When his younger son was three months old John died. He got wet, extricating2 a horse from a bog-hole, and took no heed3, having been wet through a hundred times before. A chill seized him; he still took no notice. The chill developed into pneumonia4, but he struggled on, saying nothing. Then Bohenna found him prostrate5 in the muck of the stable; he had been trying to yoke6 the oxen with the intention of going out to plow7.
Bohenna carried him, protesting, up to bed. Only when he was dying would he admit he was ill. He was puzzled and angry. Why should he be sick now who had never felt a qualm before? What was a wetting, i’ faith! For forty odd winters he had seldom been dry. It was ridiculous! He tried to lift himself, exhorting8 the splendid, loyal body that had never yet failed him to have done with this folly9 and bear him outside to the sunshine and the day’s work. It did not respond; might have been so much lead. He fell back, betrayed, helpless, frightened, and went off into a delirium10. The end was close. He came to his senses once again about ten o’clock at night and saw Teresa bending over him, the new son in her arms. She was crying and had a tender look in her tear-bright eyes he had never seen before. He tried to smile at her. Nothing to cry about. He’d be all right in the morning—after a night’s sleep—go plowing—everything came right in the morning. Towards midnight Martha, who was watching, set up a dreadful screech11. It was all over. As if awaiting the signal came a hooting12 from the woods about the house, “Too-whee-wha-ho-oo-oo!”—the Bosula owls13 lamenting14 the passing of its master.
Fate, in cutting down John Penhale in his prime, did him no disservice. He went into oblivion knowing Teresa only as a thing of beauty, half magical, wholly adorable. He was spared the years of disillusionment which would have pained him sorely, for he was a sensitive man.
Teresa mourned for her husband with a passion which was natural to her and which was very highly considered in the neighborhood. At the funeral she flung herself on the coffin15, and refused to be loosened from it for a quarter of an hour, moaning and tearing at the lid with her fingers. Venerable dames16 who had attended every local interment for half a century wagged their bonnets17 and admitted they had never seen a widow display a prettier spirit.
Teresa was quite genuine in her way. John had treated her with a gentleness and generosity18 she had not suspected was to be found on this earth, and now this kindly19 cornucopia20 had been snatched from her—and just when she had made so sure of him too! She blubbered in good earnest. But after the lawyer’s business was over she cheered up.
In the first flush of becoming a father, John had ridden into Penzance and made a will, but since Eli’s birth he had made no second; there was plenty of time, he thought, years and years of it. Consequently everything fell to Ortho when he came of age, and in the meanwhile Teresa was sole guardian21. That meant she was mistress of Bosula and had the handling of the hundred and twenty pounds invested income, to say nothing of the Tregors rents, fifty pounds per annum. One hundred and seventy pounds a year to spend! The sum staggered her. She had hardly made that amount of money in her whole life. She sat up that night, long after the rest of the household had gone to bed, wrapped in delicious dreams of how she would spend that annual fortune. She soon began to learn. Martha hinted that, in a lady of her station, the wearing of black was considered proper as a tribute to the memory of the deceased, so, finding nothing dark in the chests, she mounted a horse behind Bohenna and jogged into town.
A raw farmer’s wife, clutching a bag of silver and demanding only to be dressed in black, is a gift to any shopman. The Penzance draper called up his seamstresses, took Teresa’s measure for a silk dress—nothing but silk would be fitting, he averred23; the greater the cost the greater the tribute—added every somber24 accessory that he could think of, separated her from £13.6.4 of her hoard25 and bowed her out, promising26 to send the articles by carrier within three days. Teresa went through the ordeal27 like one in a trance, too awed28 to protest or speak even. On the way home she sought to console herself with the thought that her extravagance was on John’s, dear John’s behalf. Still thirteen pounds, six shillings and fourpence!—more than Bohenna’s wages for a year gone in a finger snap! Ruin stared her in the face.
The black dress, cap, flounced petticoat, stiff stays, stockings, apron29, cloak of Spanish cloth and high-heeled shoes arrived to date and set the household agog30. Teresa, its devastating31 price forgotten, peacocked round the house and yard all day, swelling32 with pride, the rustle33 of the silk atoning34 for the agony she was suffering from the stays and shoes. As the sensation died down she yearned35 for fresh conquests, so mounting the pillion afresh, made a tour through the parish, paying special attention to Gwithian Church-town and Monks36 Cove37.
