This, then, let me repeat, I postulate—that at the time I began to take opium daily I could not have done otherwise. Whether, indeed, afterwards I might not have succeeded in breaking off the habit, even when it seemed to me that all efforts would be unavailing, and whether many of the innumerable efforts which I did make might not have been carried much further, and my gradual reconquests of ground lost might not have been followed up much more energetically—these are questions which I must decline. Perhaps I might make out a case of palliation; but shall I speak ingenuously51? I confess it, as a besetting52 infirmity of mine, that I am too much of an Eud?monist; I hanker too much after a state of happiness, both for myself and others; I cannot face misery53, whether my own or not, with an eye of sufficient firmness, and am little capable of encountering present pain for the sake of any reversionary benefit. On some other matters I can agree with the gentlemen in the cotton trade {15} at Manchester in affecting the Stoic54 philosophy, but not in this. Here I take the liberty of an Eclectic philosopher, and I look out for some courteous and considerate sect55 that will condescend56 more to the infirm condition of an opium-eater; that are “sweet men,” as Chaucer says, “to give absolution,” and will show some conscience in the penances57 they inflict58, and the efforts of abstinence they exact from poor sinners like myself. An inhuman59 moralist I can no more endure in my nervous state than opium that has not been boiled. At any rate, he who summons me to send out a large freight of self-denial and mortification60 upon any cruising voyage of moral improvement, must make it clear to my understanding that the concern is a hopeful one. At my time of life (six-and-thirty years of age) it cannot be supposed that I have much energy to spare; in fact, I find it all little enough for the intellectual labours I have on my hands, and therefore let no man expect to frighten me by a few hard words into embarking62 any part of it upon desperate adventures of morality.
Whether desperate or not, however, the issue of the struggle in 1813 was what I have mentioned, and from this date the reader is to consider me as a regular and confirmed opium-eater, of whom to ask whether on any particular day he had or had not taken opium, would be to ask whether his lungs had performed respiration63, or the heart fulfilled its functions. You understand now, reader, what I am, and you are by this time aware that no old gentleman “with a snow-white beard” will have any chance of persuading me to surrender “the little golden receptacle of the pernicious drug.” No; I give notice to all, whether moralists or surgeons, that whatever be their pretensions and skill in their respective lines of practice, they must not hope for any countenance64 from me, if they think to begin by any savage65 proposition for a Lent or a Ramadan of abstinence from opium. This, then, being all fully66 understood between us, we shall in future sail before the wind. Now then, reader, from 1813, where all this time we have been sitting down and loitering, rise up, if you please, and walk forward about three years more. Now draw up the curtain, and you shall see me in a new character.
If any man, poor or rich, were to say that he would tell us what had been the happiest day in his life, and the why and the wherefore, I suppose that we should all cry out—Hear him! Hear him! As to the happiest day, that must be very difficult for any wise man to name, because any event that could occupy so distinguished a place in a man’s retrospect67 of his life, or be entitled to have shed a special felicity on any one day, ought to be of such an enduring character as that (accidents apart) it should have continued to shed the same felicity, or one not distinguishably less, on many years together. To the happiest lustrum, however, or even to the happiest year, it may be allowed to any man to point without discountenance from wisdom. This year, in my case, reader, was the one which we have now reached; though it stood, I confess, as a parenthesis68 between years of a gloomier character. It was a year of brilliant water (to speak after the manner of jewellers), set as it were, and insulated, in the gloom and cloudy melancholy of opium. Strange as it may sound, I had a little before this time descended69 suddenly, and without any considerable effort, from 320 grains of opium (i.e. eight {16} thousand drops of laudanum) per day, to forty grains, or one-eighth part. Instantaneously, and as if by magic, the cloud of profoundest melancholy which rested upon my brain, like some black vapours that I have seen roll away from the summits of mountains, drew off in one day (νυχθημερον); passed off with its murky70 banners as simultaneously71 as a ship that has been stranded72, and is floated off by a spring tide—
That moveth altogether, if it move at all.
