“I think school is great fun,” Davy told Marilla when he got home that night. “You said I’d find it hard to sit still and I did . . . you mostly do tell the truth, I notice . . . but you can wriggle2 your legs about under the desk and that helps a lot. It’s splendid to have so many boys to play with. I sit with Milty Boulter and he’s fine. He’s longer than me but I’m wider. It’s nicer to sit in the back seats but you can’t sit there till your legs grow long enough to touch the floor. Milty drawed a picture of Anne on his slate3 and it was awful ugly and I told him if he made pictures of Anne like that I’d lick him at recess4. I thought first I’d draw one of him and put horns and a tail on it, but I was afraid it would hurt his feelings, and Anne says you should never hurt anyone’s feelings. It seems it’s dreadful to have your feelings hurt. It’s better to knock a boy down than hurt his feelings if you MUST do something. Milty said he wasn’t scared of me but he’d just as soon call it somebody else to ‘blige me, so he rubbed out Anne’s name and printed Barbara Shaw’s under it. Milty doesn’t like Barbara ‘cause she calls him a sweet little boy and once she patted him on his head.”
Dora said primly5 that she liked school; but she was very quiet, even for her; and when at twilight7 Marilla bade her go upstairs to bed she hesitated and began to cry.
“What notion have you got into your head now?” demanded Marilla. “I’m sure you’ve gone to bed alone all summer and never been frightened before.”
Dora still continued to cry, so Anne picked her up, cuddled her sympathetically, and whispered,
“Tell Anne all about it, sweetheart. What are you frightened of?”
“Of . . . of Mirabel Cotton’s uncle,” sobbed Dora. “Mirabel Cotton told me all about her family today in school. Nearly everybody in her family has died . . . all her grandfathers and grandmothers and ever so many uncles and aunts. They have a habit of dying, Mirabel says. Mirabel’s awful proud of having so many dead relations, and she told me what they all died of, and what they said, and how they looked in their coffins9. And Mirabel says one of her uncles was seen walking around the house after he was buried. Her mother saw him. I don’t mind the rest so much but I can’t help thinking about that uncle.”
Anne went upstairs with Dora and sat by her until she fell asleep. The next day Mirabel Cotton was kept in at recess and “gently but firmly” given to understand that when you were so unfortunate as to possess an uncle who persisted in walking about houses after he had been decently interred10 it was not in good taste to talk about that eccentric gentleman to your deskmate of tender years. Mirabel thought this very harsh. The Cottons had not much to boast of. How was she to keep up her prestige among her schoolmates if she were forbidden to make capital out of the family ghost?
September slipped by into a gold and crimson11 graciousness of October. One Friday evening Diana came over.
“I’d a letter from Ella Kimball today, Anne, and she wants us to go over to tea tomorrow afternoon to meet her cousin, Irene Trent, from town. But we can’t get one of our horses to go, for they’ll all be in use tomorrow, and your pony12 is lame13 . . . so I suppose we can’t go.”
“Why can’t we walk?” suggested Anne. “If we go straight back through the woods we’ll strike the West Grafton road not far from the Kimball place. I was through that way last winter and I know the road. It’s no more than four miles and we won’t have to walk home, for Oliver Kimball will be sure to drive us. He’ll be only too glad of the excuse, for he goes to see Carrie Sloane and they say his father will hardly ever let him have a horse.”
It was accordingly arranged that they should walk, and the following afternoon they set out, going by way of Lover’s Lane to the back of the Cuthbert farm, where they found a road leading into the heart of acres of glimmering14 beech15 and maple16 woods, which were all in a wondrous17 glow of flame and gold, lying in a great purple stillness and peace.
“It’s as if the year were kneeling to pray in a vast cathedral full of mellow18 stained light, isn’t it?” said Anne dreamily. “It doesn’t seem right to hurry through it, does it? It seems irreverent, like running in a church.”
“We MUST hurry though,” said Diana, glancing at her watch. “We’ve left ourselves little enough time as it is.”
“Well, I’ll walk fast but don’t ask me to talk,” said Anne, quickening her pace. “I just want to drink the day’s loveliness in . . . I feel as if she were holding it out to my lips like a cup of airy wine and I’ll take a sip19 at every step.”
Perhaps it was because she was so absorbed in “drinking it in” that Anne took the left turning when they came to a fork in the road. She should have taken the right, but ever afterward20 she counted it the most fortunate mistake of her life. They came out finally to a lonely, grassy21 road, with nothing in sight along it but ranks of spruce saplings.
