The citizen who lives in a compact house in the centre of a great city; whose doors and windows are secured at night by bars, bolts, shutters2, locks, and hinges of the most approved and patented construction; who, if he look out of doors, looks upon splendid rows of lamps; upon human habitations all about him; whose house can only be assailed4 behind by climbing over the tops of other houses; or before, by eluding5 troops of passengers and watchmen, whom the smallest alarm would hurry to the spot: I say, if such a man could be suddenly set down in one of our many thousand country houses, what a feeling of unprotected solitude6 would fall upon him. To sit by the fire of many a farm-house, or cottage, and hear the unopposed wind come sighing and howling about it; to hear the trees swaying and rustling7 in the gale8, infusing a most forlorn sense of the absence of all neighbouring[140] abodes9; to look on the simple casements10 and the old-fashioned locks and bolts, and to think what would their resistance be to the determined11 attack of bold thieves;—I imagine it would give many such worthy12 citizen a new and not very enviable feeling. But if he were to step out before the door of such a house at nine or ten o’clock of a winter or autumnal night, what a state of naked jeopardy13 it would seem to stand in! Perhaps all solitary darkness;—nothing to be heard but the sound of neighbouring woods; or the roar of distant waters; or the baying of the ban-dogs at the scattered14 and far-off farm-houses; the wind puffing15 upon him with a wild freshness, as from the face of vast and solitary moors16; or perhaps some gleam of moonlight, or the wild, lurid18 light which hovers19 in the horizon of a winter-night sky, revealing to him desolate20 wastes, or gloomy surrounding woods. In truth, there is many a sweet spot that, in summer weather, and by fair daylight, do seem very paradises; of which we exclaim, in passing, “Ay! there could I live and die, and never desire to leave it!” There are thousands of such sweet places, which, when night drops down, assume strange horrors, and make us wish for towers and towns, watchmen, walkers of streets, and gaslight. One seems to have no security in any thing. A single house five or six miles from a neighbour. Mercy! why it is the very place for a murder! What would it avail there to cry help! murder! Murder might be perpetrated a dozen times before help could come!
Just one such fancy as that, and what a prison! a trap! does such a place become to a fearful heart. We look on the walls, and think them slight as card-board; on the roof, and it becomes in our eyes no better than a layer of rushes. If we were attacked here, it were all over! This gimcrack tenement21 would be crushed in before the brawny22 hand of a thief. And to think of out-of-doors! Yes! of that pleasant out-of-doors, which in the day we glorified23 ourselves in. Those forest tracts24 of heath, and gorse, and flowering broom, where the trout25 hid themselves beneath the overhanging banks of the most transparent26 streams—ugh! they are now the very lurking27-places of danger! What admirable concealment28 for liers-in-wait, are the deep beds of heather. How black do those bushes of broom and gorse look to a suspicious fancy! They are just the very things[141] for lurking assassins to crouch29 behind. And what is worse, those woods! those woods that come straggling up to the very doors; putting forward a single tree here and there, as advanced guards of picturesque30 beauty in the glowing summer noon, or in the spring, when their leaves are all delicately new. Beauty! how could we ever think them beautiful, though we saw them stand in their assembled majesty31; though they did tower aloft with their rugged32, gashed33, and deeply-indented stems, and make a sound as of many waters in their tops, and cast down pleasant shadows on the mossy turf beneath; and though the thrush and the nightingale did sing triumphantly35 in their thickets36. Beautiful! they are horrible! Their blackness of darkness now makes us shudder37. Their breezy roar is fearful beyond description. Let daylight and summer sunshine come, and make them look as pleasant as they will, we would not have a wood henceforward within a mile of us. Why, up to the walls of your house, under your very windows, may evil eyes now be glaring from behind those sturdy boles;—they seem to have grown there just to suit the purposes of robbery and murder. We look now to the dogs and guns for assistance, but they give us but cold comfort: for the guns only remind us that at this moment the muzzle38 of one may be at that chink in the shutter3, at that hole out of which a knot has dropped, and in another moment we are in eternity39! And the dogs!—see, they rise! they set up the bristles40 on their backs! they growl41! they bark! our fears are true! the place is beset42!
This may seem rather exaggerated, read by good daylight, or by the fire of a city hearth43; but this is the natural spirit of the solitary house. It is that which many a one has felt. It has cured many a one of longing44 to live in a “sweet sequestered45 cot;” nay46, it is the spirit felt by the naturalized inhabitants of such solitary places. I look upon such places to generate fears and superstitions47 too, in no ordinary degree. The inhabitants of solitary houses are often most arrant49 cowards; and for this there are many causes. A sense of exposure to danger if it be not lost by time, is more likely to generate timidity of disposition50 than courage. Then, the sound of woods and waters; the mysterious sighings and moanings, and lumberings, that winds and other causes occasion amongst the old walls and decayed roofs, and ill-fastened[142] doors and casements of large old country houses, have a wonderful influence on the minds of the ignorant and simple, who pass their lives in the solitude of fields; and go to and fro between their homes and the scene of their duties, often through deep and lonesome dells, through deep, o’ershadowed lanes by night; by the cross-road, and over the dreary53 moor17: all places of no good character. Superstitious54 legends hang all about such neighbourhoods; and traditions enough to freeze the blood of the ignorant, taint55 a dozen spots round every such place. In this field a girl was killed by her jealous, or only too favoured lover: to the boughs56 of that old oak, a man was found hanging: in that deep dark pool the poor blind fiddler was found drowned: in that old stone-quarry, and under that high cliff, deeds were done that have mingled57 a blackness with their name. Nay, in one such locality, the head of a woodman was found by some mowers returning in the evening from their work. There it lay in the green path of a narrow dingle, horrid58 and blackening in the sun. It was supposed to have been severed59 from the wretched man’s body with his own axe60, by a band of poachers, who charged him with being a spy upon them. The body was found cast into a neighbouring marsh61.
What lonely country but has these petrifying62 horrors? And is it wonderful that they have their effect on the simple peasantry? especially as they are the constant topics round the evening fire, along with a thousand haunted-house and churchyard stories; ghosts, and highway robberies, and
And murders done in caves.—Hood.
The very means of defence sometimes become the aggravators of their evils. The dogs and guns have added to the catalogue of their tales of horror. The dogs, as conscious of their solitary station as their masters, and with true canine64 instinct, feeling a great charge and responsibility upon them, set up the most clamourous barkings at the least noise in the night, and often seem to take a melancholy65 pleasure, a whole night through, in uttering such awful and long-spun howls as are seldom heard in more secure and cheerful situations. These are often looked upon as prognostics of family troubles, and occasion great fears. Who[143] has not heard these dismal66 howlings at old halls, and been witness to the anxiety they occasioned? And, if a branch blown by the wind do but scrape against a pane67, or an unlucky pig get into the garden, the dogs are all barking outrageously69, and the family is up, in the certain belief that they are beset with thieves; and it has been no unfrequent circumstance, on retiring to rest again, that loaded pistols have been left about on tables, and the servants on coming down next morning, with that fatal propensity70 to sport with fire-arms, have playfully menaced, and actually shot one another in their rashness. Such a catastrophe71 occurred in the family of a relative of mine, on just such an occasion. But truly, the horrors and depredations72 which formerly73 were perpetrated in such places, were enough to make a solitary house a terrible sojourn74 in the night. A single cottage on a great heath; a toll-bar on a wild road, far from a town; a wealthy farm-house in a retired75 region; an old hall or grange, amongst gloomy woods. These were places in which such outrages76 were committed in former years as filled the newspapers of the time with continual details of terror; and would furnish volumes of the most dreadful stories. It is said that the diminution77 of highway robberies and stopping of mails, once so frequent, has been in a great measure occasioned by the system of banking78 and paper-money. Instead of travellers, carrying with them large bags of gold, a letter by post transmits a bill to any amount, which, if intercepted79 is of no use to the thief, because the fact is immediately notified to the bank, and payment prevented; and notes being numbered, makes it a matter of the highest risk to offer them, lest the public be apprized of the numbers, and the offender80 be secured. But the wonderful improvement of all our roads since the days of M‘Adam, the consequently increased speed of travelling—the increased population and cultivation81 of the country, all have combined to spoil the trade of the public plunderer83. And the press, as in other respects so in this, has added a marvellous influence. Scarcely has a crime of any sort against society been committed, but it raises a hue84 and cry; handbills and paragraphs in newspapers are flying far and wide, and dexterous85 must be the offender who escapes. The house of a friend of mine was entered on a Sunday night, and by means of handbills four of the thieves[144] were secured on the Monday, and tried and transported on the Tuesday. But fifty years ago this could not have been done in a country place. The traveller had to wade86 through mud and deep ruts, along our well-frequented roads; and if assailed it was impossible to fly. Desperate bands of thieves made nocturnal assaults upon solitary houses; and, long ere a hue and cry could be raised, they had vanished into woods and heaths, or had fled beyond the slow flight of lumbering51 mails, and newspapers that did not reach their readers sometimes for a fortnight. Those were the times for fearful tragedies in lonely dwellings87, which even yet furnish thrilling themes for winter firesides.
There is an account of the attack of the house of Colonel Purcell, which appeared in the newspapers at the time, and was twice reprinted in the Kaleidoscope, a Liverpool literary paper; the last time soon after the gallant88 Colonel’s death, in 1822, which, although it belongs to Ireland, a country whence not volumes, but whole libraries of such recitals89 might be imported, I shall insert here, because it so well illustrates91 the sort of horrors to which lonely houses were, in this country, formerly very much exposed; and from which they are not now entirely92 exempt93; and because perhaps no greater instance of manly94 courage is upon record. A similar one, of female intrepidity96, in a young woman who defended a toll-bar, in which she was alone, against a band of thieves, and shot several of them, I recollect97 seeing some years ago in the newspapers.
EXTRAORDINARY INTREPIDITY OF SIR JOHN PURCELL.
At the Cork98 Assizes, Maurice Noonan stood indicted99 for a burglary, and attempting to rob the house of Sir John Purcell, at Highfort, on the night of the 11th of March, 1812.
Sir John Purcell said, that, on the night of the 11th of March last, after he had retired to bed, he heard some noise outside the window of his parlour. He slept on the ground-floor, in a room immediately adjoining the parlour. There was a door from one room into the other; but this having been found inconvenient101, and there being another passage from the bed-chamber102 more accommodating, it was nailed up, and some of the furniture of the parlour[145] placed against it. Shortly after Sir John heard the noise in the front of his house, the windows of the parlour were dashed in, and the noise, occasioned by the feet of the robbers in leaping from the windows down upon the floor, appeared to denote a gang not less than fourteen in number, as it struck him. He immediately got out of bed; and the first resolution he took being to make resistance, it was with no small mortification103 that he reflected upon the unarmed condition in which he was placed, being destitute104 of a single weapon of the ordinary sort. In this state he spent little time in deliberation, as it almost immediately occurred to him, that, having supped in the bed-chamber on that night, a knife had been left behind by accident, and he instantly proceeded to grope in the dark for this weapon, which happily he found, before the door leading from the parlour into the bed-chamber had been broken. While he stood in calm but resolute105 expectation that the progress of the robbers would soon lead them to the bed-chamber, he heard the furniture which had been placed against the nailed-up door, expeditiously106 displaced, and immediately afterwards the door was burst open. The moon shone with great brightness, and when the door was thrown open, the light streaming in through three large windows in the parlour, afforded Sir John a view that might have made an intrepid95 spirit not a little apprehensive107. His bed-room was darkened to excess, in consequence of the shutters of the windows, as well as the curtains being closed; and thus while he stood enveloped108 in darkness, he saw standing109 before him, by the brightness of the moonlight, a body of men well armed; and of those who were in the van of the gang, he observed that a few were blackened. Armed only with this case-knife, and aided only by a dauntless heart, he took his station by the side of the door, and in a moment after one of the villains110 entered from the parlour into the dark room. Instantly upon advancing, Sir John plunged112 the knife at him, the point of which entered under the right arm, and in a line with the nipple, and so home was the blow sent, that the knife passed into the robber’s body, until Sir John’s hand stopped its further progress. Upon receiving this thrust, the villain111 reeled back into the parlour, crying out blasphemously113 that he was killed; and shortly after another advanced, who was received in a similar manner, and who also staggered back into the parlour, crying out[146] that he was wounded. A voice from the outside gave orders to fire into the dark room. Upon which, a man stepped forward with a short gun in his hand, which had the butt114 broke off at the small, and which had a piece of cord tied round the barrel and stock near the swell115. As this fellow stood in the act to fire, Sir John had the amazing coolness to look at his intended murderer, and without betraying any audible emotion whatever, which might point out the exact spot which he was standing in, he calmly calculated his own safety from the shot which was preparing for him. He saw that the contents of the piece were likely to pass close to his breast without menacing him with, at least, any serious wound, and in this state of pain and manly expectation, he stood without flinching116 until the piece was fired, and its contents harmlessly lodged117 in the wall. It was loaded with a brace118 of bullets and three slugs. As soon as the robber fired, Sir John made a pass at him with the knife, and wounded him in the arm, which he repeated again in a moment with similar effect; and as the others had done, the villain after being wounded, retired, exclaiming that he was wounded. The robbers immediately rushed forward from the parlour into the dark room, and then it was that Sir John’s mind recognised the deepest sense of danger, not to be oppressed by it, however, but to surmount119 it. He thought that all chance of preserving his own life was over; and he resolved to sell that life still dearer to his intended murderers, than even what they had already paid for the attempt to deprive him of it. He did not lose a moment after the villains had entered the room, to act with the determination he had so instantaneously adopted. He struck at the fourth fellow with his knife, and wounded him, and at the same instant he received a blow on the head, and found himself grappled with. He shortened his hold of the knife, and stabbed repeatedly at the fellow with whom he found himself engaged. The floor being slippery with the blood of the wounded men, Sir John and his adversary120 both fell, and while they were on the ground, Sir John thinking that his thrusts with his knife, though made with all his force, did not seem to produce the decisive effect, which they had in the beginning of the conflict, he examined the point of his weapon with his finger, and found that the blade of it had been bent121 near the point. As he lay struggling on the ground, he endeavoured, but unsuccessfully, to[147] straighten the curvature of the knife; but while one hand was employed in this attempt, he perceived that the grasp of his adversary was losing its constraint122 and pressure, and in a moment or two after, he found himself released from it; the limbs of the robber were, in fact, by this time, unnerved by death. Sir John found that this fellow had a sword in his hand, and this he immediately seized, and gave several blows with it, his knife being no longer serviceable. At length the robbers, finding so many of their party had been killed or wounded, employed themselves in removing the bodies; and Sir John took this opportunity of retiring to a place a little apart from the house, where he remained a short time. They dragged their companions into the parlour, and having placed chairs with the backs upwards123, by means of these they lifted the bodies out of the windows, and afterwards took them away. When the robbers retired, Sir John returned to the house, and called up a man-servant from his bed, who, during this long and bloody124 conflict, had not appeared, and had consequently received from his master warm and loud upbraiding125 for his cowardice126. Sir John then placed his daughter-in-law, and grandchild, who were his only inmates127, in places of safety, and took such precautions as circumstances pointed128 out, till the daylight appeared. The next day, the alarm having been given, search was made after the robbers, and Sir John, having gone to the house of the prisoner Noonan, upon searching, he found concealed129 under his bed, the identical short gun with which one of the robbers had fired at him. Noonan was immediately secured and sent to gaol130, and upon being visited by Sir John Purcell, he acknowledged that Sir John “had like to do for him,” and was proceeding131 to show, until Sir John prevented him, the wounds he had received from the knife in his arm.
An accomplice132 of the name of John Daniel Sullivan was produced, who deposed133 to the same effect. The party met at Noonan’s house; that they were nine in number, and had arms; that the prisoner was one of the number, and that he carried a small gun. Upon the gun, which was in the court, being produced, with which Sir John had been fired at, the witness said it was that with which the prisoner was armed the night of the attack; that two men were killed, and three dreadfully wounded. The witness stood a long and rigorous examination by Mr. Counsellor O’Connell; but none[148] of the facts seemed to be shaken, though every use was made of the guilty character of the witness. The prisoner made no defence, and Judge Mayne then proceeded to charge the jury, and commended with approbation134 the bravery and presence of mind displayed throughout a conflict so very unequal and bloody, by Sir John Purcell. The jury, after a few minutes, returned their verdict—guilty.
But it was not only plunder82 which excited these fearful attacks; party and family feuds135 were prosecuted136 in the same savage137 spirit, even by the light of day. I have heard my wife’s mother relate the following incident, which occurred in her own neighbourhood. About sixty-five years ago there lived at Llanelwth Hall, midway between Llandilo and Llandovery, a gentleman of considerable fortune of the name of Powell. He had separated from his wife, by whom he had two daughters,—and her brother, Captain Bowen, inflamed138 by the animosity which naturally arises out of such family divisions, and supposed to be instigated139 by a paramour of the lady’s of the name of Williams, engaged, in concert with this Williams, a band of men to accompany him on a pretended smuggling140 expedition; and having plied141 them well with promises of ample payment and plenty of liquor—a bottle of brandy and a pair of new shoes for the day—marched up to Powell’s house at twelve o’clock at noon, and at the time of Llandilo fair, when the conspirators142 knew that Powell’s servants would be absent. The only persons actually left in the house with him, were an old woman, and a daughter of this very Bowen’s. The conspirators advanced to the front door, and entered the hall, where the old woman met them. Her they seized, and bound to the leg of an old massy oak table. Powell, attracted to the hall by the noise, was immediately seized and literally143 hewn to pieces in the most horrible manner in the presence of the old woman, and of the murderer’s own daughter, who alarmed at the entrance of so grim a band, had concealed herself under this table. The girl from that hour lost her senses, and wandered about the country, a confirmed maniac144. My informant often saw this girl at her mother’s, who was kind to her, and where she often therefore came, having a particular seat by the fire always left for her. In a lucid145 interval146, they once ventured to ask her what she recollected147 of this shocking event. She said that she believed she[149] had fainted, and on coming to herself, saw her father stand with a hatchet148 over her uncle in the act to give him another blow, and that she actually saw her uncle’s face hanging over his shoulder. At this point of the recital90, the recollection of the horrors of it came upon her so strongly, that she fell into one of her most violent fits of madness, and they never dared to mention the subject afterwards in her presence.
A fall of snow happening while the murderers were in the house, caused them to be tracked and secured, and Bowen and several, if not all, of his accomplices149 were executed. Williams made his escape, and was afterwards taken as a sailor on board an American vessel150 during the war, where he was recognised by some of his countrymen. He made, however, a second escape, as is supposed through the connivance151 of some relenting neighbour, and never was heard of afterwards. My informant well recollects152 two of these murderers coming to her mother’s house at Cyfarthfa, a few days after the perpetration of the outrage68, having so long managed to elude153 their pursuers. They were equipped as travelling tinkers; but they had new knapsacks, and what was more provocative154 of notice at that moment, very downcast and melancholy aspects. They felt by the looks which the mistress of the house fixed155 on them, that they were suspected, and immediately hastened away over the hills towards Aberdare, where they were secured the next day.
