It was with a very sad and heavy heart, oppressed by many painful ideas, that Nicholas retraced2 his steps eastward3 and betook himself to the counting-house of Cheeryble Brothers. Whatever the idle hopes he had suffered himself to entertain, whatever the pleasant visions which had sprung up in his mind and grouped themselves round the fair image of Madeline Bray4, they were now dispelled5, and not a vestige6 of their gaiety and brightness remained.
It would be a poor compliment to Nicholas’s better nature, and one which he was very far from deserving, to insinuate7 that the solution, and such a solution, of the mystery which had seemed to surround Madeline Bray, when he was ignorant even of her name, had damped his ardour or cooled the fervour of his admiration8. If he had regarded her before, with such a passion as young men attracted by mere9 beauty and elegance10 may entertain, he was now conscious of much deeper and stronger feelings. But, reverence11 for the truth and purity of her heart, respect for the helplessness and loneliness of her situation, sympathy with the trials of one so young and fair and admiration of her great and noble spirit, all seemed to raise her far above his reach, and, while they imparted new depth and dignity to his love, to whisper that it was hopeless.
‘I will keep my word, as I have pledged it to her,’ said Nicholas, manfully. ‘This is no common trust that I have to discharge, and I will perform the double duty that is imposed upon me most scrupulously12 and strictly13. My secret feelings deserve no consideration in such a case as this, and they shall have none.’
Still, there were the secret feelings in existence just the same, and in secret Nicholas rather encouraged them than otherwise; reasoning (if he reasoned at all) that there they could do no harm to anybody but himself, and that if he kept them to himself from a sense of duty, he had an additional right to entertain himself with them as a reward for his heroism14.
All these thoughts, coupled with what he had seen that morning and the anticipation15 of his next visit, rendered him a very dull and abstracted companion; so much so, indeed, that Tim Linkinwater suspected he must have made the mistake of a figure somewhere, which was preying16 upon his mind, and seriously conjured17 him, if such were the case, to make a clean breast and scratch it out, rather than have his whole life embittered18 by the tortures of remorse19.
But in reply to these considerate representations, and many others both from Tim and Mr. Frank, Nicholas could only be brought to state that he was never merrier in his life; and so went on all day, and so went towards home at night, still turning over and over again the same subjects, thinking over and over again the same things, and arriving over and over again at the same conclusions.
In this pensive20, wayward, and uncertain state, people are apt to lounge and loiter without knowing why, to read placards on the walls with great attention and without the smallest idea of one word of their contents, and to stare most earnestly through shop-windows at things which they don’t see. It was thus that Nicholas found himself poring with the utmost interest over a large play-bill hanging outside a Minor21 Theatre which he had to pass on his way home, and reading a list of the actors and actresses who had promised to do honour to some approaching benefit, with as much gravity as if it had been a catalogue of the names of those ladies and gentlemen who stood highest upon the Book of Fate, and he had been looking anxiously for his own. He glanced at the top of the bill, with a smile at his own dulness, as he prepared to resume his walk, and there saw announced, in large letters with a large space between each of them, ‘Positively the last appearance of Mr. Vincent Crummles of Provincial22 Celebrity23!!!’
‘Nonsense!’ said Nicholas, turning back again. ‘It can’t be.’
But there it was. In one line by itself was an announcement of the first night of a new melodrama24; in another line by itself was an announcement of the last six nights of an old one; a third line was devoted25 to the re-engagement of the unrivalled African Knife-swallower, who had kindly26 suffered himself to be prevailed upon to forego his country engagements for one week longer; a fourth line announced that Mr. Snittle Timberry, having recovered from his late severe indisposition, would have the honour of appearing that evening; a fifth line said that there were ‘Cheers, Tears, and Laughter!’ every night; a sixth, that that was positively the last appearance of Mr. Vincent Crummles of Provincial Celebrity.
‘Surely it must be the same man,’ thought Nicholas. ‘There can’t be two Vincent Crummleses.’
The better to settle this question he referred to the bill again, and finding that there was a Baron27 in the first piece, and that Roberto (his son) was enacted28 by one Master Crummles, and Spaletro (his nephew) by one Master Percy Crummles—their last appearances—and that, incidental to the piece, was a characteristic dance by the characters, and a castanet pas seul by the Infant Phenomenon—her last appearance—he no longer entertained any doubt; and presenting himself at the stage-door, and sending in a scrap29 of paper with ‘Mr. Johnson’ written thereon in pencil, was presently conducted by a Robber, with a very large belt and buckle30 round his waist, and very large leather gauntlets on his hands, into the presence of his former manager.