“Why, where are we?” exclaimed Diana in bewilderment. “This isn’t the West Grafton road.”
“No, it’s the base line road in Middle Grafton,” said Anne, rather shamefacedly. “I must have taken the wrong turning at the fork. I don’t know where we are exactly, but we must be all of three miles from Kimballs’ still.”
“Then we can’t get there by five, for it’s half past four now,” said Diana, with a despairing look at her watch. “We’ll arrive after they have had their tea, and they’ll have all the bother of getting ours over again.”
“We’d better turn back and go home,” suggested Anne humbly22. But Diana, after consideration, vetoed this.
“No, we may as well go and spend the evening, since we have come this far.”
A few yards further on the girls came to a place where the road forked again.
Anne shook her head.
“I don’t know and we can’t afford to make any more mistakes. Here is a gate and a lane leading right into the wood. There must be a house at the other side. Let us go down and inquire.”
“What a romantic old lane this it,” said Diana, as they walked along its twists and turns. It ran under patriarchal old firs whose branches met above, creating a perpetual gloom in which nothing except moss24 could grow. On either hand were brown wood floors, crossed here and there by fallen lances of sunlight. All was very still and remote, as if the world and the cares of the world were far away.
“I feel as if we were walking through an enchanted25 forest,” said Anne in a hushed tone. “Do you suppose we’ll ever find our way back to the real world again, Diana? We shall presently come to a palace with a spellbound princess in it, I think.”
Around the next turn they came in sight, not indeed of a palace, but of a little house almost as surprising as a palace would have been in this province of conventional wooden farmhouses26, all as much alike in general characteristics as if they had grown from the same seed. Anne stopped short in rapture27 and Diana exclaimed, “Oh, I know where we are now. That is the little stone house where Miss Lavendar Lewis lives . . . Echo Lodge28, she calls it, I think. I’ve often heard of it but I’ve never seen it before. Isn’t it a romantic spot?”
“It’s the sweetest, prettiest place I ever saw or imagined,” said Anne delightedly. “It looks like a bit out of a story book or a dream.”
The house was a low-eaved structure built of undressed blocks of red Island sandstone, with a little peaked roof out of which peered two dormer windows, with quaint29 wooden hoods30 over them, and two great chimneys. The whole house was covered with a luxuriant growth of ivy31, finding easy foothold on the rough stonework and turned by autumn frosts to most beautiful bronze and wine-red tints32.
Before the house was an oblong garden into which the lane gate where the girls were standing33 opened. The house bounded it on one side; on the three others it was enclosed by an old stone dyke34, so overgrown with moss and grass and ferns that it looked like a high, green bank. On the right and left the tall, dark spruces spread their palm-like branches over it; but below it was a little meadow, green with clover aftermath, sloping down to the blue loop of the Grafton River. No other house or clearing was in sight . . . nothing but hills and valleys covered with feathery young firs.
“I wonder what sort of a person Miss Lewis is,” speculated Diana as they opened the gate into the garden. “They say she is very peculiar35.”
“She’ll be interesting then,” said Anne decidedly. “Peculiar people are always that at least, whatever else they are or are not. Didn’t I tell you we would come to an enchanted palace? I knew the elves hadn’t woven magic over that lane for nothing.”
“But Miss Lavendar Lewis is hardly a spellbound princess,” laughed Diana. “She’s an old maid . . . she’s forty-five and quite gray, I’ve heard.”
“Oh, that’s only part of the spell,” asserted Anne confidently. “At heart she’s young and beautiful still . . . and if we only knew how to unloose the spell she would step forth36 radiant and fair again. But we don’t know how . . . it’s always and only the prince who knows that . . . and Miss Lavendar’s prince hasn’t come yet. Perhaps some fatal mischance has befallen him . . . though THAT’S against the law of all fairy tales.”
“I’m afraid he came long ago and went away again,” said Diana. “They say she used to be engaged to Stephan Irving . . . Paul’s father . . . when they were young. But they quarreled and parted.”
“Hush,” warned Anne. “The door is open.”
The girls paused in the porch under the tendrils of ivy and knocked at the open door. There was a patter of steps inside and a rather odd little personage presented herself . . . a girl of about fourteen, with a freckled37 face, a snub nose, a mouth so wide that it did really seem as if it stretched “from ear to ear,” and two long braids of fair hair tied with two enormous bows of blue ribbon.
“Is Miss Lewis at home?” asked Diana.
