Is it not the experience of most people that little boys are conscientious10, duty-loving, interested not so much in the matter of work, but in the zealous11 performance of it; and that[33] when adolescence12 begins, they grow indifferent, wearied, even rebellious13, until they drift at last into a kind of cynicism about the whole thing—a kind of dumb certainty, that whatever else may be got from work, enjoyment in no form is the result? And is not the moral of this, that the apprenticeship14 once over and the foundation laid, special tastes should as far as possible be consulted, and subjects simplified, so as to give boys a sense of mastery in something, and interest at all hazards.
Methods of Study
The champions of our classical system defend it on the ground that the accurate training in the subtleties15 of grammar hardens and fortifies16 the intelligence, and that the mind is introduced to the masterpieces of ancient literature, and thus encouraged in the formation of correct taste and critical appreciation17.
An excellent theory, and I admit at once its value for minds of high and firm intellectual calibre. But how does it actually work out for the majority? In the first place, look at what the study of grammar amounts to—it comes, as a matter of fact, when one remembers the grammar papers which were set in examinations, to be little more than a[34] knowledge of arbitrary, odd and eccentric forms such as a boy seldom if ever meets in the course of his reading. Imagine teaching English on the same theory, and making boys learn that metals have no plural18, or that certain fish use the same form in the singular and in the plural—things of which one acquires the knowledge insensibly, and which are absolutely immaterial. Moreover, the quantity of grammatical forms in Latin and Greek are infinitely19 increased by the immensely larger number of inflexions. Is it useful that boys should have to commit to memory the dual20 forms in Greek verbs—forms of a repulsive21 character in themselves, and seldom encountered in books? The result of this method is that the weaker mind is warped22 and strained. Some few memories of a peculiarly retentive23 type may acquire these useless facts in a mechanical manner; but it is hardly more valuable than if they were required to commit to memory long lists of nonsense words. Yet in most cases they are doomed24 to be speedily and completely forgotten—indeed, nothing can ever be really learnt unless a logical connection can be established between the items.
[35]
Mastery and Spirit
Then after the dark apprenticeship of grammar comes the next stage—the appreciation of literature; but I diffidently believe here that not ten per cent of the boys who are introduced to the classics have ever the slightest idea that they are in the presence of literature at all. They never approach the point which is essential to a love of literature—the instinctive25 perception of the intrinsic beauty of majestic26 and noble words, and still less the splendid associations which grow to be inseparably connected with words, in a language which one really knows and admires.
Method and Spirit
My own belief is that both the method of instruction and the spirit of that instruction are at fault. Like the Presbyterian Liturgy27, the system depends far too much on the individuality of the teacher, and throws too great a strain upon his mood. A vigorous, brilliant, lively, humorous, rhetorical man can break through the shackles28 of construing29 and parsing30, and give the boys the feeling of having been in contact with a larger mind; but in the hands of a dull and uninspiring teacher the system is simply famishing from its portentous31 aridity32. The result, at all events, is that the majority of the boys at our schools[36] never get the idea that they are in the presence of literature at all. They are kept kicking their heels in the dark and cold antechamber of parsing and grammar, and never get a glimpse of the bright gardens within.
What is, after all, the aim of education? I suppose it is twofold: firstly, to make of the mind a bright, keen, and effective instrument, capable of seeing a point, of grappling with a difficulty, of presenting facts or thoughts with clearness and precision. A young man properly educated should be able to detect a fallacy, to correct by acquired clearsightedness a false logical position. He should not be at the mercy of any new theory which may be presented to him in a specious34 and attractive shape. That is, I suppose, the negative side. Then secondly35, he should have a cultivated taste for intellectual things, a power of enjoyment; he should not bow meekly36 to authority in the matter of literature, and force himself into the admiration of what is prescribed, but he should be possessed37 of a dignified and wholesome38 originality39; he should have his own taste clearly defined. If his bent40 is historical, he should be eagerly interested in any masterly presentation of historical[37] theory, whether new or old; if philosophical, he should keep abreast41 of modern speculation42; if purely43 literary, he should be able to return hour after hour to masterpieces that breathe and burn.
Educational Results
But what is the result of our English education? In one respect admirable; it turns out boys who are courteous45, generous, brave, active, and public-spirited; but is it impossible that these qualities should exist with a certain intellectual standard? I remember now, though I did not apply any theory at the time to the phenomenon, that when at school I used dimly to wonder at seeing boys who were all these things—fond of talk, fond of games, devoted46 to all open-air exercises, conscientious and wholesome-minded, who were at the same time utterly47 listless in intellectual things—who could not read a book of any kind except the simplest novel, and then only to fill a vacant hour, who could not give a moment’s attention to the presentment of an interesting episode, who were moreover utterly contemptuous of all such things, inclined to think them intolerably tedious and essentially48 priggish—and yet these were the boys of whom most was made, who were most popular not only with[38] boys but with masters as well, and who, in our little microcosmography were essentially the successful people, to be imitated, followed, and worshipped.
Now if it were certain that the qualities which are developed by an English education would be sacrificed if a higher intellectual standard were aimed at, I should not hesitate to sacrifice the intellectual side. But I do not believe it is necessary; and what is stranger still, I do not believe that most of our educators have any idea that the intellectual side of education is being sacrificed.
I remember once hearing a veteran and successful educator say that he considered a well-educated man was a man whose mind was not at the mercy of the last new book on any ordinary subject. If that is an infallible test, then our public schools may be said to have succeeded beyond all reasonable expectation. The ordinary public-school type of man is not in the least at the mercy of the last new book, because he is careful never to submit himself to the chance of pernicious bias—he does not get so far as to read it.
Educational Aims
At present athletics49 are so much deferred50 to, that boys seem to me to be encouraged deliberately[39] to lay their plans as if life ended at thirty. But I believe that schools should aim at producing a type that should develop naturally and equably with the years. What we want to produce is an unselfish, tranquil52, contented53 type, full of generous visions; neither prematurely54 serious nor incurably55 frivolous56, nor afraid of responsibility, nor morbidly57 desirous of influence; neither shunning58 nor courting publicity59, but natural, wholesome, truthful60, and happy; not afraid of difficulties nor sadly oppressed with a sense of responsibility; fond of activity and yet capable of using and enjoying leisure; not narrow-minded, not viewing everything from the standpoint of a particular town or parish, but patriotic61 and yet not insular62, modern-spirited and yet not despising the past, practical and yet with a sense of spiritual realities.
I think that what is saddest is that the theoretical perfection screens the practical inutility of the thing. If it seems good to the collective wisdom of the country to let education go, and to make a public-school a kind of healthy barrack-life for the physical training of the body, with a certain amount of mental occupation to fill the vacant hours that[40] might otherwise be mischievous—pleasure with a hem6 of duty—let it be frankly63 admitted that it is so; but that the education received by boys at our public-schools is now, except in intention, literary—that is the position which I entirely64 deny.
Personally I had a certain feeble taste for literature. I read in a slipshod way a good deal of English poetry, memoirs65, literary history, and essays, but my reading was utterly amateurish66 and unguided. I even had some slight preferences in style, but I could not have given a reason for my preference; I could not write an English essay—I had no idea of arrangement. I had never been told to “let the bones show;” I had no sense of proportion, and considered that anything which I happened to have in my own mind was relevant to any subject about which I was writing. I had never learnt to see the point or to insist upon the essential.
The Classics
Neither do I think that I can claim to have had any particular love for the classics; but I was blest with a pictorial67 mind, and though much of my classical reading was a mere68 weariness to me, I was cheered at intervals69 by a sudden romantic glimpse of some scene[41] or other that seized me with a vivid reality. The Odyssey70 and the ?neid were rich in these surprises; for the talk of Gods, indeed, I had nothing but bewildered contempt; but such a scene as that of Laertes in his patched gaiters, fumbling71 with a young tree on his upland farm, at once seized tyrannically upon my fancy. Catullus, Horace, even Martial72, gave me occasional food for the imagination; and all at once it seemed worth while to traverse the arid33 leagues, or to wade73, as Tennyson said, in a sea of glue, for these divine moments.
One such scene that affected74 my fancy I will describe in greater detail; and let it stand as a specimen75. It was in the third ?neid; we were sitting in a dusty class-room, the gas flaring76. The lesson proceeded slowly and wearily, with a thin trickle77 of exposition from the desk, emanating78 from a master who was evidently as sick of the whole business as ourselves.
Andromache, widow of Hector, after a forced union with Neoptolemus, becomes the bride of Helenus, Hector’s brother. Helenus on the death of Pyrrhus becomes his successor in the chieftainship, and Andromache is once[42] more a queen. She builds a rustic79 altar, an excuse for lamentation80, and there bewails the memory of her first lord. I was reflecting that she must have made but a dreary81 wife for Helenus, when in a moment the scene was changed. ?neas, it will be remembered, comes on her in her orisons, with his troop of warriors83 behind him, and is greeted by the terrified queen, who believes him to be an apparition84, with a wild and artless question ending a burst of passionate85 grief: “If you come from the world of spirits,” she says, “Hector ubi est?” It is one of those sudden turns that show the ineffable86 genius of Virgil.
I saw in a moment a clearing in a wood of beeches87; one great tree stood out from the rest. Half hidden in the foliage88 stood a tall stone pillar, supporting a mouldering89 urn44. Close beside this was a stone alcove90, with a little altar beneath it. In the alcove stood a silent listening statue with downcast head. From the altar went up a little smoke; the queen herself, a slender figure, clad in black, with pale worn face and fragile hands, bent in prayer. By her side were two maidens91, also in the deepest black, a priest in stiff vestments, and a boy bearing a box of incense92.
[43]
Virgil
A slight noise falls on the ear of Andromache; she turns, and there at the edge of a green forest path, lit by the red light of a low smouldering sun, stands the figure of a warrior82, his arms rusty93 and dark, his mailed feet sunk in the turf, leaning on his spear. His face is pale and heavily lined, worn with ungentle experience, and lit by a strange light of recognition. His pale forked beard falls on his breast; behind him a mist of spears.
This was the scene; very rococo94, no doubt, and romantic, but so intensely real, so glowing, that I could see the pale-stemmed beeches; and below, through a gap, low fantastic hills and a wan51 river winding95 in the plain. I could see the white set face of ?neas, the dark-eyed glance of the queen, the frightened silence of the worshippers.
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1 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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2 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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3 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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4 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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5 dignified | |
a.可敬的,高贵的 | |
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6 hem | |
n.贴边,镶边;vt.缝贴边;(in)包围,限制 | |
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7 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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8 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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9 enjoyment | |
n.乐趣;享有;享用 | |
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10 conscientious | |
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的 | |
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11 zealous | |
adj.狂热的,热心的 | |
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12 adolescence | |
n.青春期,青少年 | |
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13 rebellious | |
adj.造反的,反抗的,难控制的 | |
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14 apprenticeship | |
n.学徒身份;学徒期 | |
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15 subtleties | |
细微( subtlety的名词复数 ); 精细; 巧妙; 细微的差别等 | |
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16 fortifies | |
筑防御工事于( fortify的第三人称单数 ); 筑堡于; 增强; 强化(食品) | |
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17 appreciation | |
n.评价;欣赏;感谢;领会,理解;价格上涨 | |
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18 plural | |
n.复数;复数形式;adj.复数的 | |
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19 infinitely | |
adv.无限地,无穷地 | |
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20 dual | |
adj.双的;二重的,二元的 | |
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21 repulsive | |
adj.排斥的,使人反感的 | |
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22 warped | |
adj.反常的;乖戾的;(变)弯曲的;变形的v.弄弯,变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 );使(行为等)不合情理,使乖戾, | |
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23 retentive | |
v.保留的,有记忆的;adv.有记性地,记性强地;n.保持力 | |
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24 doomed | |
命定的 | |
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25 instinctive | |
adj.(出于)本能的;直觉的;(出于)天性的 | |
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26 majestic | |
adj.雄伟的,壮丽的,庄严的,威严的,崇高的 | |
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27 liturgy | |
n.礼拜仪式 | |
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28 shackles | |
手铐( shackle的名词复数 ); 脚镣; 束缚; 羁绊 | |
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29 construing | |
v.解释(陈述、行为等)( construe的现在分词 );翻译,作句法分析 | |
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30 parsing | |
n.分[剖]析,分解v.从语法上描述或分析(词句等)( parse的现在分词 ) | |
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31 portentous | |
adj.不祥的,可怕的,装腔作势的 | |
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32 aridity | |
n.干旱,乏味;干燥性;荒芜 | |
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33 arid | |
adj.干旱的;(土地)贫瘠的 | |
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34 specious | |
adj.似是而非的;adv.似是而非地 | |
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35 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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36 meekly | |
adv.温顺地,逆来顺受地 | |
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37 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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38 wholesome | |
adj.适合;卫生的;有益健康的;显示身心健康的 | |
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39 originality | |
n.创造力,独创性;新颖 | |
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40 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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41 abreast | |
adv.并排地;跟上(时代)的步伐,与…并进地 | |
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42 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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43 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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44 urn | |
n.(有座脚的)瓮;坟墓;骨灰瓮 | |
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45 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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46 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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47 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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48 essentially | |
adv.本质上,实质上,基本上 | |
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49 athletics | |
n.运动,体育,田径运动 | |
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50 deferred | |
adj.延期的,缓召的v.拖延,延缓,推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 );服从某人的意愿,遵从 | |
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51 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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52 tranquil | |
adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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53 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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54 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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55 incurably | |
ad.治不好地 | |
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56 frivolous | |
adj.轻薄的;轻率的 | |
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57 morbidly | |
adv.病态地 | |
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58 shunning | |
v.避开,回避,避免( shun的现在分词 ) | |
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59 publicity | |
n.众所周知,闻名;宣传,广告 | |
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60 truthful | |
adj.真实的,说实话的,诚实的 | |
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61 patriotic | |
adj.爱国的,有爱国心的 | |
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62 insular | |
adj.岛屿的,心胸狭窄的 | |
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63 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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64 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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65 memoirs | |
n.回忆录;回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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66 amateurish | |
n.业余爱好的,不熟练的 | |
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67 pictorial | |
adj.绘画的;图片的;n.画报 | |
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68 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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69 intervals | |
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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70 odyssey | |
n.长途冒险旅行;一连串的冒险 | |
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71 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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72 martial | |
adj.战争的,军事的,尚武的,威武的 | |
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73 wade | |
v.跋涉,涉水;n.跋涉 | |
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74 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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75 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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76 flaring | |
a.火焰摇曳的,过份艳丽的 | |
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77 trickle | |
vi.淌,滴,流出,慢慢移动,逐渐消散 | |
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78 emanating | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的现在分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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79 rustic | |
adj.乡村的,有乡村特色的;n.乡下人,乡巴佬 | |
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80 lamentation | |
n.悲叹,哀悼 | |
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81 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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82 warrior | |
n.勇士,武士,斗士 | |
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83 warriors | |
武士,勇士,战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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84 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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85 passionate | |
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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86 ineffable | |
adj.无法表达的,不可言喻的 | |
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87 beeches | |
n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 );山毛榉木材 | |
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88 foliage | |
n.叶子,树叶,簇叶 | |
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89 mouldering | |
v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 );腐烂,崩塌 | |
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90 alcove | |
n.凹室 | |
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91 maidens | |
处女( maiden的名词复数 ); 少女; 未婚女子; (板球运动)未得分的一轮投球 | |
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92 incense | |
v.激怒;n.香,焚香时的烟,香气 | |
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93 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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94 rococo | |
n.洛可可;adj.过分修饰的 | |
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95 winding | |
n.绕,缠,绕组,线圈 | |
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