The tour was a triumph. Women rushed to their cottage doors and stared after her, goggling38. At Pridden a party of hedgers left work and raced across a field to see her go by. Near Tregadgwith a farmer fell off his horse from sheer astonishment39. She was the sole topic of the district for a week or more. John’s memory was duly honored.
In a month Teresa was tired of the black dress; her fancy did not run to black. The crisp and shining new silk had given her a distaste for the old silks, the soiled and tattered40 salvage41 of wrecks42. She stuffed the motley rags back in the chests and slammed the lids on them. She had seen some breath-taking rolls of material in that shop in Penzance—orange, emerald, turquoise43, coral and lilac. She shut her eyes and imagined herself in a flowing furbelowed dress of each of these colors in turn—or one combining a little of everything—oh, rapture44!
She consulted Martha in the matter. Martha was shocked. It was unheard of. She must continue to wear black in public for a year at least. This intelligence depressed45 Teresa, but she was determined46 to be correct, as she had now a position to maintain, was next thing to a lady. Eleven months more to wait, heigh-ho!
Then, drawn47 by the magnet of the shops, she went into Penzance again. Penzance had become something more than a mere48 tin and pilchard port; visitors attracted by its mild climate came in by every packet; there was a good inn, “The Ship and Castle,” and in 1752 a coffee house had been opened and the road to Land’s End made possible for carriages. Many fine ladies were to be seen fanning themselves at windows in Chapel49 Street or strolling on the Green, and Teresa wanted to study their costumes with a view to her own.
She dismounted at the Market Cross, moved about among the booths and peeped furtively50 in at the shops. They were most attractive, displaying glorious things to wear and marvelous things to eat—tarts, cakes, Dutch biscuits, ginger-breads shaped like animals, oranges, plum and sugar candy. Sly old women wheedled51 her to buy, enlarging ecstatically on the excellence52 and cheapness of their wares53. Teresa wavered and reflected that though she might not be able to buy a new dress for a year there was no law against her purchasing other things. The bag of silver burnt her fingers and she fell. She bought some gingerbread animals at four for a farthing, tasted them, thought them ambrosia54 and bought sixpennorth to take with her, also lollipops55. She went home trembling at her extravagance, but when she came to count up what she had spent it seemed to have made no impression on the bag of silver. In six weeks she went in again, bought a basketful of edibles57 and replaced her brass58 earrings59 with large gold half-moons. When these were paid for the bag was badly drained. Teresa took fright and visited town no more for the year—but as a matter of fact she had spent less than twenty pounds in all. But she had got in the way of spending now.
The tin works in which John’s money was invested paid up at the end of the year (one hundred and twenty-six pounds, seventeen shillings and eight-pence on this occasion), and Tregors rent came in on the same day. It seemed to Teresa that the heavens had opened up and showered uncounted gold upon her.
She went into Penzance next morning as fast as the bay mare60 could carry her and ordered a dress bordered with real lace and combining all the hues61 of the rainbow. She was off. Never having had any money she had not the slightest idea of its value and was mulcted accordingly. In the third year of widowhood she spent the last penny of her income.
The farm she left to Bohenna, the house to Martha, the children to look after themselves, and rode in to Penzance market and all over the hundred, to parish feasts, races and hurling62 matches, a notable figure with her flaming dresses, raven63 hair and huge earrings, laying the odds64, singing songs and standing65 drinks in ale houses like any squire66.
When John died she was at her zenith. The early bloom of her race began to fade soon after, accelerated by gross living. She still ate enormously, as though the hunger of twenty-two lean years was not yet appeased67. She was like an animal at table, seizing bones in her hands and tearing the meat off with her teeth, grunting68 the while like a famished69 dog, or stuffing the pastries70 she bought in Penzance into her mouth two at a time. She hastened from girlish to buxom71, from buxom to stout72. The bay mare began to feel the increasing weight on the pillion. Bohenna was left at home and Teresa rode alone, sitting sideways on a pad, or a-straddle when no one was looking. Yet she was still comely73 in a large way and had admirers aplenty. Sundry74 impecunious75 gentlemen, hoping to mend their fortunes, paid court to the lavish76 widow, but Teresa saw through their blandishments, and after getting all possible sport out of them sent them packing.