Mr. Crummles was unfeignedly glad to see him, and starting up from before a small dressing-glass, with one very bushy eyebrow31 stuck on crooked32 over his left eye, and the fellow eyebrow and the calf33 of one of his legs in his hand, embraced him cordially; at the same time observing, that it would do Mrs. Crummles’s heart good to bid him goodbye before they went.
‘You were always a favourite of hers, Johnson,’ said Crummles, ‘always were from the first. I was quite easy in my mind about you from that first day you dined with us. One that Mrs. Crummles took a fancy to, was sure to turn out right. Ah! Johnson, what a woman that is!’
‘I am sincerely obliged to her for her kindness in this and all other respects,’ said Nicholas. ‘But where are you going, that you talk about bidding goodbye?’
‘Haven’t you seen it in the papers?’ said Crummles, with some dignity.
‘No,’ replied Nicholas.
‘I wonder at that,’ said the manager. ‘It was among the varieties. I had the paragraph here somewhere—but I don’t know—oh, yes, here it is.’
So saying, Mr. Crummles, after pretending that he thought he must have lost it, produced a square inch of newspaper from the pocket of the pantaloons he wore in private life (which, together with the plain clothes of several other gentlemen, lay scattered34 about on a kind of dresser in the room), and gave it to Nicholas to read:
‘The talented Vincent Crummles, long favourably35 known to fame as a country manager and actor of no ordinary pretensions36, is about to cross the Atlantic on a histrionic expedition. Crummles is to be accompanied, we hear, by his lady and gifted family. We know no man superior to Crummles in his particular line of character, or one who, whether as a public or private individual, could carry with him the best wishes of a larger circle of friends. Crummles is certain to succeed.’
‘Here’s another bit,’ said Mr. Crummles, handing over a still smaller scrap. ‘This is from the notices to correspondents, this one.’
Nicholas read it aloud. ‘“Philo-Dramaticus. Crummles, the country manager and actor, cannot be more than forty-three, or forty-four years of age. Crummles is not a Prussian, having been born at Chelsea.” Humph!’ said Nicholas, ‘that’s an odd paragraph.’
‘Very,’ returned Crummles, scratching the side of his nose, and looking at Nicholas with an assumption of great unconcern. ‘I can’t think who puts these things in. I didn’t.’
Still keeping his eye on Nicholas, Mr. Crummles shook his head twice or thrice with profound gravity, and remarking, that he could not for the life of him imagine how the newspapers found out the things they did, folded up the extracts and put them in his pocket again.
‘I am astonished to hear this news,’ said Nicholas. ‘Going to America! You had no such thing in contemplation when I was with you.’
‘No,’ replied Crummles, ‘I hadn’t then. The fact is that Mrs. Crummles—most extraordinary woman, Johnson.’ Here he broke off and whispered something in his ear.
‘The seventh addition, Johnson,’ returned Mr. Crummles, solemnly. ‘I thought such a child as the Phenomenon must have been a closer; but it seems we are to have another. She is a very remarkable38 woman.’
‘I congratulate you,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I hope this may prove a phenomenon too.’
‘Why, it’s pretty sure to be something uncommon39, I suppose,’ rejoined Mr Crummles. ‘The talent of the other three is principally in combat and serious pantomime. I should like this one to have a turn for juvenile40 tragedy; I understand they want something of that sort in America very much. However, we must take it as it comes. Perhaps it may have a genius for the tight-rope. It may have any sort of genius, in short, if it takes after its mother, Johnson, for she is an universal genius; but, whatever its genius is, that genius shall be developed.’
Expressing himself after these terms, Mr. Crummles put on his other eyebrow, and the calves41 of his legs, and then put on his legs, which were of a yellowish flesh-colour, and rather soiled about the knees, from frequent going down upon those joints42, in curses, prayers, last struggles, and other strong passages.
While the ex-manager completed his toilet, he informed Nicholas that as he should have a fair start in America from the proceeds of a tolerably good engagement which he had been fortunate enough to obtain, and as he and Mrs Crummles could scarcely hope to act for ever (not being immortal43, except in the breath of Fame and in a figurative sense) he had made up his mind to settle there permanently44, in the hope of acquiring some land of his own which would support them in their old age, and which they could afterwards bequeath to their children. Nicholas, having highly commended the resolution, Mr. Crummles went on to impart such further intelligence relative to their mutual45 friends as he thought might prove interesting; informing Nicholas, among other things, that Miss Snevellicci was happily married to an affluent46 young wax-chandler who had supplied the theatre with candles, and that Mr. Lillyvick didn’t dare to say his soul was his own, such was the tyrannical sway of Mrs. Lillyvick, who reigned47 paramount48 and supreme49.
Nicholas responded to this confidence on the part of Mr. Crummles, by confiding50 to him his own name, situation, and prospects51, and informing him, in as few general words as he could, of the circumstances which had led to their first acquaintance. After congratulating him with great heartiness52 on the improved state of his fortunes, Mr. Crummles gave him to understand that next morning he and his were to start for Liverpool, where the vessel53 lay which was to carry them from the shores of England, and that if Nicholas wished to take a last adieu of Mrs. Crummles, he must repair with him that night to a farewell supper, given in honour of the family at a neighbouring tavern54; at which Mr. Snittle Timberry would preside, while the honours of the vice55-chair would be sustained by the African Swallower.
The room being by this time very warm and somewhat crowded, in consequence of the influx56 of four gentlemen, who had just killed each other in the piece under representation, Nicholas accepted the invitation, and promised to return at the conclusion of the performances; preferring the cool air and twilight57 out of doors to the mingled58 perfume of gas, orange-peel, and gunpowder59, which pervaded60 the hot and glaring theatre.
He availed himself of this interval61 to buy a silver snuff-box—the best his funds would afford—as a token of remembrance for Mr Crummles, and having purchased besides a pair of ear-rings for Mrs Crummles, a necklace for the Phenomenon, and a flaming shirt-pin for each of the young gentlemen, he refreshed himself with a walk, and returning a little after the appointed time, found the lights out, the theatre empty, the curtain raised for the night, and Mr. Crummles walking up and down the stage expecting his arrival.
‘Timberry won’t be long,’ said Mr. Crummles. ‘He played the audience out tonight. He does a faithful black in the last piece, and it takes him a little longer to wash himself.’
‘A very unpleasant line of character, I should think?’ said Nicholas.
‘No, I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Crummles; ‘it comes off easily enough, and there’s only the face and neck. We had a first-tragedy man in our company once, who, when he played Othello, used to black himself all over. But that’s feeling a part and going into it as if you meant it; it isn’t usual; more’s the pity.’
Mr. Snittle Timberry now appeared, arm-in-arm with the African Swallower, and, being introduced to Nicholas, raised his hat half a foot, and said he was proud to know him. The Swallower said the same, and looked and spoke62 remarkably63 like an Irishman.
‘I see by the bills that you have been ill, sir,’ said Nicholas to Mr Timberry. ‘I hope you are none the worse for your exertions64 tonight?’
Mr. Timberry, in reply, shook his head with a gloomy air, tapped his chest several times with great significancy, and drawing his cloak more closely about him, said, ‘But no matter, no matter. Come!’
It is observable that when people upon the stage are in any strait involving the very last extremity66 of weakness and exhaustion67, they invariably perform feats68 of strength requiring great ingenuity69 and muscular power. Thus, a wounded prince or bandit chief, who is bleeding to death and too faint to move, except to the softest music (and then only upon his hands and knees), shall be seen to approach a cottage door for aid in such a series of writhings and twistings, and with such curlings up of the legs, and such rollings over and over, and such gettings up and tumblings down again, as could never be achieved save by a very strong man skilled in posture-making. And so natural did this sort of performance come to Mr. Snittle Timberry, that on their way out of the theatre and towards the tavern where the supper was to be holden, he testified the severity of his recent indisposition and its wasting effects upon the nervous system, by a series of gymnastic performances which were the admiration of all witnesses.
‘Why this is indeed a joy I had not looked for!’ said Mrs. Crummles, when Nicholas was presented.
‘Nor I,’ replied Nicholas. ‘It is by a mere chance that I have this opportunity of seeing you, although I would have made a great exertion65 to have availed myself of it.’
‘Here is one whom you know,’ said Mrs. Crummles, thrusting forward the Phenomenon in a blue gauze frock, extensively flounced, and trousers of the same; ‘and here another—and another,’ presenting the Master Crummleses. ‘And how is your friend, the faithful Digby?’
‘Digby!’ said Nicholas, forgetting at the instant that this had been Smike’s theatrical70 name. ‘Oh yes. He’s quite—what am I saying?—he is very far from well.’
‘I fear,’ said Nicholas, shaking his head, and making an attempt to smile, ‘that your better-half would be more struck with him now than ever.’
‘What mean you?’ rejoined Mrs. Crummles, in her most popular manner. ‘Whence comes this altered tone?’
‘I mean that a dastardly enemy of mine has struck at me through him, and that while he thinks to torture me, he inflicts73 on him such agonies of terror and suspense74 as—You will excuse me, I am sure,’ said Nicholas, checking himself. ‘I should never speak of this, and never do, except to those who know the facts, but for a moment I forgot myself.’
With this hasty apology Nicholas stooped down to salute75 the Phenomenon, and changed the subject; inwardly cursing his precipitation, and very much wondering what Mrs. Crummles must think of so sudden an explosion.
That lady seemed to think very little about it, for the supper being by this time on table, she gave her hand to Nicholas and repaired with a stately step to the left hand of Mr. Snittle Timberry. Nicholas had the honour to support her, and Mr. Crummles was placed upon the chairman’s right; the Phenomenon and the Master Crummleses sustained the vice.
The company amounted in number to some twenty-five or thirty, being composed of such members of the theatrical profession, then engaged or disengaged in London, as were numbered among the most intimate friends of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles. The ladies and gentlemen were pretty equally balanced; the expenses of the entertainment being defrayed by the latter, each of whom had the privilege of inviting76 one of the former as his guest.
It was upon the whole a very distinguished77 party, for independently of the lesser78 theatrical lights who clustered on this occasion round Mr. Snittle Timberry, there was a literary gentleman present who had dramatised in his time two hundred and forty-seven novels as fast as they had come out—some of them faster than they had come out—and who was a literary gentleman in consequence.
This gentleman sat on the left hand of Nicholas, to whom he was introduced by his friend the African Swallower, from the bottom of the table, with a high eulogium upon his fame and reputation.
‘I am happy to know a gentleman of such great distinction,’ said Nicholas, politely.
‘Sir,’ replied the wit, ‘you’re very welcome, I’m sure. The honour is reciprocal, sir, as I usually say when I dramatise a book. Did you ever hear a definition of fame, sir?’
‘I have heard several,’ replied Nicholas, with a smile. ‘What is yours?’
‘When I dramatise a book, sir,’ said the literary gentleman, ‘that’s fame. For its author.’
‘Oh, indeed!’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘That’s fame, sir,’ said the literary gentleman.
‘So Richard Turpin, Tom King, and Jerry Abershaw have handed down to fame the names of those on whom they committed their most impudent79 robberies?’ said Nicholas.
‘I don’t know anything about that, sir,’ answered the literary gentleman.
‘Shakespeare dramatised stories which had previously80 appeared in print, it is true,’ observed Nicholas.
‘Meaning Bill, sir?’ said the literary gentleman. ‘So he did. Bill was an adapter, certainly, so he was—and very well he adapted too—considering.’
‘I was about to say,’ rejoined Nicholas, ‘that Shakespeare derived81 some of his plots from old tales and legends in general circulation; but it seems to me, that some of the gentlemen of your craft, at the present day, have shot very far beyond him—’
‘You’re quite right, sir,’ interrupted the literary gentleman, leaning back in his chair and exercising his toothpick. ‘Human intellect, sir, has progressed since his time, is progressing, will progress.’
‘Shot beyond him, I mean,’ resumed Nicholas, ‘in quite another respect, for, whereas he brought within the magic circle of his genius, traditions peculiarly adapted for his purpose, and turned familiar things into constellations82 which should enlighten the world for ages, you drag within the magic circle of your dulness, subjects not at all adapted to the purposes of the stage, and debase as he exalted83. For instance, you take the uncompleted books of living authors, fresh from their hands, wet from the press, cut, hack84, and carve them to the powers and capacities of your actors, and the capability85 of your theatres, finish unfinished works, hastily and crudely vamp up ideas not yet worked out by their original projector86, but which have doubtless cost him many thoughtful days and sleepless87 nights; by a comparison of incidents and dialogue, down to the very last word he may have written a fortnight before, do your utmost to anticipate his plot—all this without his permission, and against his will; and then, to crown the whole proceeding88, publish in some mean pamphlet, an unmeaning farrago of garbled89 extracts from his work, to which your name as author, with the honourable90 distinction annexed91, of having perpetrated a hundred other outrages92 of the same description. Now, show me the distinction between such pilfering93 as this, and picking a man’s pocket in the street: unless, indeed, it be, that the legislature has a regard for pocket-handkerchiefs, and leaves men’s brains, except when they are knocked out by violence, to take care of themselves.’
‘Men must live, sir,’ said the literary gentleman, shrugging his shoulders.
‘That would be an equally fair plea in both cases,’ replied Nicholas; ‘but if you put it upon that ground, I have nothing more to say, than, that if I were a writer of books, and you a thirsty dramatist, I would rather pay your tavern score for six months, large as it might be, than have a niche94 in the Temple of Fame with you for the humblest corner of my pedestal, through six hundred generations.’
The conversation threatened to take a somewhat angry tone when it had arrived thus far, but Mrs. Crummles opportunely95 interposed to prevent its leading to any violent outbreak, by making some inquiries96 of the literary gentleman relative to the plots of the six new pieces which he had written by contract to introduce the African Knife-swallower in his various unrivalled performances. This speedily engaged him in an animated97 conversation with that lady, in the interest of which, all recollection of his recent discussion with Nicholas very quickly evaporated.
The board being now clear of the more substantial articles of food, and punch, wine, and spirits being placed upon it and handed about, the guests, who had been previously conversing98 in little groups of three or four, gradually fell off into a dead silence, while the majority of those present glanced from time to time at Mr. Snittle Timberry, and the bolder spirits did not even hesitate to strike the table with their knuckles99, and plainly intimate their expectations, by uttering such encouragements as ‘Now, Tim,’ ‘Wake up, Mr. Chairman,’ ‘All charged, sir, and waiting for a toast,’ and so forth100.
To these remonstrances101 Mr. Timberry deigned102 no other rejoinder than striking his chest and gasping103 for breath, and giving many other indications of being still the victim of indisposition—for a man must not make himself too cheap either on the stage or off—while Mr Crummles, who knew full well that he would be the subject of the forthcoming toast, sat gracefully104 in his chair with his arm thrown carelessly over the back, and now and then lifted his glass to his mouth and drank a little punch, with the same air with which he was accustomed to take long draughts105 of nothing, out of the pasteboard goblets106 in banquet scenes.
At length Mr. Snittle Timberry rose in the most approved attitude, with one hand in the breast of his waistcoat and the other on the nearest snuff-box, and having been received with great enthusiasm, proposed, with abundance of quotations107, his friend Mr. Vincent Crummles: ending a pretty long speech by extending his right hand on one side and his left on the other, and severally calling upon Mr. and Mrs. Crummles to grasp the same. This done, Mr. Vincent Crummles returned thanks, and that done, the African Swallower proposed Mrs. Vincent Crummles, in affecting terms. Then were heard loud moans and sobs108 from Mrs. Crummles and the ladies, despite of which that heroic woman insisted upon returning thanks herself, which she did, in a manner and in a speech which has never been surpassed and seldom equalled. It then became the duty of Mr. Snittle Timberry to give the young Crummleses, which he did; after which Mr. Vincent Crummles, as their father, addressed the company in a supplementary109 speech, enlarging on their virtues110, amiabilities, and excellences111, and wishing that they were the sons and daughter of every lady and gentleman present. These solemnities having been succeeded by a decent interval, enlivened by musical and other entertainments, Mr. Crummles proposed that ornament112 of the profession, the African Swallower, his very dear friend, if he would allow him to call him so; which liberty (there being no particular reason why he should not allow it) the African Swallower graciously permitted. The literary gentleman was then about to be drunk, but it being discovered that he had been drunk for some time in another acceptation of the term, and was then asleep on the stairs, the intention was abandoned, and the honour transferred to the ladies. Finally, after a very long sitting, Mr Snittle Timberry vacated the chair, and the company with many adieux and embraces dispersed113.