Now, then, I was again happy; I now took only 1000 drops of laudanum per day; and what was that? A latter spring had come to close up the season of youth; my brain performed its functions as healthily as ever before; I read Kant again, and again I understood him, or fancied that I did. Again my feelings of pleasure expanded themselves to all around me; and if any man from Oxford73 or Cambridge, or from neither, had been announced to me in my unpretending cottage, I should have welcomed him with as sumptuous74 a reception as so poor a man could offer. Whatever else was wanting to a wise man’s happiness, of laudanum I would have given him as much as he wished, and in a golden cup. And, by the way, now that I speak of giving laudanum away, I remember about this time a little incident, which I mention because, trifling75 as it was, the reader will soon meet it again in my dreams, which it influenced more fearfully than could be imagined. One day a Malay knocked at my door. What business a Malay could have to transact76 amongst English mountains I cannot conjecture77; but possibly he was on his road to a seaport78 about forty miles distant.
The servant who opened the door to him was a young girl, born and bred amongst the mountains, who had never seen an Asiatic dress of any sort; his turban therefore confounded her not a little; and as it turned out that his attainments79 in English were exactly of the same extent as hers in the Malay, there seemed to be an impassable gulf80 fixed81 between all communication of ideas, if either party had happened to possess any. In this dilemma, the girl, recollecting82 the reputed learning of her master (and doubtless giving me credit for a knowledge of all the languages of the earth besides perhaps a few of the lunar ones), came and gave me to understand that there was a sort of demon46 below, whom she clearly imagined that my art could exorcise from the house. I did not immediately go down, but when I did, the group which presented itself, arranged as it was by accident, though not very elaborate, took hold of my fancy and my eye in a way that none of the statuesque attitudes exhibited in the ballets at the Opera-house, though so ostentatiously complex, had ever done. In a cottage kitchen, but panelled on the wall with dark wood that from age and rubbing resembled oak, and looking more like a rustic83 hall of entrance than a kitchen, stood the Malay—his turban and loose trousers of dingy84 white relieved upon the dark panelling. He had placed himself nearer to the girl than she seemed to relish85, though her native spirit of mountain intrepidity86 contended with the feeling of simple awe87 which her countenance expressed as she gazed upon the tiger-cat before her. And a more striking picture there could not be imagined than the beautiful English face of the girl, and its exquisite88 fairness, together with her erect89 and independent attitude, contrasted with the sallow and bilious90 skin of the Malay, enamelled or veneered with mahogany by marine91 air, his small, fierce, restless eyes, thin lips, slavish gestures and adorations. Half-hidden by the ferocious-looking Malay was a little child from a neighbouring cottage who had crept in after him, and was now in the act of reverting92 its head and gazing upwards93 at the turban and the fiery94 eyes beneath it, whilst with one hand he caught at the dress of the young woman for protection. My knowledge of the Oriental tongues is not remarkably95 extensive, being indeed confined to two words—the Arabic word for barley96 and the Turkish for opium (madjoon), which I have learned from Anastasius; and as I had neither a Malay dictionary nor even Adelung’s Mithridates, which might have helped me to a few words, I addressed him in some lines from the Iliad, considering that, of such languages as I possessed, Greek, in point of longitude97, came geographically98 nearest to an Oriental one. He worshipped me in a most devout99 manner, and replied in what I suppose was Malay. In this way I saved my reputation with my neighbours, for the Malay had no means of betraying the secret. He lay down upon the floor for about an hour, and then pursued his journey. On his departure I presented him with a piece of opium. To him, as an Orientalist, I concluded that opium must be familiar; and the expression of his face convinced me that it was. Nevertheless, I was struck with some little consternation100 when I saw him suddenly raise his hand to his mouth, and, to use the schoolboy phrase, bolt the whole, divided into three pieces, at one mouthful. The quantity was enough to kill three dragoons and their horses, and I felt some alarm for the poor creature; but what could be done? I had given him the opium in compassion101 for his solitary102 life, on recollecting that if he had travelled on foot from London it must be nearly three weeks since he could have exchanged a thought with any human being. I could not think of violating the laws of hospitality by having him seized and drenched103 with an emetic104, and thus frightening him into a notion that we were going to sacrifice him to some English idol105. No: there was clearly no help for it. He took his leave, and for some days I felt anxious, but as I never heard of any Malay being found dead, I became convinced that he was used {17} to opium; and that I must have done him the service I designed by giving him one night of respite106 from the pains of wandering.
This incident I have digressed to mention, because this Malay (partly from the picturesque107 exhibition he assisted to frame, partly from the anxiety I connected with his image for some days) fastened afterwards upon my dreams, and brought other Malays with him, worse than himself, that ran “a-muck” {18} at me, and led me into a world of troubles. But to quit this episode, and to return to my intercalary year of happiness. I have said already, that on a subject so important to us all as happiness, we should listen with pleasure to any man’s experience or experiments, even though he were but a plough-boy, who cannot be supposed to have ploughed very deep into such an intractable soil as that of human pains and pleasures, or to have conducted his researches upon any very enlightened principles. But I who have taken happiness both in a solid and liquid shape, both boiled and unboiled, both East India and Turkey—who have conducted my experiments upon this interesting subject with a sort of galvanic battery, and have, for the general benefit of the world, inoculated108 myself, as it were, with the poison of 8000 drops of laudanum per day (just for the same reason as a French surgeon inoculated himself lately with cancer, an English one twenty years ago with plague, and a third, I know not of what nation, with hydrophobia), I (it will be admitted) must surely know what happiness is, if anybody does. And therefore I will here lay down an analysis of happiness; and as the most interesting mode of communicating it, I will give it, not didactically, but wrapped up and involved in a picture of one evening, as I spent every evening during the intercalary year when laudanum, though taken daily, was to me no more than the elixir109 of pleasure. This done, I shall quit the subject of happiness altogether, and pass to a very different one—the pains of opium.
Let there be a cottage standing61 in a valley, eighteen miles from any town—no spacious110 valley, but about two miles long by three-quarters of a mile in average width; the benefit of which provision is that all the family resident within its circuit will compose, as it were, one larger household, personally familiar to your eye, and more or less interesting to your affections. Let the mountains be real mountains, between 3,000 and 4,000 feet high, and the cottage a real cottage, not (as a witty111 author has it) “a cottage with a double coach-house;” let it be, in fact (for I must abide112 by the actual scene), a white cottage, embowered with flowering shrubs113, so chosen as to unfold a succession of flowers upon the walls and clustering round the windows through all the months of spring, summer, and autumn—beginning, in fact, with May roses, and ending with jasmine. Let it, however, not be spring, nor summer, nor autumn, but winter in his sternest shape. This is a most important point in the science of happiness. And I am surprised to see people overlook it, and think it matter of congratulation that winter is going, or, if coming, is not likely to be a severe one. On the contrary, I put up a petition annually114 for as much snow, hail, frost, or storm, of one kind or other, as the skies can possibly afford us. Surely everybody is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a winter fireside, candles at four o’clock, warm hearth-rugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters115 closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies on the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without,
And at the doors and windows seem to call,
As heav’n and earth they would together mell;
Yet the least entrance find they none at all;
Whence sweeter grows our rest secure in massy hall.
Castle of Indolence.
All these are items in the description of a winter evening which must surely be familiar to everybody born in a high latitude116. And it is evident that most of these delicacies117, like ice-cream, require a very low temperature of the atmosphere to produce them; they are fruits which cannot be ripened118 without weather stormy or inclement119 in some way or other. I am not “particular,” as people say, whether it be snow, or black frost, or wind so strong that (as Mr. --- says) “you may lean your back against it like a post.” I can put up even with rain, provided it rains cats and dogs; but something of the sort I must have, and if I have it not, I think myself in a manner ill-used; for why am I called on to pay so heavily for winter, in coals and candles, and various privations that will occur even to gentlemen, if I am not to have the article good of its kind? No, a Canadian winter for my money, or a Russian one, where every man is but a co-proprietor with the north wind in the fee-simple of his own ears. Indeed, so great an epicure120 am I in this matter that I cannot relish a winter night fully if it be much past St. Thomas’s day, and have degenerated121 into disgusting tendencies to vernal appearances. No, it must be divided by a thick wall of dark nights from all return of light and sunshine. From the latter weeks of October to Christmas Eve, therefore, is the period during which happiness is in season, which, in my judgment122, enters the room with the tea-tray; for tea, though ridiculed123 by those who are naturally of coarse nerves, or are become so from wine-drinking, and are not susceptible124 of influence from so refined a stimulant125, will always be the favourite beverage126 of the intellectual; and, for my part, I would have joined Dr. Johnson in a bellum internecinum against Jonas Hanway, or any other impious person, who should presume to disparage127 it. But here, to save myself the trouble of too much verbal description, I will introduce a painter, and give him directions for the rest of the picture. Painters do not like white cottages, unless a good deal weather-stained; but as the reader now understands that it is a winter night, his services will not be required except for the inside of the house.
Paint me, then, a room seventeen feet by twelve, and not more than seven and a half feet high. This, reader, is somewhat ambitiously styled in my family the drawing-room; but being contrived128 “a double debt to pay,” it is also, and more justly, termed the library, for it happens that books are the only article of property in which I am richer than my neighbours. Of these I have about five thousand, collected gradually since my eighteenth year. Therefore, painter, put as many as you can into this room. Make it populous129 with books, and, furthermore, paint me a good fire, and furniture plain and modest, befitting the unpretending cottage of a scholar. And near the fire paint me a tea-table, and (as it is clear that no creature can come to see one such a stormy night) place only two cups and saucers on the tea-tray; and, if you know how to paint such a thing symbolically130 or otherwise, paint me an eternal tea-pot—eternal à parte ante and à parte post—for I usually drink tea from eight o’clock at night to four o’clock in the morning. And as it is very unpleasant to make tea or to pour it out for oneself, paint me a lovely young woman sitting at the table. Paint her arms like Aurora’s and her smiles like Hebe’s. But no, dear M., not even in jest let me insinuate131 that thy power to illuminate132 my cottage rests upon a tenure133 so perishable134 as mere personal beauty, or that the witchcraft135 of angelic smiles lies within the empire of any earthly pencil. Pass then, my good painter, to something more within its power; and the next article brought forward should naturally be myself—a picture of the Opium-eater, with his “little golden receptacle of the pernicious drug” lying beside him on the table. As to the opium, I have no objection to see a picture of that, though I would rather see the original. You may paint it if you choose, but I apprise136 you that no “little” receptacle would, even in 1816, answer my purpose, who was at a distance from the “stately Pantheon,” and all druggists (mortal or otherwise). No, you may as well paint the real receptacle, which was not of gold, but of glass, and as much like a wine-decanter as possible. Into this you may put a quart of ruby-coloured laudanum; that, and a book of German Metaphysics placed by its side, will sufficiently137 attest138 my being in the neighbourhood. But as to myself—there I demur139. I admit that, naturally, I ought to occupy the foreground of the picture; that being the hero of the piece, or (if you choose) the criminal at the bar, my body should be had into court. This seems reasonable; but why should I confess on this point to a painter? or why confess at all? If the public (into whose private ear I am confidentially140 whispering my confessions, and not into any painter’s) should chance to have framed some agreeable picture for itself of the Opium-eater’s exterior141, should have ascribed to him, romantically an elegant person or a handsome face, why should I barbarously tear from it so pleasing a delusion—pleasing both to the public and to me? No; paint me, if at all, according to your own fancy, and as a painter’s fancy should teem142 with beautiful creations, I cannot fail in that way to be a gainer. And now, reader, we have run through all the ten categories of my condition as it stood about 1816-17, up to the middle of which latter year I judge myself to have been a happy man, and the elements of that happiness I have endeavoured to place before you in the above sketch143 of the interior of a scholar’s library, in a cottage among the mountains, on a stormy winter evening.
But now, farewell—a long farewell—to happiness, winter or summer! Farewell to smiles and laughter! Farewell to peace of mind! Farewell to hope and to tranquil144 dreams, and to the blessed consolations145 of sleep. For more than three years and a half I am summoned away from these. I am now arrived at an Iliad of woes, for I have now to record

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courteous
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adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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opium
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n.鸦片;adj.鸦片的 | |
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passionate
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adj.热情的,热烈的,激昂的,易动情的,易怒的,性情暴躁的 | |
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diligently
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ad.industriously;carefully | |
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perused
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v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的过去式和过去分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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moths
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n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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frailer
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脆弱的( frail的比较级 ); 易损的; 易碎的 | |
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vessels
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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 | |
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possessed
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adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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conjectural
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adj.推测的 | |
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slumbers
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睡眠,安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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retaliation
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n.报复,反击 | |
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dressing
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n.(食物)调料;包扎伤口的用品,敷料 | |
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propensities
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n.倾向,习性( propensity的名词复数 ) | |
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formerly
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adv.从前,以前 | |
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worthy
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adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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treacherous
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adj.不可靠的,有暗藏的危险的;adj.背叛的,背信弃义的 | |
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refinement
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n.文雅;高尚;精美;精制;精炼 | |
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malice
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n.恶意,怨恨,蓄意;[律]预谋 | |
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spoke
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n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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favourable
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adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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n.使者( herald的名词复数 );预报者;预兆;传令官v.预示( herald的第三人称单数 );宣布(好或重要) | |
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pretensions
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自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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distinguished
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adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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beatific
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adj.快乐的,有福的 | |
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disorder
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n.紊乱,混乱;骚动,骚乱;疾病,失调 | |
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temperate
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adj.温和的,温带的,自我克制的,不过分的 | |
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avenging
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adj.报仇的,复仇的v.为…复仇,报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 );为…报复 | |
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dilettante
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n.半瓶醋,业余爱好者 | |
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intervals
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n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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distress
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n.苦恼,痛苦,不舒适;不幸;vt.使悲痛 | |
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melancholy
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n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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appalling
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adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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irritation
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n.激怒,恼怒,生气 | |
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revival
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n.复兴,复苏,(精力、活力等的)重振 | |
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narrative
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malady
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n.病,疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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wrestle
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vi.摔跤,角力;搏斗;全力对付 | |
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lurking
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潜在 | |
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gore
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n.凝血,血污;v.(动物)用角撞伤,用牙刺破;缝以补裆;顶 | |
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drawn
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v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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remains
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n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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postulate
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n.假定,基本条件;vt.要求,假定 | |
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demon
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n.魔鬼,恶魔 | |
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mere
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adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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prudence
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n.谨慎,精明,节俭 | |
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confessions
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n.承认( confession的名词复数 );自首;声明;(向神父的)忏悔 | |
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dint
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n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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ingenuously
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adv.率直地,正直地 | |
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besetting
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adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 );不断围攻;镶;嵌 | |
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misery
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n.痛苦,苦恼,苦难;悲惨的境遇,贫苦 | |
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stoic
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n.坚忍克己之人,禁欲主义者 | |
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sect
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n.派别,宗教,学派,派系 | |
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condescend
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v.俯就,屈尊;堕落,丢丑 | |
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penances
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n.(赎罪的)苦行,苦修( penance的名词复数 ) | |
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inflict
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vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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59
inhuman
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adj.残忍的,不人道的,无人性的 | |
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60
mortification
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n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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61
standing
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n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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62
embarking
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乘船( embark的现在分词 ); 装载; 从事 | |
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63
respiration
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n.呼吸作用;一次呼吸;植物光合作用 | |
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64
countenance
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n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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65
savage
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adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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66
fully
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adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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67
retrospect
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n.回顾,追溯;v.回顾,回想,追溯 | |
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68
parenthesis
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n.圆括号,插入语,插曲,间歇,停歇 | |
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69
descended
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a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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70
murky
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adj.黑暗的,朦胧的;adv.阴暗地,混浊地;n.阴暗;昏暗 | |
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71
simultaneously
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adv.同时发生地,同时进行地 | |
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72
stranded
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a.搁浅的,进退两难的 | |
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73
Oxford
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n.牛津(英国城市) | |
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74
sumptuous
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adj.豪华的,奢侈的,华丽的 | |
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75
trifling
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adj.微不足道的;没什么价值的 | |
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76
transact
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v.处理;做交易;谈判 | |
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77
conjecture
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n./v.推测,猜测 | |
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78
seaport
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n.海港,港口,港市 | |
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79
attainments
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成就,造诣; 获得( attainment的名词复数 ); 达到; 造诣; 成就 | |
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80
gulf
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n.海湾;深渊,鸿沟;分歧,隔阂 | |
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81
fixed
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adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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82
recollecting
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v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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83
rustic
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adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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84
dingy
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adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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85
relish
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n.滋味,享受,爱好,调味品;vt.加调味料,享受,品味;vi.有滋味 | |
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86
intrepidity
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n.大胆,刚勇;大胆的行为 | |
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87
awe
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n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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88
exquisite
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adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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89
erect
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n./v.树立,建立,使竖立;adj.直立的,垂直的 | |
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90
bilious
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adj.胆汁过多的;易怒的 | |
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91
marine
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adj.海的;海生的;航海的;海事的;n.水兵 | |
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92
reverting
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恢复( revert的现在分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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93
upwards
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adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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94
fiery
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adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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95
remarkably
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ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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96
barley
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n.大麦,大麦粒 | |
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97
longitude
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n.经线,经度 | |
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98
geographically
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adv.地理学上,在地理上,地理方面 | |
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99
devout
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adj.虔诚的,虔敬的,衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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100
consternation
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n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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101
compassion
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n.同情,怜悯 | |
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102
solitary
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adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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103
drenched
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adj.湿透的;充满的v.使湿透( drench的过去式和过去分词 );在某人(某物)上大量使用(某液体) | |
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104
emetic
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n.催吐剂;adj.催吐的 | |
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105
idol
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n.偶像,红人,宠儿 | |
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106
respite
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n.休息,中止,暂缓 | |
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107
picturesque
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adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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108
inoculated
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v.给…做预防注射( inoculate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
elixir
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n.长生不老药,万能药 | |
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110
spacious
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adj.广阔的,宽敞的 | |
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111
witty
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adj.机智的,风趣的 | |
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112
abide
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vi.遵守;坚持;vt.忍受 | |
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113
shrubs
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灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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114
annually
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adv.一年一次,每年 | |
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115
shutters
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百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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116
latitude
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n.纬度,行动或言论的自由(范围),(pl.)地区 | |
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117
delicacies
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n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 );精致;精美的食物;周到 | |
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118
ripened
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v.成熟,使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
inclement
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adj.严酷的,严厉的,恶劣的 | |
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120
epicure
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n.行家,美食家 | |
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121
degenerated
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衰退,堕落,退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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122
judgment
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n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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123
ridiculed
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v.嘲笑,嘲弄,奚落( ridicule的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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124
susceptible
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adj.过敏的,敏感的;易动感情的,易受感动的 | |
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125
stimulant
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n.刺激物,兴奋剂 | |
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126
beverage
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n.(水,酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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127
disparage
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v.贬抑,轻蔑 | |
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128
contrived
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adj.不自然的,做作的;虚构的 | |
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129
populous
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adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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130
symbolically
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ad.象征地,象征性地 | |
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131
insinuate
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vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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132
illuminate
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vt.照亮,照明;用灯光装饰;说明,阐释 | |
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133
tenure
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n.终身职位;任期;(土地)保有权,保有期 | |
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134
perishable
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adj.(尤指食物)易腐的,易坏的 | |
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135
witchcraft
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n.魔法,巫术 | |
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136
apprise
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vt.通知,告知 | |
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137
sufficiently
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adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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138
attest
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vt.证明,证实;表明 | |
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139
demur
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v.表示异议,反对 | |
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140
confidentially
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ad.秘密地,悄悄地 | |
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141
exterior
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adj.外部的,外在的;表面的 | |
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142
teem
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vi.(with)充满,多产 | |
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143
sketch
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n.草图;梗概;素描;v.素描;概述 | |
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144
tranquil
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adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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145
consolations
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n.安慰,慰问( consolation的名词复数 );起安慰作用的人(或事物) | |
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