With the curate-in-charge of St. Gwithian it was the other way about. Teresa made the running. She went to church in the first place because it struck her as an opportunity to flaunt77 her superior finery in public and make other women feel sick. She went a second time to gaze at the parson. This gentleman was an anemic young man with fair hair, pale blue eyes, long hands and a face refined through partial starvation. (The absentee beneficiary allowed him eighteen pounds a year.) Obeying the law of opposites, the heavy dark gypsy woman was vaguely78 attracted by him at once and the attraction strengthened.
He was something quite new to her. Among the clumsy-limbed country folk he appeared so slim, so delicate, almost ethereal. Also, unable to read or write herself and surrounded by people as ignorant as she, his easy familiarity with books and the verbose79 phrasing of his sermons filled her with admiration80. On Easter Sunday he delivered himself of a particularly flowery effort. Teresa understood not a word of it, but, nevertheless, thought it beautiful and wept audibly. She thought the preacher looked beautiful too, with his clear skin, veined temples and blue eyes. A shaft81 of sunlight pierced the south window and fell upon his fair head as though an expression of divine benediction82. Teresa thought he looked like a saint. Perhaps he was a saint.
She rode home slowly, so wrapped in meditation83 that she was late for dinner, an unprecedented84 occurrence. She would marry that young man. If she were going to marry again it must be to some one she could handle, since the law would make him master of herself and her possessions. The curate would serve admirably; he would make a pretty pet and no more. He could keep her accounts too. She was always in a muddle85 with money. The method she had devised of keeping tally86 by means of notched87 sticks was most untrustworthy. And, incidentally, if he really were a saint her hereafter was assured. God could never condemn88 the wedded89 wife of a saint and clergyman to Hell; it wouldn’t be decent. She would marry that young man.
She began the assault next day by paying her overdue90 tithes91 and throwing in a duck as makeweight. Two days later she was up again with a gift of a goose, and on the following Sunday she presented the astonished clerk with eightpennorth of gingerbreads. Since eating was the occupation nearest to the widow’s heart she sought to touch the curate’s by showering food upon him. Something edible56 went to the Deanery at least twice a week, occasionally by a hind22, but more often Teresa took it herself. A fortnight before Whitsuntide Teresa, in chasing an errant boar out of the yard, kicked too violently, snapped her leg and was laid up for three months. Temporarily unable to reduce the curate by her personal charms she determined to let her gifts speak for her, doubled the offerings, and eggs, fowls92, butter, cheese and hams passed from the farm to the Deanery in a constant stream. Lying in bed with nothing to do, the invalid’s thoughts ran largely upon the clerk. She remembered him standing in the pulpit that Easter Sunday, uttering lovely, if unintelligible93 words, slim and delicate, the benedictory beam on his flaxen poll; the more she pictured him the more ethereally beautiful did he become. He would make a charming toy.
As soon as she could hobble about she put on her best dress (cherry satin), and, taking the bull by the horns, invited her intended to dinner. She would settle matters without further ado. The young man obeyed the summons with feelings divided between fear and determination; he knew perfectly94 well what he was in for. Nobody but an utter fool could have mistaken the meaning of the sighs and glances the big widow had thrown when visiting him before her accident. There was no finesse95 about Teresa. She wanted to marry him, and prudence96 told him to let her. Two farms and four hundred pounds a year—so rumor97 had it—the catch of the district and he only a poor clerk. He was sick of poverty—Teresa’s bounty98 had shown him what it was to live well—and he dreaded99 returning to the old way of things. Moreover he admired her, she was so bold, so luscious100, so darkly handsome, possessed101 of every physical quality he lacked. But he was afraid of her for all that—if she ever got really angry with him, good Lord!
It took every ounce of determination he owned to drive his feet down the hill to Bosula; twice he stopped and turned to go back. He was a timid young man. His procrastination102 made him late for dinner. When he reached the farm, the meal had already been served. His hostess was hard at work; she would not have delayed five minutes for King George himself. She had a mutton bone in her hands when the curate entered. She did not notice him for the moment, so engrossed103 was she, but tore off the last shred104 of meat, scrunched105 the bone with her teeth and bit out the marrow106. The curate reeled against the door post, emitting an involuntary groan107. Teresa glanced up and stared at him, her black eyebrows108 meeting.
Who was this stranger wabbling about in her doorway109, his watery110 eyes popping out of his podgy face, his fleshy knees knocking together, his dingy111 coat stretched tightly across his protruding112 stomach? A lost inn-keeper? A strayed tallow chandler? No, by his cloth he was a clerk. Slowly she recognized him. He was her curate, ecod! Her pretty toy! Her slim, transparent113 saint developed into this corpulent earthling! Fat, ye Gods! She hurled114 the bone at his head—which was unreasonable115, seeing it was she had fattened116 him.
The metamorphosed curate turned and bolted out of the house, through the yard and back up the hill for home.
“My God,” he panted as he ran, “biting bones up with her teeth, with her teeth—my God, it might have been me!”
That was the end of that.
点击收听单词发音
1 eldest | |
adj.最年长的,最年老的 | |
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2 extricating | |
v.使摆脱困难,脱身( extricate的现在分词 ) | |
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3 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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4 pneumonia | |
n.肺炎 | |
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5 prostrate | |
v.拜倒,平卧,衰竭;adj.拜倒的,平卧的,衰竭的 | |
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6 yoke | |
n.轭;支配;v.给...上轭,连接,使成配偶 | |
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7 plow | |
n.犁,耕地,犁过的地;v.犁,费力地前进[英]plough | |
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8 exhorting | |
v.劝告,劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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9 folly | |
n.愚笨,愚蠢,蠢事,蠢行,傻话 | |
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10 delirium | |
n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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11 screech | |
n./v.尖叫;(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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12 hooting | |
(使)作汽笛声响,作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 ); 倒好儿; 倒彩 | |
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13 owls | |
n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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14 lamenting | |
adj.悲伤的,悲哀的v.(为…)哀悼,痛哭,悲伤( lament的现在分词 ) | |
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15 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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16 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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17 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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18 generosity | |
n.大度,慷慨,慷慨的行为 | |
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19 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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20 cornucopia | |
n.象征丰收的羊角 | |
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21 guardian | |
n.监护人;守卫者,保护者 | |
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22 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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23 averred | |
v.断言( aver的过去式和过去分词 );证实;证明…属实;作为事实提出 | |
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24 somber | |
adj.昏暗的,阴天的,阴森的,忧郁的 | |
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25 hoard | |
n./v.窖藏,贮存,囤积 | |
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26 promising | |
adj.有希望的,有前途的 | |
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27 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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28 awed | |
adj.充满敬畏的,表示敬畏的v.使敬畏,使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 apron | |
n.围裙;工作裙 | |
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30 agog | |
adj.兴奋的,有强烈兴趣的; adv.渴望地 | |
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31 devastating | |
adj.毁灭性的,令人震惊的,强有力的 | |
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32 swelling | |
n.肿胀 | |
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33 rustle | |
v.沙沙作响;偷盗(牛、马等);n.沙沙声声 | |
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34 atoning | |
v.补偿,赎(罪)( atone的现在分词 );补偿,弥补,赎回 | |
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35 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36 monks | |
n.修道士,僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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37 cove | |
n.小海湾,小峡谷 | |
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38 goggling | |
v.睁大眼睛瞪视, (惊讶的)转动眼珠( goggle的现在分词 ) | |
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39 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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40 tattered | |
adj.破旧的,衣衫破的 | |
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41 salvage | |
v.救助,营救,援救;n.救助,营救 | |
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42 wrecks | |
n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 );(事故中)遭严重毁坏的汽车(或飞机等);(身体或精神上)受到严重损伤的人;状况非常糟糕的车辆(或建筑物等)v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 );使(船舶)失事,使遇难,使下沉 | |
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43 turquoise | |
n.绿宝石;adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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44 rapture | |
n.狂喜;全神贯注;着迷;v.使狂喜 | |
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45 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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46 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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47 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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48 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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49 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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50 furtively | |
adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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51 wheedled | |
v.骗取(某物),哄骗(某人干某事)( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52 excellence | |
n.优秀,杰出,(pl.)优点,美德 | |
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53 wares | |
n. 货物, 商品 | |
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54 ambrosia | |
n.神的食物;蜂食 | |
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55 lollipops | |
n.棒糖,棒棒糖( lollipop的名词复数 );(用交通指挥牌让车辆暂停以便儿童安全通过马路的)交通纠察 | |
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56 edible | |
n.食品,食物;adj.可食用的 | |
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57 edibles | |
可以吃的,可食用的( edible的名词复数 ); 食物 | |
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58 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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59 earrings | |
n.耳环( earring的名词复数 );耳坠子 | |
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60 mare | |
n.母马,母驴 | |
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61 hues | |
色彩( hue的名词复数 ); 色调; 信仰; 观点 | |
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62 hurling | |
n.爱尔兰式曲棍球v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的现在分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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63 raven | |
n.渡鸟,乌鸦;adj.乌亮的 | |
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64 odds | |
n.让步,机率,可能性,比率;胜败优劣之别 | |
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65 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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66 squire | |
n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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67 appeased | |
安抚,抚慰( appease的过去式和过去分词 ); 绥靖(满足另一国的要求以避免战争) | |
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68 grunting | |
咕哝的,呼噜的 | |
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69 famished | |
adj.饥饿的 | |
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70 pastries | |
n.面粉制的糕点 | |
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71 buxom | |
adj.(妇女)丰满的,有健康美的 | |
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73 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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74 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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75 impecunious | |
adj.不名一文的,贫穷的 | |
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76 lavish | |
adj.无节制的;浪费的;vt.慷慨地给予,挥霍 | |
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77 flaunt | |
vt.夸耀,夸饰 | |
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78 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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79 verbose | |
adj.用字多的;冗长的;累赘的 | |
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80 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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81 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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82 benediction | |
n.祝福;恩赐 | |
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83 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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84 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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85 muddle | |
n.困惑,混浊状态;vt.使混乱,使糊涂,使惊呆;vi.胡乱应付,混乱 | |
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86 tally | |
n.计数器,记分,一致,测量;vt.计算,记录,使一致;vi.计算,记分,一致 | |
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87 notched | |
a.有凹口的,有缺口的 | |
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88 condemn | |
vt.谴责,指责;宣判(罪犯),判刑 | |
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89 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90 overdue | |
adj.过期的,到期未付的;早该有的,迟到的 | |
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91 tithes | |
n.(宗教捐税)什一税,什一的教区税,小部分( tithe的名词复数 ) | |
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92 fowls | |
鸟( fowl的名词复数 ); 禽肉; 既不是这; 非驴非马 | |
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93 unintelligible | |
adj.无法了解的,难解的,莫明其妙的 | |
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94 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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95 finesse | |
n.精密技巧,灵巧,手腕 | |
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96 prudence | |
n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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97 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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98 bounty | |
n.慷慨的赠予物,奖金;慷慨,大方;施与 | |
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99 dreaded | |
adj.令人畏惧的;害怕的v.害怕,恐惧,担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100 luscious | |
adj.美味的;芬芳的;肉感的,引与性欲的 | |
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101 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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102 procrastination | |
n.拖延,耽搁 | |
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103 engrossed | |
adj.全神贯注的 | |
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104 shred | |
v.撕成碎片,变成碎片;n.碎布条,细片,些少 | |
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105 scrunched | |
v.发出喀嚓声( scrunch的过去式和过去分词 );蜷缩;压;挤压 | |
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106 marrow | |
n.骨髓;精华;活力 | |
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107 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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108 eyebrows | |
眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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109 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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110 watery | |
adj.有水的,水汪汪的;湿的,湿润的 | |
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111 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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112 protruding | |
v.(使某物)伸出,(使某物)突出( protrude的现在分词 );凸 | |
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113 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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114 hurled | |
v.猛投,用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 );大声叫骂 | |
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115 unreasonable | |
adj.不讲道理的,不合情理的,过度的 | |
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116 fattened | |
v.喂肥( fatten的过去式和过去分词 );养肥(牲畜);使(钱)增多;使(公司)升值 | |
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