Nicholas waited to the last to give his little presents. When he had said goodbye all round and came to Mr. Crummles, he could not but mark the difference between their present separation and their parting at Portsmouth. Not a jot114 of his theatrical manner remained; he put out his hand with an air which, if he could have summoned it at will, would have made him the best actor of his day in homely115 parts, and when Nicholas shook it with the warmth he honestly felt, appeared thoroughly116 melted.
‘We were a very happy little company, Johnson,’ said poor Crummles. ‘You and I never had a word. I shall be very glad tomorrow morning to think that I saw you again, but now I almost wish you hadn’t come.’
Nicholas was about to return a cheerful reply, when he was greatly disconcerted by the sudden apparition117 of Mrs. Grudden, who it seemed had declined to attend the supper in order that she might rise earlier in the morning, and who now burst out of an adjoining bedroom, habited in very extraordinary white robes; and throwing her arms about his neck, hugged him with great affection.
‘What! Are you going too?’ said Nicholas, submitting with as good a grace as if she had been the finest young creature in the world.
‘Going?’ returned Mrs. Grudden. ‘Lord ha’ mercy, what do you think they’d do without me?’
Nicholas submitted to another hug with even a better grace than before, if that were possible, and waving his hat as cheerfully as he could, took farewell of the Vincent Crummleses.
点击收听单词发音
1 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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2 retraced | |
v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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3 eastward | |
adv.向东;adj.向东的;n.东方,东部 | |
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4 bray | |
n.驴叫声, 喇叭声;v.驴叫 | |
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5 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 vestige | |
n.痕迹,遗迹,残余 | |
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7 insinuate | |
vt.含沙射影地说,暗示 | |
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8 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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9 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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10 elegance | |
n.优雅;优美,雅致;精致,巧妙 | |
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11 reverence | |
n.敬畏,尊敬,尊严;Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称;v.尊敬,敬畏,崇敬 | |
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12 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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13 strictly | |
adv.严厉地,严格地;严密地 | |
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14 heroism | |
n.大无畏精神,英勇 | |
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15 anticipation | |
n.预期,预料,期望 | |
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16 preying | |
v.掠食( prey的现在分词 );掠食;折磨;(人)靠欺诈为生 | |
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17 conjured | |
用魔术变出( conjure的过去式和过去分词 ); 祈求,恳求; 变戏法; (变魔术般地) 使…出现 | |
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18 embittered | |
v.使怨恨,激怒( embitter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 remorse | |
n.痛恨,悔恨,自责 | |
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20 pensive | |
a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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21 minor | |
adj.较小(少)的,较次要的;n.辅修学科;vi.辅修 | |
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22 provincial | |
adj.省的,地方的;n.外省人,乡下人 | |
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23 celebrity | |
n.名人,名流;著名,名声,名望 | |
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24 melodrama | |
n.音乐剧;情节剧 | |
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25 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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26 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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27 baron | |
n.男爵;(商业界等)巨头,大王 | |
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28 enacted | |
制定(法律),通过(法案)( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29 scrap | |
n.碎片;废料;v.废弃,报废 | |
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30 buckle | |
n.扣子,带扣;v.把...扣住,由于压力而弯曲 | |
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31 eyebrow | |
n.眉毛,眉 | |
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32 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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33 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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34 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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35 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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36 pretensions | |
自称( pretension的名词复数 ); 自命不凡; 要求; 权力 | |
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37 prospect | |
n.前景,前途;景色,视野 | |
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38 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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39 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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40 juvenile | |
n.青少年,少年读物;adj.青少年的,幼稚的 | |
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41 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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42 joints | |
接头( joint的名词复数 ); 关节; 公共场所(尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所) (非正式); 一块烤肉 (英式英语) | |
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43 immortal | |
adj.不朽的;永生的,不死的;神的 | |
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44 permanently | |
adv.永恒地,永久地,固定不变地 | |
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45 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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46 affluent | |
adj.富裕的,富有的,丰富的,富饶的 | |
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47 reigned | |
vi.当政,统治(reign的过去式形式) | |
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48 paramount | |
a.最重要的,最高权力的 | |
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49 supreme | |
adj.极度的,最重要的;至高的,最高的 | |
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50 confiding | |
adj.相信人的,易于相信的v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的现在分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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51 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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52 heartiness | |
诚实,热心 | |
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53 vessel | |
n.船舶;容器,器皿;管,导管,血管 | |
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54 tavern | |
n.小旅馆,客栈;小酒店 | |
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55 vice | |
n.坏事;恶习;[pl.]台钳,老虎钳;adj.副的 | |
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56 influx | |
n.流入,注入 | |
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57 twilight | |
n.暮光,黄昏;暮年,晚期,衰落时期 | |
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58 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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59 gunpowder | |
n.火药 | |
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60 pervaded | |
v.遍及,弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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62 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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63 remarkably | |
ad.不同寻常地,相当地 | |
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64 exertions | |
n.努力( exertion的名词复数 );费力;(能力、权力等的)运用;行使 | |
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65 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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66 extremity | |
n.末端,尽头;尽力;终极;极度 | |
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67 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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68 feats | |
功绩,伟业,技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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69 ingenuity | |
n.别出心裁;善于发明创造 | |
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70 theatrical | |
adj.剧场的,演戏的;做戏似的,做作的 | |
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71 tragic | |
adj.悲剧的,悲剧性的,悲惨的 | |
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72 recoil | |
vi.退却,退缩,畏缩 | |
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73 inflicts | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的第三人称单数 ) | |
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74 suspense | |
n.(对可能发生的事)紧张感,担心,挂虑 | |
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75 salute | |
vi.行礼,致意,问候,放礼炮;vt.向…致意,迎接,赞扬;n.招呼,敬礼,礼炮 | |
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76 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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77 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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78 lesser | |
adj.次要的,较小的;adv.较小地,较少地 | |
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79 impudent | |
adj.鲁莽的,卑鄙的,厚颜无耻的 | |
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80 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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81 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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82 constellations | |
n.星座( constellation的名词复数 );一群杰出人物;一系列(相关的想法、事物);一群(相关的人) | |
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83 exalted | |
adj.(地位等)高的,崇高的;尊贵的,高尚的 | |
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84 hack | |
n.劈,砍,出租马车;v.劈,砍,干咳 | |
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85 capability | |
n.能力;才能;(pl)可发展的能力或特性等 | |
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86 projector | |
n.投影机,放映机,幻灯机 | |
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87 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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88 proceeding | |
n.行动,进行,(pl.)会议录,学报 | |
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89 garbled | |
adj.(指信息)混乱的,引起误解的v.对(事实)歪曲,对(文章等)断章取义,窜改( garble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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91 annexed | |
[法] 附加的,附属的 | |
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92 outrages | |
引起…的义愤,激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
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93 pilfering | |
v.偷窃(小东西),小偷( pilfer的现在分词 );偷窃(一般指小偷小摸) | |
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94 niche | |
n.壁龛;合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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95 opportunely | |
adv.恰好地,适时地 | |
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96 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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97 animated | |
adj.生气勃勃的,活跃的,愉快的 | |
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98 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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99 knuckles | |
n.(指人)指关节( knuckle的名词复数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝v.(指人)指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 );(指动物)膝关节,踝 | |
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100 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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101 remonstrances | |
n.抱怨,抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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102 deigned | |
v.屈尊,俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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103 gasping | |
adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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104 gracefully | |
ad.大大方方地;优美地 | |
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105 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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106 goblets | |
n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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107 quotations | |
n.引用( quotation的名词复数 );[商业]行情(报告);(货物或股票的)市价;时价 | |
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108 sobs | |
啜泣(声),呜咽(声)( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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109 supplementary | |
adj.补充的,附加的 | |
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110 virtues | |
美德( virtue的名词复数 ); 德行; 优点; 长处 | |
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111 excellences | |
n.卓越( excellence的名词复数 );(只用于所修饰的名词后)杰出的;卓越的;出类拔萃的 | |
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112 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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113 dispersed | |
adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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114 jot | |
n.少量;vi.草草记下;vt.匆匆写下 | |
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115 homely | |
adj.家常的,简朴的;不漂亮的 | |
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116 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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117 apparition | |
n.幽灵,神奇的现象 | |
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