“Yes, ma’am. Come in, ma’am. I’ll tell Miss Lavendar you’re here, ma’am. She’s upstairs, ma’am.”
With this the small handmaiden whisked out of sight and the girls, left alone, looked about them with delighted eyes. The interior of this wonderful little house was quite as interesting as its exterior38.
The room had a low ceiling and two square, small-paned windows, curtained with muslin frills. All the furnishings were old-fashioned, but so well and daintily kept that the effect was delicious. But it must be candidly39 admitted that the most attractive feature, to two healthy girls who had just tramped four miles through autumn air, was a table, set out with pale blue china and laden40 with delicacies41, while little golden-hued ferns scattered42 over the cloth gave it what Anne would have termed “a festal air.”
“Miss Lavendar must be expecting company to tea,” she whispered. “There are six places set. But what a funny little girl she has. She looked like a messenger from pixy land. I suppose she could have told us the road, but I was curious to see Miss Lavendar. S . . . s . . . sh, she’s coming.”
And with that Miss Lavendar Lewis was standing in the doorway43. The girls were so surprised that they forgot good manners and simply stared. They had unconsciously been expecting to see the usual type of elderly spinster as known to their experience . . . a rather angular personage, with prim6 gray hair and spectacles. Nothing more unlike Miss Lavendar could possibly be imagined.
She was a little lady with snow-white hair beautifully wavy44 and thick, and carefully arranged in becoming puffs45 and coils. Beneath it was an almost girlish face, pink cheeked and sweet lipped, with big soft brown eyes and dimples . . . actually dimples. She wore a very dainty gown of cream muslin with pale-hued roses on it . . . a gown which would have seemed ridiculously juvenile46 on most women of her age, but which suited Miss Lavendar so perfectly47 that you never thought about it at all.
“Charlotta the Fourth says that you wished to see me,” she said, in a voice that matched her appearance.
“We wanted to ask the right road to West Grafton,” said Diana. “We are invited to tea at Mr. Kimball’s, but we took the wrong path coming through the woods and came out to the base line instead of the West Grafton road. Do we take the right or left turning at your gate?”
“The left,” said Miss Lavendar, with a hesitating glance at her tea table. Then she exclaimed, as if in a sudden little burst of resolution,
“But oh, won’t you stay and have tea with me? Please, do. Mr. Kimball’s will have tea over before you get there. And Charlotta the Fourth and I will be so glad to have you.”
“We’d like to stay,” said Anne promptly49, for she had made up her mind that she wanted to know more of this surprising Miss Lavendar, “if it won’t inconvenience you. But you are expecting other guests, aren’t you?”
Miss Lavendar looked at her tea table again, and blushed.
“I know you’ll think me dreadfully foolish,” she said. “I AM foolish . . . and I’m ashamed of it when I’m found out, but never unless I AM found out. I’m not expecting anybody . . . I was just pretending I was. You see, I was so lonely. I love company . . . that is, the right kind of company.. .but so few people ever come here because it is so far out of the way. Charlotta the Fourth was lonely too. So I just pretended I was going to have a tea party. I cooked for it . . . and decorated the table for it.. . and set it with my mother’s wedding china . . . and I dressed up for it.” Diana secretly thought Miss Lavendar quite as peculiar as report had pictured her. The idea of a woman of forty-five playing at having a tea party, just as if she were a little girl! But Anne of the shining eyes exclaimed joyfuly, “Oh, do YOU imagine things too?”
That “too” revealed a kindred spirit to Miss Lavendar.
“Yes, I do,” she confessed, boldly. “Of course it’s silly in anybody as old as I am. But what is the use of being an independent old maid if you can’t be silly when you want to, and when it doesn’t hurt anybody? A person must have some compensations. I don’t believe I could live at times if I didn’t pretend things. I’m not often caught at it though, and Charlotta the Fourth never tells. But I’m glad to be caught today, for you have really come and I have tea all ready for you. Will you go up to the spare room and take off your hats? It’s the white door at the head of the stairs. I must run out to the kitchen and see that Charlotta the Fourth isn’t letting the tea boil. Charlotta the Fourth is a very good girl but she WILL let the tea boil.”
Miss Lavendar tripped off to the kitchen on hospitable50 thoughts intent and the girls found their way up to the spare room, an apartment as white as its door, lighted by the ivy-hung dormer window and looking, as Anne said, like the place where happy dreams grew.
“This is quite an adventure, isn’t it?” said Diana. “And isn’t Miss Lavendar sweet, if she IS a little odd? She doesn’t look a bit like an old maid.”
“She looks just as music sounds, I think,” answered Anne.
When they went down Miss Lavendar was carrying in the teapot, and behind her, looking vastly pleased, was Charlotta the Fourth, with a plate of hot biscuits.
“Now, you must tell me your names,” said Miss Lavendar. “I’m so glad you are young girls. I love young girls. It’s so easy to pretend I’m a girl myself when I’m with them. I do hate” . . . with a little grimace51 . . . “to believe I’m old. Now, who are you . . . just for convenience’ sake? Diana Barry? And Anne Shirley? May I pretend that I’ve known you for a hundred years and call you Anne and Diana right away?”
“You, may” the girls said both together.
“Then just let’s sit comfily down and eat everything,” said Miss Lavendar happily. “Charlotta, you sit at the foot and help with the chicken. It is so fortunate that I made the sponge cake and doughnuts. Of course, it was foolish to do it for imaginary guests . . . I know Charlotta the Fourth thought so, didn’t you, Charlotta? But you see how well it has turned out. Of course they wouldn’t have been wasted, for Charlotta the Fourth and I could have eaten them through time. But sponge cake is not a thing that improves with time.”
That was a merry and memorable52 meal; and when it was over they all went out to the garden, lying in the glamor53 of sunset.
“I do think you have the loveliest place here,” said Diana, looking round her admiringly.
“Why do you call it Echo Lodge?” asked Anne.
“Charlotta,” said Miss Lavendar, “go into the house and bring out the little tin horn that is hanging over the clock shelf.”
Charlotta the Fourth skipped off and returned with the horn.
“Blow it, Charlotta,” commanded Miss Lavendar.
Charlotta accordingly blew, a rather raucous54, strident blast. There was moment’s stillness . . . and then from the woods over the river came a multitude of fairy echoes, sweet, elusive55, silvery, as if all the “horns of elfland” were blowing against the sunset. Anne and Diana exclaimed in delight.
“Now laugh, Charlotta . . . laugh loudly.”
Charlotta, who would probably have obeyed if Miss Lavendar had told her to stand on her head, climbed upon the stone bench and laughed loud and heartily56. Back came the echoes, as if a host of pixy people were mimicking57 her laughter in the purple woodlands and along the fir-fringed points.
“People always admire my echoes very much,” said Miss Lavendar, as if the echoes were her personal property. “I love them myself. They are very good company . . . with a little pretending. On calm evenings Charlotta the Fourth and I often sit out here and amuse ourselves with them. Charlotta, take back the horn and hang it carefully in its place.”
“Why do you call her Charlotta the Fourth?” asked Diana, who was bursting with curiosity on this point.
“Just to keep her from getting mixed up with other Charlottas in my thoughts,” said Miss Lavendar seriously. “They all look so much alike there’s no telling them apart. Her name isn’t really Charlotta at all. It is . . . let me see . . . what is it? I THINK it’s Leonora . . . yes, it IS Leonora. You see, it is this way. When mother died ten years ago I couldn’t stay here alone . . . and I couldn’t afford to pay the wages of a grown-up girl. So I got little Charlotta Bowman to come and stay with me for board and clothes. Her name really was Charlotta . . . she was Charlotta the First. She was just thirteen. She stayed with me till she was sixteen and then she went away to Boston, because she could do better there. Her sister came to stay with me then. Her name was Julietta . . . Mrs. Bowman had a weakness for fancy names I think . . . but she looked so like Charlotta that I kept calling her that all the time . . .and she didn’t mind. So I just gave up trying to remember her right name. She was Charlotta the Second, and when she went away Evelina came and she was Charlotta the Third. Now I have Charlotta the Fourth; but when she is sixteen . . . she’s fourteen now . . . she will want to go to Boston too, and what I shall do then I really do not know. Charlotta the Fourth is the last of the Bowman girls, and the best. The other Charlottas always let me see that they thought it silly of me to pretend things but Charlotta the Fourth never does, no matter what she may really think. I don’t care what people think about me if they don’t let me see it.”
“Well,” said Diana looking regretfully at the setting sun. “I suppose we must go if we want to get to Mr. Kimball’s before dark. We’ve had a lovely time, Miss Lewis.”
“Won’t you come again to see me?” pleaded Miss Lavendar.
Tall Anne put her arm about the little lady.
“Indeed we shall,” she promised. “Now that we have discovered you we’ll wear out our welcome coming to see you. Yes, we must go . . . ‘we must tear ourselves away,’ as Paul Irving says every time he comes to Green Gables.”
“Paul Irving?” There was a subtle change in Miss Lavendar’s voice. “Who is he? I didn’t think there was anybody of that name in Avonlea.”
Anne felt vexed58 at her own heedlessness. She had forgotten about Miss Lavendar’s old romance when Paul’s name slipped out.
“He is a little pupil of mine,” she explained slowly. “He came from Boston last year to live with his grandmother, Mrs. Irving of the shore road.”
“Is he Stephen Irving’s son?” Miss Lavendar asked, bending over her namesake border so that her face was hidden.
“Yes.”
“I’m going to give you girls a bunch of lavendar apiece,” said Miss Lavendar brightly, as if she had not heard the answer to her question. “It’s very sweet, don’t you think? Mother always loved it. She planted these borders long ago. Father named me Lavendar because he was so fond of it. The very first time he saw mother was when he visited her home in East Grafton with her brother. He fell in love with her at first sight; and they put him in the spare room bed to sleep and the sheets were scented60 with lavendar and he lay awake all night and thought of her. He always loved the scent59 of lavendar after that . . . and that was why he gave me the name. Don’t forget to come back soon, girls dear. We’ll be looking for you, Charlotta the Fourth and I.”
She opened the gate under the firs for them to pass through. She looked suddenly old and tired; the glow and radiance had faded from her face; her parting smile was as sweet with ineradicable youth as ever, but when the girls looked back from the first curve in the lane they saw her sitting on the old stone bench under the silver poplar in the middle of the garden with her head leaning wearily on her hand.
“She does look lonely,” said Diana softly. “We must come often to see her.”
“I think her parents gave her the only right and fitting name that could possibly be given her,” said Anne. “If they had been so blind as to name her Elizabeth or Nellie or Muriel she must have been called Lavendar just the same, I think. It’s so suggestive of sweetness and old-fashioned graces and ‘silk attire61.’ Now, my name just smacks62 of bread and butter, patchwork63 and chores.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Diana. “Anne seems to me real stately and like a queen. But I’d like Kerrenhappuch if it happened to be your name. I think people make their names nice or ugly just by what they are themselves. I can’t bear Josie or Gertie for names now but before I knew the Pye girls I thought them real pretty.”
“That’s a lovely idea, Diana,” said Anne enthusiastically. “Living so that you beautify your name, even if it wasn’t beautiful to begin with . . . making it stand in people’s thoughts for something so lovely and pleasant that they never think of it by itself. Thank you, Diana.”
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
considerably
|
|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
wriggle
|
|
| v./n.蠕动，扭动；蜿蜒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
slate
|
|
| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
recess
|
|
| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
primly
|
|
| adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
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： |
|
|
|
|
7
twilight
|
|
| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
sobbed
|
|
| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
coffins
|
|
| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
interred
|
|
| v.埋，葬( inter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
crimson
|
|
| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
pony
|
|
| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
lame
|
|
| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
glimmering
|
|
| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
beech
|
|
| n.山毛榉；adj.山毛榉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
maple
|
|
| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
wondrous
|
|
| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
mellow
|
|
| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
sip
|
|
| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
humbly
|
|
| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
dubiously
|
|
| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
moss
|
|
| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
enchanted
|
|
| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
farmhouses
|
|
| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
lodge
|
|
| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
quaint
|
|
| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
hoods
|
|
| n.兜帽( hood的名词复数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩v.兜帽( hood的第三人称单数 )；头巾；（汽车、童车等的）折合式车篷；汽车发动机罩 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ivy
|
|
| n.常青藤，常春藤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
tints
|
|
| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
dyke
|
|
| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
freckled
|
|
| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
exterior
|
|
| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
candidly
|
|
| adv.坦率地，直率而诚恳地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
laden
|
|
| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
scattered
|
|
| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
doorway
|
|
| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
wavy
|
|
| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
puffs
|
|
| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
juvenile
|
|
| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
inquiry
|
|
| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
promptly
|
|
| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
hospitable
|
|
| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
memorable
|
|
| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
glamor
|
|
| n.魅力，吸引力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
raucous
|
|
| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
elusive
|
|
| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
heartily
|
|
| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
mimicking
|
|
| v.（尤指为了逗乐而）模仿( mimic的现在分词 )；酷似 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
scented
|
|
| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
smacks
|
|
| 掌掴（声）( smack的名词复数 )； 海洛因； （打的）一拳； 打巴掌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
patchwork
|
|
| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |