bosom
|
|
| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
veins
|
|
| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
chambers
|
|
| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
sitting-room
|
|
| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |