Robert Audley shrugged4 his shoulders as he looked at the dingy5 streets through which the Hansom carried him, the cab-man choosing—with that delicious instinct which seems innate6 in the drivers of hackney vehicles—all those dark and hideous7 thoroughfares utterly8 unknown to the ordinary pedestrian.
"What a pleasant thing life is," thought the barrister. "What an unspeakable boon—what an overpowering blessing9! Let any man make a calculation of his existence, subtracting the hours in which he has been thoroughly11 happy—really and entirely12 at his ease, without one arriere pensée to mar13 his enjoyment—without the most infinitesimal cloud to overshadow the brightness of his horizon. Let him do this, and surely he will laugh in utter bitterness of soul when he sets down the sum of his felicity, and discovers the pitiful smallness of the amount. He will have enjoyed himself for a week or ten days in thirty years, perhaps. In thirty years of dull December, and blustering14 March, and showery April, and dark November weather, there may have been seven or eight glorious August days, through which the sun has blazed in cloudless radiance, and the summer breezes have breathed perpetual balm. How fondly we recollect15 these solitary16 days of pleasure, and hope for their recurrence17, and try to plan the circumstances that made them bright; and arrange, and predestinate, and diplomatize with fate for a renewal18 of the remembered joy. As if any joy could ever be built up out of such and such constituent19 parts! As if happiness were not essentially20 accidental—a bright and wandering bird, utterly irregular in its migrations21; with us one summer's day, and forever gone from us on the next! Look at marriages, for instance," mused22 Robert, who was as meditative23 in the jolting24 vehicle, for whose occupation he was to pay sixpence a mile, as if he had been riding a mustang on the wild loneliness of the prairies. "Look at marriage! Who is to say which shall be the one judicious25 selection out of nine hundred and ninety-nine mistakes! Who shall decide from the first aspect of the slimy creature, which is to be the one eel26 out of the colossal27 bag of snakes? That girl on the curbstone yonder, waiting to cross the street when my chariot shall have passed, may be the one woman out of every female creature in this vast universe who could make me a happy man. Yet I pass her by—bespatter her with the mud from my wheels, in my helpless ignorance, in my blind submission28 to the awful hand of fatality29. If that girl, Clara Talboys, had been five minutes later, I should have left Dorsetshire thinking her cold, hard, and unwomanly, and should have gone to my grave with that mistake part and parcel of my mind. I took her for a stately and heartless automaton31; I know her now to be a noble and beautiful woman. What an incalculable difference this may make in my life. When I left that house, I went out into the winter day with the determination of abandoning all further thought of the secret of George's death. I see her, and she forces me onward32 upon the loathsome33 path—the crooked34 by-way of watchfulness35 and suspicion. How can I say to this sister of my dead friend, 'I believe that your brother has been murdered! I believe that I know by whom, but I will take no step to set my doubts at rest, or to confirm my fears'? I cannot say this. This woman knows half my secret; she will soon possess herself of the rest, and then—and then—"
The cab stopped in the midst of Robert Audley's meditation36, and he had to pay the cabman, and submit to all the dreary37 mechanism38 of life, which is the same whether we are glad or sorry—whether we are to be married or hung, elevated to the woolsack, or disbarred by our brother benchers on some mysterious technical tangle39 of wrong-doing, which is a social enigma40 to those outside the forum41 domesticum of the Middle Temple.
We are apt to be angry with this cruel hardness in our life—this unflinching regularity42 in the smaller wheels and meaner mechanism of the human machine, which knows no stoppage or cessation, though the mainspring be forever hollow, and the hands pointing to purposeless figures on a shattered dial.
Who has not felt, in the first madness of sorrow, an unreasoning rage against the mute propriety43 of chairs and tables, the stiff squareness of Turkey carpets, the unbending obstinacy44 of the outward apparatus45 of existence? We want to root up gigantic trees in a primeval forest, and to tear their huge branches asunder46 in our convulsive grasp; and the utmost that we can do for the relief of our passion is to knock over an easy-chair, or smash a few shillings' worth of Mr. Copeland's manufacture.
Madhouses are large and only too numerous; yet surely it is strange they are not larger, when we think of how many helpless wretches47 must beat their brains against this hopeless persistency48 of the orderly outward world, as compared with the storm and tempest, the riot and confusion within—when we remember how many minds must tremble upon the narrow boundary between reason and unreason, mad to-day and sane49 to-morrow, mad yesterday and sane to-day.
Robert Audley had directed the cabman to drop him at the corner of Chancery Lane, and he ascended50 the brilliantly-lighted staircase leading to the dining-saloon of The London, and seated himself at one of the snug51 tables with a confused sense of emptiness and weariness, rather than any agreeable sensation of healthy hunger. He had come to the luxurious52 eating-house to dine, because it was absolutely necessary to eat something somewhere, and a great deal easier to get a very good dinner from Mr. Sawyer than a very bad one from Mrs. Maloney, whose mind ran in one narrow channel of chops and steaks, only variable by small creeks53 and outlets54 in the way of "broiled55 sole" or "boiled mack'-rill." The solicitous56 waiter tried in vain to rouse poor Robert to a proper sense of the solemnity of the dinner question. He muttered something to the effect that the man might bring him anything he liked, and the friendly waiter, who knew Robert as a frequent guest at the little tables, went back to his master with a doleful face, to say that Mr. Audley, from Figtree Court, was evidently out of spirits. Robert ate his dinner, and drank a pint57 of Moselle; but he had poor appreciation58 of the excellence59 of the viands60 or the delicate fragrance61 of the wine. The mental monologue62 still went on, and the young philosopher of the modern school was arguing the favorite modern question of the nothingness of everything, and the folly63 of taking too much trouble to walk upon a road that went nowhere, or to compass a work that meant nothing.
"I accept the dominion64 of that pale girl, with the statuesque features and the calm brown eyes," he thought. "I recognize the power of a mind superior to my own, and I yield to it, and bow down to it. I've been acting10 for myself, and thinking for myself, for the last few months, and I'm tired of the unnatural65 business. I've been false to the leading principle of my life, and I've suffered for the folly. I found two gray hairs in my head the week before last, and an impertinent crow has planted a delicate impression of his foot under my right eye. Yes, I'm getting old upon the right side; and why—why should it be so?"
He pushed away his plate and lifted his eyebrows66, staring at the crumbs67 upon the glistening68 damask, as he pondered the question.
"What the devil am I doing in this galere?" he asked. "But I am in it, and I can't get out of it; so I better submit myself to the brown-eyed girl, and do what she tells me patiently and faithfully. What a wonderful solution to life's enigma there is in petticoat government! Man might lie in the sunshine, and eat lotuses, and fancy it 'always afternoon,' if his wife would let him! But she won't, bless her impulsive69 heart and active mind! She knows better than that. Who ever heard of a woman taking life as it ought to be taken? Instead of supporting it as an unavoidable nuisance, only redeemable71 by its brevity, she goes through it as if it were a pageant72 or a procession. She dresses for it, and simpers and grins, and gesticulates for it. She pushes her neighbors, and struggles for a good place in the dismal73 march; she elbows, and writhes74, and tramples75, and prances76 to the one end of making the most of the misery77. She gets up early and sits up late, and is loud, and restless, and noisy, and unpitying. She drags her husband on to the woolsack, or pushes him into Parliament. She drives him full butt78 at the dear, lazy machinery79 of government, and knocks and buffets80 him about the wheels, and cranks, and screws, and pulleys; until somebody, for quiet's sake, makes him something that she wanted him to be made. That's why incompetent81 men sometimes sit in high places, and interpose their poor, muddled82 intellects between the things to be done and the people that can do them, making universal confusion in the helpless innocence83 of well-placed incapacity. The square men in the round holes are pushed into them by their wives. The Eastern potentate84 who declared that women were at the bottom of all mischief85, should have gone a little further and seen why it is so. It is because women are never lazy. They don't know what it is to be quiet. They are Semiramides, and Cleopatras, and Joans of Arc, Queen Elizabeths, and Catharines the Second, and they riot in battle, and murder, and clamor and desperation. If they can't agitate86 the universe and play at ball with hemispheres, they'll make mountains of warfare87 and vexation out of domestic molehills, and social storms in household teacups. Forbid them to hold forth88 upon the freedom of nations and the wrongs of mankind, and they'll quarrel with Mrs. Jones about the shape of a mantle89 or the character of a small maid-servant. To call them the weaker sex is to utter a hideous mockery. They are the stronger sex, the noisier, the more persevering90, the most self-assertive sex. They want freedom of opinion, variety of occupation, do they? Let them have it. Let them be lawyers, doctors, preachers, teachers, soldiers, legislators—anything they like—but let them be quiet—if they can."