A fact related by a minister of the Society of Friends, shews at once the primitive156 simplicity157 which still prevails in some retired districts, and the evident power of faith in Providence158 over the spirit of evil. In one of the thinly-peopled dales of that very beautiful, and yet by parts, very bleak159 and dreary region—the Peak of Derbyshire, stood a single house far from neighbours. It was inhabited by a farmer and his family, who lived in such a state of isolation160, so unmolested by intruders, and unapprehensive of danger, that they were hardly in the habit of fastening their door at night. The farmer who had a great distance to go to market, was sometimes late before he got back,—late it may be supposed according to their habits; for in such old-fashioned places, where there is nothing to excite and keep alive the attention but their daily labour, the good people when the day’s duties are at an end,[150] drop into bed almost before the sun himself; and are all up, and pursuing their several occupations, almost before the sun too. On these occasions, the good woman used to retire to rest at the usual time, and her husband returning found no latch161 nor bolt to obstruct162 his entrance. But one time the wife hearing some one come up to the door, and enter the house, supposed it was her husband; but, after the usual time had elapsed, and he did not come to bed, she got up and went down stairs, when her terror and astonishment163 may be imagined, for she saw a great sturdy fellow in the act of reconnoitring for plunder. At the first view of him, she afterwards said, she felt ready to drop; but being naturally courageous164, and of a deeply religious disposition, she immediately recovered sufficient self-possession to avoid any outcry, and to walk with apparent firmness to a chair which stood on one side of the fireplace. The marauder immediately seated himself in another chair which stood opposite, and fixed his eyes upon her with a most savage expression. Her courage was now almost spent; but recollecting165 herself, she put up an inward prayer to the Almighty166 for protection, and threw herself upon his providence. She immediately felt her internal strength revive, and looked steadfastly167 at the man, who now had drawn168 from his pocket a large clasp-knife, opened it, and with a murderous expression in his eyes, appeared ready to spring upon her. She however evinced no visible emotion; she said not a word; but continued to pray for deliverance, or resignation; and to look on the fearful man with a calm seriousness. He rose up, looked at her, then at the knife; then wiped it across his hand; then again eagerly glanced at her; when, at once, a sudden damp seemed to fall upon him; his eyes seemed to blench169 before her still fixed gaze; he closed his knife, and went out. At a single spring she reached the door; shot the bolt with a convulsive rapidity, and fell senseless on the floor. When she recovered from her swoon, she was filled with the utmost anxiety on account of her husband, lest the villain should meet him by the way. But presently, she heard his well-known step; his well-known voice on finding the door fastened; and let him in with a heart trembling with mingled agitation170 and thankfulness. Great as had been her faith on this occasion, and great the interposition of Providence, we may be sure that she[151] would not risk the exercise of the one, or tempt100 the other, by neglecting in future to shoot the bolt of the door; and her husband, at once taught the danger of his house and of his own passage home, made it a rule to leave the market-town at least an hour earlier after the winter markets.
The unwelcome visitant in this anecdote171 is one of that class of offenders172 called “sturdy rogues174.” Of the real “sturdy rogue173” the city, amongst all its numerous varieties of rogues, knows nothing. He forms one of the terrors of the solitary house. They are such places that he haunts, because he there finds opportunities in the absence of the men to frighten and bully175 the women. If he find only a single woman left, as is often the case in harvest time, or at fair or market time, when all the family that can leave have left, he then makes the terror of his presence a means of extorting176 large booty. What can be more fearful than for a single individual, but especially for a woman, at a lonely house, while all the men are absent in the fields, or elsewhere, to see a huge brawny fellow of ill looks come to the door, peering about with a suspicious inquisitiveness177, armed with a sturdy staff, followed, perhaps, by a strong sullen178 bull-dog, professing179 himself a tinker, a rag-gatherer, a rat-catcher—anything, under which to hide evil designs? Nothing, truly, can be more appalling180, except when under the garb181 of a woman, you feel assured that you have a man before you; or a troop of fellows acting182 the distressed183 tradesmen, or sailors with nothing on their bodies, perhaps, but a pair of trousers, and on their heads a handkerchief tied. When such sturdy vagabonds come, and first cringe and beg in a piteous tone, till, having spied out the real nakedness of the place, as to physical strength, they rise in their demands, hint strange things; instead of going away when desired, walk into the house, grow insolent184, and at length downright thievish and outrageous,—these are circumstances of peculiar185 terror not to be exceeded in human experience, and which yet have been often experienced by the dwellers186 in solitary houses.
I have heard a lady describe her sensations in such a situation. A figure in a man’s hat, tied down with an India silk handkerchief, blue cloak and stuff petticoat, suddenly appeared before her, and demanded a supply of articles of female attire187. She offered half-a-crown[152] to be rid of this unpleasant guest, for there was something about her which filled the lady with apprehension188; but the money was refused, and with a gesture that threw open the cloak, and revealed the real figure of a man, with naked arms, and in a white Marseilles waistcoat. The demand for women’s garments was complied with as speedily as possible, and the person hastily went away. The next day, the lady on going to the neighbouring town, beheld189 a large handbill in the post-office window, offering a reward of 100l. for the apprehension of a delinquent190 charged with high crimes and misdemeanours, and described as “a Dane well known to the nobility and gentry191, having been master of the ceremonies at Brighton and Tunbridge Wells.” It was the very description of her yesterday’s guest.
But when night is added to such a situation, how much is its fearfulness increased! Imagine one or two unprotected women sitting by the fire of a lone52 house, on a winter’s evening, with a consciousness of the insecurity of their situation upon them. How instinct with danger becomes every thing, every movement, every sound!—the stirring of the trees—the whispering of the wind—the rustling of a leaf—the cry of a bird. They are not wishing to listen, but cannot help it; they are all sense; all eye and ear. A foot is heard without, and is lost again! A face is suddenly placed against a pane in the window! the latch of the door is slowly raised in their sight, or the click of one is heard where it is not seen. Imagine this, and you imagine what has thrilled through the heart, and frozen the blood of many a tenant192 of a solitary house.
These are not the least of the causes that contribute to produce that timidity of disposition which, in an early part of the chapter, I have said to belong to many country people. My grandfather’s house was such a place. It stood in a solitary valley, with a great wood flanking the northern side. It had all sorts of legends and superstitions hanging about it. This field, and that lane, and one chamber or outbuilding or another, had a character that made them all hermetically sealed to a human foot after dark-hour, as it is there called. My grandmother was a bold woman in some respects, but these fears were perfectly193 triumphant34 over her; and she had, on one occasion, met with an incident which did not make her feel[153] very comfortable alone in her house, in the day time. An Ajax of a woman once besieged194 her when left entirely by herself; who finding the doors secured against her, began smashing the windows with her fists, as with two sledge-hammers; and declared she would wash her hands in her heart’s blood. My grandfather too, had had a little adventure which just served to shew what courage he had, or rather had not. In that primitive time and place, if a tailor were wanted, he did not do his work at his own house, but came to that of his employer, and there worked, day after day, till the job was finished; that is, till all making and mending that could possibly be found about the house by a general examination of garments, was completed. He then adjourned196 to another house, and so went the round of the parish. I know not whether the tailors of those primitive times were as philosophical197 as Heinrich Johann Jung Stilling, and his fellows of Germany, who thus went from house to house, and both there with their employers, and on Sundays when they wandered into the woods, held the most interesting conversations on religion, philosophy, and literature: if this were the case, our country tailors have very much retrograded; and yet it would almost seem so, for my grandfather was passionately198 fond of Paradise Lost, and on a terribly snowy day had been reading it all day to the tailor, who had established himself by the parlour fire, with all his implements199 and work before him. He had been thus employed; but the tailor was gone, and the old gentleman having supped, dropped asleep on the sofa. When he awoke it was late in the night; no one had ventured to disturb him, but all had gone to bed. The house was still; the fire burning low; but he had scarcely become aware of his situation before he was aware also of the presence of some one. As he lay, he saw a man step out of the next room into the one in which he was. The man immediately caught sight of the old gentleman, and suddenly stopped, fixing his eyes upon him; and perhaps to ascertain200 whether he were asleep, he stepped back and drew himself up in the shadow of the clock-case. The old gentleman slowly raised himself up without a word, keeping his eyes fixed on the shadow of the clock-case, till he had gained his feet, when with a hop201, stride, and jump, he cleared the floor, and flew up stairs at three steps at a time. Here he raised a fierce alarm, crying—“there is a[154] sturdy rogue in the house! there is a sturdy rogue in the house!” But this alarm, instead of getting anybody up, only kept them faster in bed. Neither man, woman, nor child, would stir; neither son nor servant, except to bolt every one his own chamber door. In the morning they found the thief had taken himself off through a window, with the modest loan of a piece of bacon.
This house, however, was not quite out of hearing of neighbours. Beyond the wood was a village, thence called Wood-end; and a large horn was hung in the kitchen at the Fall,—so this house was named, which was blown on any occasion of alarm, and brought the inhabitants of the Wood-end thither202 speedily. The cowardice which had grown upon this family in such matters,—for in others they were bold as lions, and one son was actually killed in a duel,—was become so notorious, that it once brought a good joke upon them. The farm-servants were sitting, after their day’s labour, by the kitchen fire at the close of a winter’s day. Preparation was making for tea, and there were some of those rich tea-cakes which wealthy country ladies know so well how to make, in the act of buttering. Now I dare say that the sight of those delicious cakes set the mouths of all those hearty203 working men a-watering; but there was a cunning rogue of a lad amongst them, who immediately conceived the felicitous204 design of getting possession of them. It is only necessary to say that his name was Jack205; for all Jacks206 have a spice of roguery in them. Jack was just cogitating207 on this enterprise, when his mistress said, “Jack, those sheep in the Hard-meadow have not been seen to-day. Your legs are younger than anybody else’s; so up and count them before you go to bed;—it is moonlight.” Jack, whose blood after the chill of the day was circulating most luxuriously208 in his veins209 before that warm hearth, felt inwardly chagrined210 that so many great lubberly fellows should be passed over, and this unwelcome business be put upon him. “Ay,” thought he, “they may talk of young legs, but mistress knows very well that none of those burly fellows dare go all the way to the Hard-meadow to-night,—through the dingle; over the brook211; and past the hovel where old Chalkings was found dead last August, with his hand still holding fast his tramp-basket, though his clothes were rotten on his back! No! Jack must trudge212, though the old gentleman himself were in the way!” This[155] persuasion213 furnished him at once with a scheme of revenge, and of coming at the tea-cakes. He therefore rose slowly, and with well-feigned reluctance214; put on his clouted215 shoes, which he had put off to indulge his feet with their accustomed portion of liberty and warmth before he went to bed; and folding round him a sack-bag, the common mantle216 and dread-naught of carters and farmers in wet or cold weather, he went out. Instead of marching off to the Hard-meadow, however, of which he had not the most remote intention, he went leisurely217 round to the front door, which he knew would be unfastened; for what inhabitants of an old country-house would think of fastening doors till bed-time? He entered quietly; ascended218 the front stairs; and reaching a large, old oaken chest which stood on the landing-place, all carved and adorned219 with minster-work, he struck three bold strokes on the lid with a pebble220 which he had picked up in the yard for the purpose.
At the sound, up started every soul in the kitchen. “What is that?” said every one at once in consternation221. The mistress ordered the maid to run and see; but the maid declared that she would not go for the world. “Go you, then, Betty cook—go Joe—go Harry222!” No, neither Betty, Joe, Harry, nor anybody else would stir a foot. They all stood together aghast, when a strange rumbling223 and grinding sound assailed their ears. It was Jack rubbing the pebble a few times over the carved lid of the chest. This was too much for endurance. A great fellow in a paroxysm of terror, snatched down the horn from its nail, and blew a tremendous blast. It was not long neither before its effect was seen. The people of Wood-end came running in a wild troop, armed with brooms, pitchforks, spits, scythes224, and rusty225 swords. They were already assured by the dismal blast of the horn that something fearful had occurred, but the sight of the white faces of the family made them grow white too. “What is the matter! What is the matter in heaven’s name?” “O! such sounds, such rumblings, somewhere upstairs!” In the heat of the moment, if heat it could be called, it was resolved to move in a body to the mysterious spot. Swords, scythes, pitchforks fell into due rank; candles were held by trembling hands; and in a truly fearful phalanx they marched across the sitting-room226 and reached the stair-foot. Here was a sudden pause; for there seemed to be[156] heavy footsteps actually descending227. They listened—tramp! tramp! it was true; and back fled the whole armed and alarmed troop into the kitchen, and banged the door after them. What was now to be done? Every thing which fear could suggest or terror could enact228 was done. They were on the crisis of flying out of the house, and taking refuge at Wood-end, when Jack was heard cheerfully whistling as if returning from the field. Jack had made the tramp upon the stairs; for, hearing the sound of the horn, and the approach of many feet below, he thought it was time to be going; and had the armed troop been courageous enough, they would have taken him in the fact. But their fears saved both him and his joke. He came up with a well-affected astonishment at seeing such a body of wild and strangely armed folk. “What is the matter?” exclaimed Jack; and the matter was detailed229 by a dozen voices, and with a dozen embellishments. “Pshaw!” said Jack, “it is all nonsense, I know. It is a horse kicking in the stable; or a cat that has chucked a tile out of the gutter230, or something. Give me a candle; I durst go!” A candle was readily put into his hands, and he marched off, all following him to the foot of the staircase, but not a soul daring to mount a single step after him. Up Jack went—“Why,” he shouted, “here’s nothing!” “O!” they cried from below, “look under the beds; look into the closets,” and look into every imaginable place. Jack went very obediently, and duly and successively returned a shout, that there was nothing; it was all nonsense! At this there was more fear and consternation than ever. A thief might have been tolerated; but these supernatural noises! Who was to sleep in such a house? There was nothing for it, however, but for them to adjourn195 and move to the kitchen, and talk it all over; and torture it into a thousand forms; and exaggerate it into something unprecedentedly231 awful and ominous232. The Wood-endians were regaled with a good portion of brown-stout; thanked for their valuable services, and they set off. The family was left alone. “Mistress,” said Jack, “now you’d better get your tea; I am sure you must want it.” “Nay Jack,” said she, “I have had my tea: no tea for me to-night. I haven’t a heart like thee, Jack; take my share and welcome.”
Jack sate233 down with the servant maids, and talked of this[157] strange affair, which he persisted in calling “all nonsense;” and devoured234 the cakes which he had determined to win. Many a time did he laugh in his sleeve as he heard this “great fright,” as it came to be called, talked over, and painted in many new colours by the fireside; but he kept his counsel strictly235 while he continued to live there; for he knew a terrible castigation236 would be the sure consequence of a disclosure; but after he quitted the place, he made a full and merry confession237 to his new comrades, and occasioned one long laughter to run all the country round. The people of the Fall, backed by the Wood-endians, persisted that the noises were something supernatural, and that this was an after-invention of Jack’s to disgrace them; but Jack and the public continued to have the laugh on their side.
After all, I know not whether the world of sprites and hobgoblins may not assume a greater latitude238 of action and revelation in these out-of-the-world places than in populous239 ones; whether the Lars and Lemures, the Fairies, Robin-goodfellows, Hobthrushes and Barguests, may not linger about the regions where there is a certain quietness, a simplicity of heart and faith, and ample old rooms, attics240, galleries and grim halls to range over, seeing that they hate cities, and knowledge, and the conceit241 that attends upon them; for certainly, I myself have seen such sights and heard such sounds as would puzzle Dr. Brewster himself, with all his natural magic, to account for. In an old house in which my father lived when I was a boy, we had such a capering242 of the chairs, or what seemed such in the rooms over our heads; such aerial music in a certain chimney corner, as if Puck himself were playing on the bagpipes243; such running of black cats up the bed-curtains and down again, and disappearing no one knew how; and such a variety of similar supernatural exhibitions, as was truly amusing. And a friend of mine, having suffered a joiner to lay a quantity of elm boards in a little room near a kitchen chimney to dry, was so annoyed by their tumbling and jumbling244 about, that when the man came the next day to fetch part of them, he desired him to take the whole, giving him the reason for it. “O!” said the man, “you need not be alarmed at that—that is always the way before a coffin245 is wanted!” As if the ghost of the deceased[158] came and selected the boards for the coffin of its old world-mate the body.
But enough of the terrors of solitary houses without those of superstition48. I close my chapter; and yet I expect, dear readers, that in every place where you peruse246 this, you will say, “O, these are nothing to what I could have told. If Mr. Howitt had but heard so and so.” Thank you, my kind and fair friends in a thousand places—I wish I had.
点击收听单词发音
1 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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2 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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3 shutter | |
n.百叶窗;(照相机)快门;关闭装置 | |
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4 assailed | |
v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 );困扰;质问;毅然应对 | |
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5 eluding | |
v.(尤指机敏地)避开( elude的现在分词 );逃避;躲避;使达不到 | |
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6 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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7 rustling | |
n. 瑟瑟声,沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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8 gale | |
n.大风,强风,一阵闹声(尤指笑声等) | |
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9 abodes | |
住所( abode的名词复数 ); 公寓; (在某地的)暂住; 逗留 | |
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10 casements | |
n.窗扉( casement的名词复数 ) | |
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11 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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12 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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13 jeopardy | |
n.危险;危难 | |
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14 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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15 puffing | |
v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 );喷着汽(或烟)移动;吹嘘;吹捧 | |
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16 moors | |
v.停泊,系泊(船只)( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17 moor | |
n.荒野,沼泽;vt.(使)停泊;vi.停泊 | |
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18 lurid | |
adj.可怕的;血红的;苍白的 | |
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19 hovers | |
鸟( hover的第三人称单数 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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20 desolate | |
adj.荒凉的,荒芜的;孤独的,凄凉的;v.使荒芜,使孤寂 | |
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21 tenement | |
n.公寓;房屋 | |
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22 brawny | |
adj.强壮的 | |
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23 glorified | |
美其名的,变荣耀的 | |
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24 tracts | |
大片土地( tract的名词复数 ); 地带; (体内的)道; (尤指宣扬宗教、伦理或政治的)短文 | |
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25 trout | |
n.鳟鱼;鲑鱼(属) | |
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26 transparent | |
adj.明显的,无疑的;透明的 | |
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27 lurking | |
潜在 | |
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28 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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29 crouch | |
v.蹲伏,蜷缩,低头弯腰;n.蹲伏 | |
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30 picturesque | |
adj.美丽如画的,(语言)生动的,绘声绘色的 | |
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31 majesty | |
n.雄伟,壮丽,庄严,威严;最高权威,王权 | |
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32 rugged | |
adj.高低不平的,粗糙的,粗壮的,强健的 | |
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33 gashed | |
v.划伤,割破( gash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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35 triumphantly | |
ad.得意洋洋地;得胜地;成功地 | |
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36 thickets | |
n.灌木丛( thicket的名词复数 );丛状物 | |
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37 shudder | |
v.战粟,震动,剧烈地摇晃;n.战粟,抖动 | |
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38 muzzle | |
n.鼻口部;口套;枪(炮)口;vt.使缄默 | |
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39 eternity | |
n.不朽,来世;永恒,无穷 | |
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40 bristles | |
短而硬的毛发,刷子毛( bristle的名词复数 ) | |
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41 growl | |
v.(狗等)嗥叫,(炮等)轰鸣;n.嗥叫,轰鸣 | |
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42 beset | |
v.镶嵌;困扰,包围 | |
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43 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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44 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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45 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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46 nay | |
adv.不;n.反对票,投反对票者 | |
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47 superstitions | |
迷信,迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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48 superstition | |
n.迷信,迷信行为 | |
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49 arrant | |
adj.极端的;最大的 | |
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50 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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51 lumbering | |
n.采伐林木 | |
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52 lone | |
adj.孤寂的,单独的;唯一的 | |
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53 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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54 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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55 taint | |
n.污点;感染;腐坏;v.使感染;污染 | |
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56 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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57 mingled | |
混合,混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 ); 混进,与…交往[联系] | |
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58 horrid | |
adj.可怕的;令人惊恐的;恐怖的;极讨厌的 | |
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59 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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60 axe | |
n.斧子;v.用斧头砍,削减 | |
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61 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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62 petrifying | |
v.吓呆,使麻木( petrify的现在分词 );使吓呆,使惊呆;僵化 | |
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63 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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64 canine | |
adj.犬的,犬科的 | |
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65 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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66 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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67 pane | |
n.窗格玻璃,长方块 | |
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68 outrage | |
n.暴行,侮辱,愤怒;vt.凌辱,激怒 | |
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69 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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70 propensity | |
n.倾向;习性 | |
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71 catastrophe | |
n.大灾难,大祸 | |
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72 depredations | |
n.劫掠,毁坏( depredation的名词复数 ) | |
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73 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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74 sojourn | |
v./n.旅居,寄居;逗留 | |
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75 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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76 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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77 diminution | |
n.减少;变小 | |
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78 banking | |
n.银行业,银行学,金融业 | |
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79 intercepted | |
拦截( intercept的过去式和过去分词 ); 截住; 截击; 拦阻 | |
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80 offender | |
n.冒犯者,违反者,犯罪者 | |
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81 cultivation | |
n.耕作,培养,栽培(法),养成 | |
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82 plunder | |
vt.劫掠财物,掠夺;n.劫掠物,赃物;劫掠 | |
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83 plunderer | |
掠夺者 | |
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84 hue | |
n.色度;色调;样子 | |
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85 dexterous | |
adj.灵敏的;灵巧的 | |
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86 wade | |
v.跋涉,涉水;n.跋涉 | |
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87 dwellings | |
n.住处,处所( dwelling的名词复数 ) | |
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88 gallant | |
adj.英勇的,豪侠的;(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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89 recitals | |
n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 );独奏会;小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等;一系列事件等的详述 | |
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90 recital | |
n.朗诵,独奏会,独唱会 | |
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91 illustrates | |
给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 ); 说明; 表明; (用示例、图画等)说明 | |
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92 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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93 exempt | |
adj.免除的;v.使免除;n.免税者,被免除义务者 | |
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94 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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95 intrepid | |
adj.无畏的,刚毅的 | |
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96 intrepidity | |
n.大胆,刚勇;大胆的行为 | |
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97 recollect | |
v.回忆,想起,记起,忆起,记得 | |
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98 cork | |
n.软木,软木塞 | |
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99 indicted | |
控告,起诉( indict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100 tempt | |
vt.引诱,勾引,吸引,引起…的兴趣 | |
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101 inconvenient | |
adj.不方便的,令人感到麻烦的 | |
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102 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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103 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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104 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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105 resolute | |
adj.坚决的,果敢的 | |
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106 expeditiously | |
adv.迅速地,敏捷地 | |
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107 apprehensive | |
adj.担心的,恐惧的,善于领会的 | |
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108 enveloped | |
v.包围,笼罩,包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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110 villains | |
n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 );罪犯;(小说、戏剧等中的)反面人物;淘气鬼 | |
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111 villain | |
n.反派演员,反面人物;恶棍;问题的起因 | |
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112 plunged | |
v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 );暴跌;骤降;突降 | |
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113 blasphemously | |
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114 butt | |
n.笑柄;烟蒂;枪托;臀部;v.用头撞或顶 | |
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115 swell | |
vi.膨胀,肿胀;增长,增强 | |
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116 flinching | |
v.(因危险和痛苦)退缩,畏惧( flinch的现在分词 ) | |
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117 lodged | |
v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 );暂住;埋入;(权利、权威等)归属 | |
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118 brace | |
n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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119 surmount | |
vt.克服;置于…顶上 | |
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120 adversary | |
adj.敌手,对手 | |
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121 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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122 constraint | |
n.(on)约束,限制;限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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123 upwards | |
adv.向上,在更高处...以上 | |
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124 bloody | |
adj.非常的的;流血的;残忍的;adv.很;vt.血染 | |
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125 upbraiding | |
adj.& n.谴责(的)v.责备,申斥,谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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126 cowardice | |
n.胆小,怯懦 | |
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127 inmates | |
n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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128 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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129 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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130 gaol | |
n.(jail)监狱;(不加冠词)监禁;vt.使…坐牢 | |
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131 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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132 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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133 deposed | |
v.罢免( depose的过去式和过去分词 );(在法庭上)宣誓作证 | |
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134 approbation | |
n.称赞;认可 | |
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135 feuds | |
n.长期不和,世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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136 prosecuted | |
a.被起诉的 | |
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137 savage | |
adj.野蛮的;凶恶的,残暴的;n.未开化的人 | |
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138 inflamed | |
adj.发炎的,红肿的v.(使)变红,发怒,过热( inflame的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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139 instigated | |
v.使(某事物)开始或发生,鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140 smuggling | |
n.走私 | |
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141 plied | |
v.使用(工具)( ply的过去式和过去分词 );经常供应(食物、饮料);固定往来;经营生意 | |
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142 conspirators | |
n.共谋者,阴谋家( conspirator的名词复数 ) | |
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143 literally | |
adv.照字面意义,逐字地;确实 | |
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144 maniac | |
n.精神癫狂的人;疯子 | |
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145 lucid | |
adj.明白易懂的,清晰的,头脑清楚的 | |
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146 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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147 recollected | |
adj.冷静的;镇定的;被回忆起的;沉思默想的v.记起,想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148 hatchet | |
n.短柄小斧;v.扼杀 | |
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149 accomplices | |
从犯,帮凶,同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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150 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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151 connivance | |
n.纵容;默许 | |
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152 recollects | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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153 elude | |
v.躲避,困惑 | |
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154 provocative | |
adj.挑衅的,煽动的,刺激的,挑逗的 | |
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155 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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156 primitive | |
adj.原始的;简单的;n.原(始)人,原始事物 | |
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157 simplicity | |
n.简单,简易;朴素;直率,单纯 | |
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158 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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159 bleak | |
adj.(天气)阴冷的;凄凉的;暗淡的 | |
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160 isolation | |
n.隔离,孤立,分解,分离 | |
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161 latch | |
n.门闩,窗闩;弹簧锁 | |
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162 obstruct | |
v.阻隔,阻塞(道路、通道等);n.阻碍物,障碍物 | |
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163 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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164 courageous | |
adj.勇敢的,有胆量的 | |
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165 recollecting | |
v.记起,想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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166 almighty | |
adj.全能的,万能的;很大的,很强的 | |
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167 steadfastly | |
adv.踏实地,不变地;岿然;坚定不渝 | |
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168 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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169 blench | |
v.退缩,畏缩 | |
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170 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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171 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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172 offenders | |
n.冒犯者( offender的名词复数 );犯规者;罪犯;妨害…的人(或事物) | |
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173 rogue | |
n.流氓;v.游手好闲 | |
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174 rogues | |
n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 );无赖;调皮捣蛋的人;离群的野兽 | |
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175 bully | |
n.恃强欺弱者,小流氓;vt.威胁,欺侮 | |
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176 extorting | |
v.敲诈( extort的现在分词 );曲解 | |
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177 inquisitiveness | |
好奇,求知欲 | |
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178 sullen | |
adj.愠怒的,闷闷不乐的,(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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179 professing | |
声称( profess的现在分词 ); 宣称; 公开表明; 信奉 | |
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180 appalling | |
adj.骇人听闻的,令人震惊的,可怕的 | |
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181 garb | |
n.服装,装束 | |
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182 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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183 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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184 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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185 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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186 dwellers | |
n.居民,居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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187 attire | |
v.穿衣,装扮[同]array;n.衣着;盛装 | |
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188 apprehension | |
n.理解,领悟;逮捕,拘捕;忧虑 | |
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189 beheld | |
v.看,注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 );瞧;看呀;(叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现)哎哟 | |
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190 delinquent | |
adj.犯法的,有过失的;n.违法者 | |
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191 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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192 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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193 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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194 besieged | |
包围,围困,围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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195 adjourn | |
v.(使)休会,(使)休庭 | |
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196 adjourned | |
(使)休会, (使)休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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197 philosophical | |
adj.哲学家的,哲学上的,达观的 | |
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198 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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199 implements | |
n.工具( implement的名词复数 );家具;手段;[法律]履行(契约等)v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 );执行;贯彻;使生效 | |
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200 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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201 hop | |
n.单脚跳,跳跃;vi.单脚跳,跳跃;着手做某事;vt.跳跃,跃过 | |
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202 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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203 hearty | |
adj.热情友好的;衷心的;尽情的,纵情的 | |
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204 felicitous | |
adj.恰当的,巧妙的;n.恰当,贴切 | |
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205 jack | |
n.插座,千斤顶,男人;v.抬起,提醒,扛举;n.(Jake)杰克 | |
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206 jacks | |
n.抓子游戏;千斤顶( jack的名词复数 );(电)插孔;[电子学]插座;放弃 | |
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207 cogitating | |
v.认真思考,深思熟虑( cogitate的现在分词 ) | |
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208 luxuriously | |
adv.奢侈地,豪华地 | |
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209 veins | |
n.纹理;矿脉( vein的名词复数 );静脉;叶脉;纹理 | |
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210 chagrined | |
adj.懊恼的,苦恼的v.使懊恼,使懊丧,使悔恨( chagrin的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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211 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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212 trudge | |
v.步履艰难地走;n.跋涉,费力艰难的步行 | |
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213 persuasion | |
n.劝说;说服;持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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214 reluctance | |
n.厌恶,讨厌,勉强,不情愿 | |
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215 clouted | |
adj.缀补的,凝固的v.(尤指用手)猛击,重打( clout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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216 mantle | |
n.斗篷,覆罩之物,罩子;v.罩住,覆盖,脸红 | |
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217 leisurely | |
adj.悠闲的;从容的,慢慢的 | |
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218 ascended | |
v.上升,攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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219 adorned | |
[计]被修饰的 | |
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220 pebble | |
n.卵石,小圆石 | |
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221 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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222 harry | |
vt.掠夺,蹂躏,使苦恼 | |
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223 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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224 scythes | |
n.(长柄)大镰刀( scythe的名词复数 )v.(长柄)大镰刀( scythe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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225 rusty | |
adj.生锈的;锈色的;荒废了的 | |
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226 sitting-room | |
n.(BrE)客厅,起居室 | |
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227 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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228 enact | |
vt.制定(法律);上演,扮演 | |
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229 detailed | |
adj.详细的,详尽的,极注意细节的,完全的 | |
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230 gutter | |
n.沟,街沟,水槽,檐槽,贫民窟 | |
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231 unprecedentedly | |
adv.空前地 | |
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232 ominous | |
adj.不祥的,不吉的,预兆的,预示的 | |
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233 sate | |
v.使充分满足 | |
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234 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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235 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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236 castigation | |
n.申斥,强烈反对 | |
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237 confession | |
n.自白,供认,承认 | |
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238 latitude | |
n.纬度,行动或言论的自由(范围),(pl.)地区 | |
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239 populous | |
adj.人口稠密的,人口众多的 | |
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240 attics | |
n. 阁楼 | |
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241 conceit | |
n.自负,自高自大 | |
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242 capering | |
v.跳跃,雀跃( caper的现在分词 );蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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243 bagpipes | |
n.风笛;风笛( bagpipe的名词复数 ) | |
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244 jumbling | |
混杂( jumble的现在分词 ); (使)混乱; 使混乱; 使杂乱 | |
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245 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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246 peruse | |
v.细读,精读 | |
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