Mr. Audley pushed his hands through the thick luxuriance of his straight brown hair, and uplifted the dark mass in his despair.
"I hate women," he thought, savagely91. "They're bold, brazen92, abominable93 creatures, invented for the annoyance94 and destruction of their superiors. Look at this business of poor George's! It's all woman's work from one end to the other. He marries a woman, and his father casts him off penniless and professionless. He hears of the woman's death and he breaks his heart—his good honest, manly30 heart, worth a million of the treacherous95 lumps of self-interest and mercenary calculation which beats in women's breasts. He goes to a woman's house and he is never seen alive again. And now I find myself driven into a corner by another woman, of whose existence I had never thought until this day. And—and then," mused Mr. Audley, rather irrelevantly96, "there's Alicia, too; she's another nuisance. She'd like me to marry her I know; and she'll make me do it, I dare say, before she's done with me. But I'd much rather not; though she is a dear, bouncing, generous thing, bless her poor little heart."
Robert paid his bill and rewarded the waiter liberally. The young barrister was very willing to distribute his comfortable little income among the people who served him, for he carried his indifference97 to all things in the universe, even to the matter of pounds, shillings and pence. Perhaps he was rather exceptional in this, as you may frequently find that the philosopher who calls life an empty delusion98 is pretty sharp in the investment of his moneys, and recognizes the tangible99 nature of India bonds, Spanish certificates, and Egyptian scrip—as contrasted with the painful uncertainty100 of an Ego101 or a non-Ego in metaphysics.
The snug rooms in Figtree Court seemed dreary in their orderly quiet to Robert Audley upon this particular evening. He had no inclination102 for his French novels, though there was a packet of uncut romances, comic and sentimental103, ordered a month before, waiting his pleasure upon one of the tables. He took his favorite meerschaum and dropped into his favorite chair with a sigh.
"It's comfortable, but it seems so deuced lonely to-night. If poor George were sitting opposite to me, or—or even George's sister—she's very like him—existence might be a little more endurable. But when a fellow's lived by himself for eight or ten years he begins to be bad company."
He burst out laughing presently as he finished his first pipe.
"The idea of my thinking of George's sister," he thought; "what a preposterous104 idiot I am!"
The next day's post brought him a letter in a firm but feminine hand, which was strange to him. He found the little packet lying on his breakfast-table, beside the warm French roll wrapped in a napkin by Mrs. Maloney's careful but rather dirty hands. He contemplated105 the envelope for some minutes before opening it—not in any wonder as to his correspondent, for the letter bore the postmark of Grange Heath, and he knew that there was only one person who was likely to write to him from that obscure village, but in that lazy dreaminess which was a part of his character.
"From Clara Talboys," he murmured slowly, as he looked critically at the clearly-shaped letters of his name and address. "Yes, from Clara Talboys, most decidedly; I recognized a feminine resemblance to poor George's hand; neater than his, and more decided106 than his, but very like, very like."
"I wonder what she says to me?" he thought. "It's a long letter, I dare say; she's the kind of woman who would write a long letter—a letter that will urge me on, drive me forward, wrench108 me out of myself, I've no doubt. But that can't be helped—so here goes!"
He tore open the envelope with a sigh of resignation. It contained nothing but George's two letters, and a few words written on the flap: "I send the letters; please preserve and return them—C.T."
The letter, written from Liverpool, told nothing of the writer's life except his sudden determination of starting for a new world, to redeem70 the fortunes that had been ruined in the old. The letter written almost immediately after George's marriage, contained a full description of his wife—such a description as a man could only write within three weeks of a love match—a description in which every feature was minutely catalogued, every grace of form or beauty of expression fondly dwelt upon, every charm of manner lovingly depicted109.
Robert Audley read the letter three times before he laid it down.
"If George could have known for what a purpose this description would serve when he wrote it," thought the young barrister, "surely his hand would have fallen paralyzed by horror, and powerless to shape one syllable110 of these tender words."
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
greasy
|
|
| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
thawed
|
|
| 解冻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
flaring
|
|
| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
dingy
|
|
| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
innate
|
|
| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
hideous
|
|
| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
blessing
|
|
| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
mar
|
|
| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
blustering
|
|
| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
recollect
|
|
| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
solitary
|
|
| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
recurrence
|
|
| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
renewal
|
|
| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
constituent
|
|
| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
essentially
|
|
| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
migrations
|
|
| n.迁移，移居( migration的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
mused
|
|
| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
meditative
|
|
| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
jolting
|
|
| adj.令人震惊的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
judicious
|
|
| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
eel
|
|
| n.鳗鲡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
colossal
|
|
| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
submission
|
|
| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
fatality
|
|
| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
manly
|
|
| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
automaton
|
|
| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
onward
|
|
| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
loathsome
|
|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
crooked
|
|
| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
watchfulness
|
|
| 警惕，留心； 警觉（性） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
dreary
|
|
| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
mechanism
|
|
| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
tangle
|
|
| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
enigma
|
|
| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
forum
|
|
| n.论坛，讨论会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
regularity
|
|
| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
propriety
|
|
| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
obstinacy
|
|
| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
apparatus
|
|
| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
asunder
|
|
| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
persistency
|
|
| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
sane
|
|
| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
ascended
|
|
| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
snug
|
|
| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
luxurious
|
|
| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
creeks
|
|
| n.小湾( creek的名词复数 )；小港；小河；小溪 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
outlets
|
|
| n.出口( outlet的名词复数 )；经销店；插座；廉价经销店 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
broiled
|
|
| a.烤过的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
solicitous
|
|
| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
pint
|
|
| n.品脱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
appreciation
|
|
| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
excellence
|
|
| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
viands
|
|
| n.食品，食物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
fragrance
|
|
| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
monologue
|
|
| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
dominion
|
|
| n.统治，管辖，支配权；领土，版图 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
unnatural
|
|
| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
eyebrows
|
|
| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
crumbs
|
|
| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
glistening
|
|
| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
impulsive
|
|
| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
redeem
|
|
| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
redeemable
|
|
| 可赎回的，可补救的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
pageant
|
|
| n.壮观的游行；露天历史剧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
writhes
|
|
| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
tramples
|
|
| 踩( trample的第三人称单数 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
76
prances
|
|
| v.（马）腾跃( prance的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
misery
|
|
| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
butt
|
|
| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
machinery
|
|
| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
buffets
|
|
| （火车站的）饮食柜台( buffet的名词复数 )； （火车的）餐车； 自助餐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
incompetent
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能胜任的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
muddled
|
|
| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
innocence
|
|
| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
potentate
|
|
| n.统治者；君主 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
mischief
|
|
| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
agitate
|
|
| vi.(for,against)煽动，鼓动；vt.搅动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
mantle
|
|
| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
persevering
|
|
| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
savagely
|
|
| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
brazen
|
|
| adj.厚脸皮的，无耻的，坚硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
abominable
|
|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
treacherous
|
|
| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
irrelevantly
|
|
| adv.不恰当地，不合适地；不相关地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
indifference
|
|
| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
delusion
|
|
| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
tangible
|
|
| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
uncertainty
|
|
| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
ego
|
|
| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
102
inclination
|
|
| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
103
sentimental
|
|
| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
104
preposterous
|
|
| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
105
contemplated
|
|
| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
106
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
107
crest
|
|
| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
108
wrench
|
|
| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
109
depicted
|
|
| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
110
syllable
|
|
| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |