The course which these adventures shape out for themselves, and imperatively4 call upon the historian to observe, now demands that they should revert5 to the point they attained6 previously7 to the commencement of the last chapter, when Ralph Nickleby and Arthur Gride were left together in the house where death had so suddenly reared his dark and heavy banner.
With clenched8 hands, and teeth ground together so firm and tight that no locking of the jaws9 could have fixed10 and riveted11 them more securely, Ralph stood, for some minutes, in the attitude in which he had last addressed his nephew: breathing heavily, but as rigid12 and motionless in other respects as if he had been a brazen13 statue. After a time, he began, by slow degrees, as a man rousing himself from heavy slumber14, to relax. For a moment he shook his clasped fist towards the door by which Nicholas had disappeared; and then thrusting it into his breast, as if to repress by force even this show of passion, turned round and confronted the less hardy15 usurer, who had not yet risen from the ground.
The cowering16 wretch17, who still shook in every limb, and whose few grey hairs trembled and quivered on his head with abject18 dismay, tottered19 to his feet as he met Ralph’s eye, and, shielding his face with both hands, protested, while he crept towards the door, that it was no fault of his.
‘Who said it was, man?’ returned Ralph, in a suppressed voice. ‘Who said it was?’
‘You looked as if you thought I was to blame,’ said Gride, timidly.
‘Pshaw!’ Ralph muttered, forcing a laugh. ‘I blame him for not living an hour longer. One hour longer would have been long enough. I blame no one else.’
‘N—n—no one else?’ said Gride.
‘Not for this mischance,’ replied Ralph. ‘I have an old score to clear with that young fellow who has carried off your mistress; but that has nothing to do with his blustering20 just now, for we should soon have been quit of him, but for this cursed accident.’
There was something so unnatural21 in the calmness with which Ralph Nickleby spoke22, when coupled with his face, the expression of the features, to which every nerve and muscle, as it twitched23 and throbbed24 with a spasm25 whose workings no effort could conceal26, gave, every instant, some new and frightful27 aspect—there was something so unnatural and ghastly in the contrast between his harsh, slow, steady voice (only altered by a certain halting of the breath which made him pause between almost every word like a drunken man bent28 upon speaking plainly), and these evidences of the most intense and violent passion, and the struggle he made to keep them under; that if the dead body which lay above had stood, instead of him, before the cowering Gride, it could scarcely have presented a spectacle which would have terrified him more.
‘The coach,’ said Ralph after a time, during which he had struggled like some strong man against a fit. ‘We came in a coach. Is it waiting?’
Gride gladly availed himself of the pretext29 for going to the window to see. Ralph, keeping his face steadily30 the other way, tore at his shirt with the hand which he had thrust into his breast, and muttered in a hoarse31 whisper:
‘Ten thousand pounds! He said ten thousand! The precise sum paid in but yesterday for the two mortgages, and which would have gone out again, at heavy interest, tomorrow. If that house has failed, and he the first to bring the news!—Is the coach there?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Gride, startled by the fierce tone of the inquiry32. ‘It’s here. Dear, dear, what a fiery33 man you are!’
‘Come here,’ said Ralph, beckoning34 to him. ‘We mustn’t make a show of being disturbed. We’ll go down arm in arm.’
‘But you pinch me black and blue,’ urged Gride.
Ralph let him go impatiently, and descending35 the stairs with his usual firm and heavy tread, got into the coach. Arthur Gride followed. After looking doubtfully at Ralph when the man asked where he was to drive, and finding that he remained silent, and expressed no wish upon the subject, Arthur mentioned his own house, and thither37 they proceeded.
On their way, Ralph sat in the furthest corner with folded arms, and uttered not a word. With his chin sunk upon his breast, and his downcast eyes quite hidden by the contraction38 of his knotted brows, he might have been asleep for any sign of consciousness he gave until the coach stopped, when he raised his head, and glancing through the window, inquired what place that was.
‘My house,’ answered the disconsolate39 Gride, affected40 perhaps by its loneliness. ‘Oh dear! my house.’
‘True,’ said Ralph ‘I have not observed the way we came. I should like a glass of water. You have that in the house, I suppose?’
‘You shall have a glass of—of anything you like,’ answered Gride, with a groan41. ‘It’s no use knocking, coachman. Ring the bell!’
The man rang, and rang, and rang again; then, knocked until the street re-echoed with the sounds; then, listened at the keyhole of the door. Nobody came. The house was silent as the grave.
‘How’s this?’ said Ralph impatiently.
‘Peg42 is so very deaf,’ answered Gride with a look of anxiety and alarm. ‘Oh dear! Ring again, coachman. She sees the bell.’
Again the man rang and knocked, and knocked and rang again. Some of the neighbours threw up their windows, and called across the street to each other that old Gride’s housekeeper43 must have dropped down dead. Others collected round the coach, and gave vent3 to various surmises44; some held that she had fallen asleep; some, that she had burnt herself to death; some, that she had got drunk; and one very fat man that she had seen something to eat which had frightened her so much (not being used to it) that she had fallen into a fit. This last suggestion particularly delighted the bystanders, who cheered it rather uproariously, and were, with some difficulty, deterred45 from dropping down the area and breaking open the kitchen door to ascertain46 the fact. Nor was this all. Rumours48 having gone abroad that Arthur was to be married that morning, very particular inquiries49 were made after the bride, who was held by the majority to be disguised in the person of Mr. Ralph Nickleby, which gave rise to much jocose50 indignation at the public appearance of a bride in boots and pantaloons, and called forth51 a great many hoots52 and groans53. At length, the two money-lenders obtained shelter in a house next door, and, being accommodated with a ladder, clambered over the wall of the back-yard—which was not a high one—and descended54 in safety on the other side.
‘I am almost afraid to go in, I declare,’ said Arthur, turning to Ralph when they were alone. ‘Suppose she should be murdered. Lying with her brains knocked out by a poker55, eh?’
‘Suppose she were,’ said Ralph. ‘I tell you, I wish such things were more common than they are, and more easily done. You may stare and shiver. I do!’
He applied56 himself to a pump in the yard; and, having taken a deep draught57 of water and flung a quantity on his head and face, regained59 his accustomed manner and led the way into the house: Gride following close at his heels.
It was the same dark place as ever: every room dismal60 and silent as it was wont61 to be, and every ghostly article of furniture in its customary place. The iron heart of the grim old clock, undisturbed by all the noise without, still beat heavily within its dusty case; the tottering62 presses slunk from the sight, as usual, in their melancholy63 corners; the echoes of footsteps returned the same dreary64 sound; the long-legged spider paused in his nimble run, and, scared by the sight of men in that his dull domain65, hung motionless on the wall, counterfeiting66 death until they should have passed him by.
From cellar to garret went the two usurers, opening every creaking door and looking into every deserted67 room. But no Peg was there. At last, they sat them down in the apartment which Arthur Gride usually inhabited, to rest after their search.
‘The hag is out, on some preparation for your wedding festivities, I suppose,’ said Ralph, preparing to depart. ‘See here! I destroy the bond; we shall never need it now.’
Gride, who had been peering narrowly about the room, fell, at that moment, upon his knees before a large chest, and uttered a terrible yell.
‘How now?’ said Ralph, looking sternly round.
‘Robbed! robbed!’ screamed Arthur Gride.
‘Robbed! of money?’
‘No, no, no. Worse! far worse!’
‘Of what then?’ demanded Ralph.
‘Worse than money, worse than money!’ cried the old man, casting the papers out of the chest, like some beast tearing up the earth. ‘She had better have stolen money—all my money—I haven’t much! She had better have made me a beggar than have done this!’
‘Done what?’ said Ralph. ‘Done what, you devil’s dotard?’
Still Gride made no answer, but tore and scratched among the papers, and yelled and screeched68 like a fiend in torment69.
‘There is something missing, you say,’ said Ralph, shaking him furiously by the collar. ‘What is it?’
‘Papers, deeds. I am a ruined man. Lost, lost! I am robbed, I am ruined! She saw me reading it—reading it of late—I did very often—She watched me, saw me put it in the box that fitted into this, the box is gone, she has stolen it. Damnation seize her, she has robbed me!’
‘Of what?’ cried Ralph, on whom a sudden light appeared to break, for his eyes flashed and his frame trembled with agitation70 as he clutched Gride by his bony arm. ‘Of what?’
‘She don’t know what it is; she can’t read!’ shrieked71 Gride, not heeding72 the inquiry. ‘There’s only one way in which money can be made of it, and that is by taking it to her. Somebody will read it for her, and tell her what to do. She and her accomplice73 will get money for it and be let off besides; they’ll make a merit of it—say they found it—knew it—and be evidence against me. The only person it will fall upon is me, me, me!’
‘Patience!’ said Ralph, clutching him still tighter and eyeing him with a sidelong look, so fixed and eager as sufficiently74 to denote that he had some hidden purpose in what he was about to say. ‘Hear reason. She can’t have been gone long. I’ll call the police. Do you but give information of what she has stolen, and they’ll lay hands upon her, trust me. Here! Help!’
‘No, no, no!’ screamed the old man, putting his hand on Ralph’s mouth. ‘I can’t, I daren’t.’
‘Help! help!’ cried Ralph.
‘No, no, no!’ shrieked the other, stamping on the ground with the energy of a madman. ‘I tell you no. I daren’t, I daren’t!’
‘Daren’t make this robbery public?’ said Ralph.
‘No!’ rejoined Gride, wringing75 his hands. ‘Hush76! Hush! Not a word of this; not a word must be said. I am undone77. Whichever way I turn, I am undone. I am betrayed. I shall be given up. I shall die in Newgate!’
With frantic78 exclamations79 such as these, and with many others in which fear, grief, and rage, were strangely blended, the panic-stricken wretch gradually subdued80 his first loud outcry, until it had softened81 down into a low despairing moan, chequered now and then by a howl, as, going over such papers as were left in the chest, he discovered some new loss. With very little excuse for departing so abruptly82, Ralph left him, and, greatly disappointing the loiterers outside the house by telling them there was nothing the matter, got into the coach, and was driven to his own home.
A letter lay on his table. He let it lie there for some time, as if he had not the courage to open it, but at length did so and turned deadly pale.
‘The worst has happened,’ he said; ‘the house has failed. I see. The rumour47 was abroad in the city last night, and reached the ears of those merchants. Well, well!’
He strode violently up and down the room and stopped again.
‘Ten thousand pounds! And only lying there for a day—for one day! How many anxious years, how many pinching days and sleepless83 nights, before I scraped together that ten thousand pounds!—Ten thousand pounds! How many proud painted dames84 would have fawned85 and smiled, and how many spendthrift blockheads done me lip-service to my face and cursed me in their hearts, while I turned that ten thousand pounds into twenty! While I ground, and pinched, and used these needy86 borrowers for my pleasure and profit, what smooth-tongued speeches, and courteous87 looks, and civil letters, they would have given me! The cant88 of the lying world is, that men like me compass our riches by dissimulation89 and treachery: by fawning90, cringing91, and stooping. Why, how many lies, what mean and abject evasions92, what humbled93 behaviour from upstarts who, but for my money, would spurn94 me aside as they do their betters every day, would that ten thousand pounds have brought me in! Grant that I had doubled it—made cent. per cent.—for every sovereign told another—there would not be one piece of money in all the heap which wouldn’t represent ten thousand mean and paltry95 lies, told, not by the money-lender, oh no! but by the money-borrowers, your liberal, thoughtless, generous, dashing folks, who wouldn’t be so mean as save a sixpence for the world!’
Striving, as it would seem, to lose part of the bitterness of his regrets in the bitterness of these other thoughts, Ralph continued to pace the room. There was less and less of resolution in his manner as his mind gradually reverted96 to his loss; at length, dropping into his elbow-chair and grasping its sides so firmly that they creaked again, he said:
‘The time has been when nothing could have moved me like the loss of this great sum. Nothing. For births, deaths, marriages, and all the events which are of interest to most men, have (unless they are connected with gain or loss of money) no interest for me. But now, I swear, I mix up with the loss, his triumph in telling it. If he had brought it about,—I almost feel as if he had,—I couldn’t hate him more. Let me but retaliate97 upon him, by degrees, however slow—let me but begin to get the better of him, let me but turn the scale—and I can bear it.’
His meditations98 were long and deep. They terminated in his dispatching a letter by Newman, addressed to Mr. Squeers at the Saracen’s Head, with instructions to inquire whether he had arrived in town, and, if so, to wait an answer. Newman brought back the information that Mr. Squeers had come by mail that morning, and had received the letter in bed; but that he sent his duty, and word that he would get up and wait upon Mr. Nickleby directly.
The interval99 between the delivery of this message, and the arrival of Mr Squeers, was very short; but, before he came, Ralph had suppressed every sign of emotion, and once more regained the hard, immovable, inflexible100 manner which was habitual101 to him, and to which, perhaps, was ascribable no small part of the influence which, over many men of no very strong prejudices on the score of morality, he could exert, almost at will.
‘Well, Mr. Squeers,’ he said, welcoming that worthy102 with his accustomed smile, of which a sharp look and a thoughtful frown were part and parcel: ‘how do you do?’
‘Why, sir,’ said Mr. Squeers, ‘I’m pretty well. So’s the family, and so’s the boys, except for a sort of rash as is a running through the school, and rather puts ‘em off their feed. But it’s a ill wind as blows no good to nobody; that’s what I always say when them lads has a wisitation. A wisitation, sir, is the lot of mortality. Mortality itself, sir, is a wisitation. The world is chock full of wisitations; and if a boy repines at a wisitation and makes you uncomfortable with his noise, he must have his head punched. That’s going according to the Scripter, that is.’
‘Mr. Squeers,’ said Ralph, drily.
‘Sir.’
‘With all my heart, sir,’ rejoined Squeers, ‘and first let me say—’
‘First let me say, if you please.—Noggs!’
Newman presented himself when the summons had been twice or thrice repeated, and asked if his master called.
‘I did. Go to your dinner. And go at once. Do you hear?’
‘My time is yours, and I say it is,’ returned Ralph.
‘You alter it every day,’ said Newman. ‘It isn’t fair.’
‘You don’t keep many cooks, and can easily apologise to them for the trouble,’ retorted Ralph. ‘Begone, sir!’
Ralph not only issued this order in his most peremptory105 manner, but, under pretence106 of fetching some papers from the little office, saw it obeyed, and, when Newman had left the house, chained the door, to prevent the possibility of his returning secretly, by means of his latch-key.
‘I have reason to suspect that fellow,’ said Ralph, when he returned to his own office. ‘Therefore, until I have thought of the shortest and least troublesome way of ruining him, I hold it best to keep him at a distance.’
‘It wouldn’t take much to ruin him, I should think,’ said Squeers, with a grin.
‘Perhaps not,’ answered Ralph. ‘Nor to ruin a great many people whom I know. You were going to say—?’
Ralph’s summary and matter-of-course way of holding up this example, and throwing out the hint that followed it, had evidently an effect (as doubtless it was designed to have) upon Mr. Squeers, who said, after a little hesitation107 and in a much more subdued tone:
‘Why, what I was a-going to say, sir, is, that this here business regarding of that ungrateful and hard-hearted chap, Snawley senior, puts me out of my way, and occasions a inconveniency quite unparalleled, besides, as I may say, making, for whole weeks together, Mrs. Squeers a perfect widder. It’s a pleasure to me to act with you, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Ralph, drily.
‘Yes, I say of course,’ resumed Mr. Squeers, rubbing his knees, ‘but at the same time, when one comes, as I do now, better than two hundred and fifty mile to take a afferdavid, it does put a man out a good deal, letting alone the risk.’
‘And where may the risk be, Mr. Squeers?’ said Ralph.
‘I said, letting alone the risk,’ replied Squeers, evasively.
‘And I said, where was the risk?’
‘I wasn’t complaining, you know, Mr. Nickleby,’ pleaded Squeers. ‘Upon my word I never see such a—’
‘I ask you where is the risk?’ repeated Ralph, emphatically.
‘Where the risk?’ returned Squeers, rubbing his knees still harder. ‘Why, it an’t necessary to mention. Certain subjects is best awoided. Oh, you know what risk I mean.’
‘How often have I told you,’ said Ralph, ‘and how often am I to tell you, that you run no risk? What have you sworn, or what are you asked to swear, but that at such and such a time a boy was left with you in the name of Smike; that he was at your school for a given number of years, was lost under such and such circumstances, is now found, and has been identified by you in such and such keeping? This is all true; is it not?’
‘Yes,’ replied Squeers, ‘that’s all true.’
‘Well, then,’ said Ralph, ‘what risk do you run? Who swears to a lie but Snawley; a man whom I have paid much less than I have you?’
‘He certainly did it cheap, did Snawley,’ observed Squeers.
‘He did it cheap!’ retorted Ralph, testily108; ‘yes, and he did it well, and carries it off with a hypocritical face and a sanctified air, but you! Risk! What do you mean by risk? The certificates are all genuine, Snawley had another son, he HAS been married twice, his first wife is dead, none but her ghost could tell that she didn’t write that letter, none but Snawley himself can tell that this is not his son, and that his son is food for worms! The only perjury109 is Snawley’s, and I fancy he is pretty well used to it. Where’s your risk?’
‘Why, you know,’ said Squeers, fidgeting in his chair, ‘if you come to that, I might say where’s yours?’
‘You might say where’s mine!’ returned Ralph; ‘you may say where’s mine. I don’t appear in the business, neither do you. All Snawley’s interest is to stick well to the story he has told; and all his risk is, to depart from it in the least. Talk of your risk in the conspiracy110!’
‘I say,’ remonstrated111 Squeers, looking uneasily round: ‘don’t call it that! Just as a favour, don’t.’
‘Call it what you like,’ said Ralph, irritably112, ‘but attend to me. This tale was originally fabricated as a means of annoyance113 against one who hurt your trade and half cudgelled you to death, and to enable you to obtain repossession of a half-dead drudge114, whom you wished to regain58, because, while you wreaked115 your vengeance116 on him for his share in the business, you knew that the knowledge that he was again in your power would be the best punishment you could inflict117 upon your enemy. Is that so, Mr. Squeers?’
‘Why, sir,’ returned Squeers, almost overpowered by the determination which Ralph displayed to make everything tell against him, and by his stern unyielding manner, ‘in a measure it was.’
‘What does that mean?’ said Ralph.
‘Why, in a measure means,’ returned Squeers, ‘as it may be, that it wasn’t all on my account, because you had some old grudge118 to satisfy, too.’
‘If I had not had,’ said Ralph, in no way abashed119 by the reminder120, ‘do you think I should have helped you?’
‘Why no, I don’t suppose you would,’ Squeers replied. ‘I only wanted that point to be all square and straight between us.’
‘How can it ever be otherwise?’ retorted Ralph. ‘Except that the account is against me, for I spend money to gratify my hatred121, and you pocket it, and gratify yours at the same time. You are, at least, as avaricious122 as you are revengeful. So am I. Which is best off? You, who win money and revenge, at the same time and by the same process, and who are, at all events, sure of money, if not of revenge; or I, who am only sure of spending money in any case, and can but win bare revenge at last?’
As Mr. Squeers could only answer this proposition by shrugs123 and smiles, Ralph bade him be silent, and thankful that he was so well off; and then, fixing his eyes steadily upon him, proceeded to say:
First, that Nicholas had thwarted124 him in a plan he had formed for the disposal in marriage of a certain young lady, and had, in the confusion attendant on her father’s sudden death, secured that lady himself, and borne her off in triumph.
Secondly125, that by some will or settlement—certainly by some instrument in writing, which must contain the young lady’s name, and could be, therefore, easily selected from others, if access to the place where it was deposited were once secured—she was entitled to property which, if the existence of this deed ever became known to her, would make her husband (and Ralph represented that Nicholas was certain to marry her) a rich and prosperous man, and most formidable enemy.
Thirdly, that this deed had been, with others, stolen from one who had himself obtained or concealed126 it fraudulently, and who feared to take any steps for its recovery; and that he (Ralph) knew the thief.
To all this Mr. Squeers listened, with greedy ears that devoured127 every syllable128, and with his one eye and his mouth wide open: marvelling129 for what special reason he was honoured with so much of Ralph’s confidence, and to what it all tended.
‘Now,’ said Ralph, leaning forward, and placing his hand on Squeers’s arm, ‘hear the design which I have conceived, and which I must—I say, must, if I can ripen130 it—have carried into execution. No advantage can be reaped from this deed, whatever it is, save by the girl herself, or her husband; and the possession of this deed by one or other of them is indispensable to any advantage being gained. That I have discovered beyond the possibility of doubt. I want that deed brought here, that I may give the man who brings it fifty pounds in gold, and burn it to ashes before his face.’
Mr. Squeers, after following with his eye the action of Ralph’s hand towards the fire-place as if he were at that moment consuming the paper, drew a long breath, and said:
‘Yes; but who’s to bring it?’
‘Nobody, perhaps, for much is to be done before it can be got at,’ said Ralph. ‘But if anybody—you!’
Mr. Squeers’s first tokens of consternation131, and his flat relinquishment132 of the task, would have staggered most men, if they had not immediately occasioned an utter abandonment of the proposition. On Ralph they produced not the slightest effect. Resuming, when the schoolmaster had quite talked himself out of breath, as coolly as if he had never been interrupted, Ralph proceeded to expatiate133 on such features of the case as he deemed it most advisable to lay the greatest stress on.
These were, the age, decrepitude134, and weakness of Mrs. Sliderskew; the great improbability of her having any accomplice or even acquaintance: taking into account her secluded135 habits, and her long residence in such a house as Gride’s; the strong reason there was to suppose that the robbery was not the result of a concerted plan: otherwise she would have watched an opportunity of carrying off a sum of money; the difficulty she would be placed in when she began to think on what she had done, and found herself encumbered136 with documents of whose nature she was utterly137 ignorant; and the comparative ease with which somebody, with a full knowledge of her position, obtaining access to her, and working on her fears, if necessary, might worm himself into her confidence and obtain, under one pretence or another, free possession of the deed. To these were added such considerations as the constant residence of Mr. Squeers at a long distance from London, which rendered his association with Mrs. Sliderskew a mere138 masquerading frolic, in which nobody was likely to recognise him, either at the time or afterwards; the impossibility of Ralph’s undertaking139 the task himself, he being already known to her by sight; and various comments on the uncommon140 tact141 and experience of Mr. Squeers: which would make his overreaching one old woman a mere matter of child’s play and amusement. In addition to these influences and persuasions142, Ralph drew, with his utmost skill and power, a vivid picture of the defeat which Nicholas would sustain, should they succeed, in linking himself to a beggar, where he expected to wed36 an heiress—glanced at the immeasurable importance it must be to a man situated143 as Squeers, to preserve such a friend as himself—dwelt on a long train of benefits, conferred since their first acquaintance, when he had reported favourably144 of his treatment of a sickly boy who had died under his hands (and whose death was very convenient to Ralph and his clients, but this he did not say), and finally hinted that the fifty pounds might be increased to seventy-five, or, in the event of very great success, even to a hundred.
These arguments at length concluded, Mr. Squeers crossed his legs, uncrossed them, scratched his head, rubbed his eye, examined the palms of his hands, and bit his nails, and after exhibiting many other signs of restlessness and indecision, asked ‘whether one hundred pound was the highest that Mr. Nickleby could go.’ Being answered in the affirmative, he became restless again, and, after some thought, and an unsuccessful inquiry ‘whether he couldn’t go another fifty,’ said he supposed he must try and do the most he could for a friend: which was always his maxim145, and therefore he undertook the job.
‘But how are you to get at the woman?’ he said; ‘that’s what it is as puzzles me.’
‘I may not get at her at all,’ replied Ralph, ‘but I’ll try. I have hunted people in this city, before now, who have been better hid than she; and I know quarters in which a guinea or two, carefully spent, will often solve darker riddles146 than this. Ay, and keep them close too, if need be! I hear my man ringing at the door. We may as well part. You had better not come to and fro, but wait till you hear from me.’
‘Good!’ returned Squeers. ‘I say! If you shouldn’t find her out, you’ll pay expenses at the Saracen, and something for loss of time?’
‘Well,’ said Ralph, testily; ‘yes! You have nothing more to say?’
Squeers shaking his head, Ralph accompanied him to the streetdoor, and audibly wondering, for the edification of Newman, why it was fastened as if it were night, let him in and Squeers out, and returned to his own room.
‘Now!’ he muttered, ‘come what come may, for the present I am firm and unshaken. Let me but retrieve147 this one small portion of my loss and disgrace; let me but defeat him in this one hope, dear to his heart as I know it must be; let me but do this; and it shall be the first link in such a chain which I will wind about him, as never man forged yet.’
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1 retaliation | |
n.报复,反击 | |
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2 auxiliary | |
adj.辅助的,备用的 | |
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3 vent | |
n.通风口,排放口;开衩;vt.表达,发泄 | |
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4 imperatively | |
adv.命令式地 | |
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5 revert | |
v.恢复,复归,回到 | |
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6 attained | |
(通常经过努力)实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 ); 达到; 获得; 达到(某年龄、水平、状况) | |
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7 previously | |
adv.以前,先前(地) | |
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8 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9 jaws | |
n.口部;嘴 | |
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10 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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11 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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12 rigid | |
adj.严格的,死板的;刚硬的,僵硬的 | |
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13 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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14 slumber | |
n.睡眠,沉睡状态 | |
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15 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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16 cowering | |
v.畏缩,抖缩( cower的现在分词 ) | |
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17 wretch | |
n.可怜的人,不幸的人;卑鄙的人 | |
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18 abject | |
adj.极可怜的,卑屈的 | |
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19 tottered | |
v.走得或动得不稳( totter的过去式和过去分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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20 blustering | |
adj.狂风大作的,狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 );咆哮;(风)呼啸;狂吹 | |
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21 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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22 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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23 twitched | |
vt.& vi.(使)抽动,(使)颤动(twitch的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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24 throbbed | |
抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 ); (心脏、脉搏等)跳动 | |
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25 spasm | |
n.痉挛,抽搐;一阵发作 | |
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26 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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27 frightful | |
adj.可怕的;讨厌的 | |
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28 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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29 pretext | |
n.借口,托词 | |
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30 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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31 hoarse | |
adj.嘶哑的,沙哑的 | |
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32 inquiry | |
n.打听,询问,调查,查问 | |
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33 fiery | |
adj.燃烧着的,火红的;暴躁的;激烈的 | |
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34 beckoning | |
adj.引诱人的,令人心动的v.(用头或手的动作)示意,召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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35 descending | |
n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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36 wed | |
v.娶,嫁,与…结婚 | |
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37 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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38 contraction | |
n.缩略词,缩写式,害病 | |
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39 disconsolate | |
adj.忧郁的,不快的 | |
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40 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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41 groan | |
vi./n.呻吟,抱怨;(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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42 peg | |
n.木栓,木钉;vt.用木钉钉,用短桩固定 | |
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43 housekeeper | |
n.管理家务的主妇,女管家 | |
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44 surmises | |
v.臆测,推断( surmise的第三人称单数 );揣测;猜想 | |
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45 deterred | |
v.阻止,制止( deter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46 ascertain | |
vt.发现,确定,查明,弄清 | |
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47 rumour | |
n.谣言,谣传,传闻 | |
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48 rumours | |
n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 );风闻;谣言;谣传 | |
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49 inquiries | |
n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 );疑问;探究;打听 | |
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50 jocose | |
adj.开玩笑的,滑稽的 | |
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51 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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52 hoots | |
咄,啐 | |
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53 groans | |
n.呻吟,叹息( groan的名词复数 );呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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54 descended | |
a.为...后裔的,出身于...的 | |
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55 poker | |
n.扑克;vt.烙制 | |
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56 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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57 draught | |
n.拉,牵引,拖;一网(饮,吸,阵);顿服药量,通风;v.起草,设计 | |
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58 regain | |
vt.重新获得,收复,恢复 | |
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59 regained | |
复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 ); 赢回; 重回; 复至某地 | |
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60 dismal | |
adj.阴沉的,凄凉的,令人忧郁的,差劲的 | |
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61 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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62 tottering | |
adj.蹒跚的,动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 );踉跄;蹒跚;摇摇欲坠 | |
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63 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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64 dreary | |
adj.令人沮丧的,沉闷的,单调乏味的 | |
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65 domain | |
n.(活动等)领域,范围;领地,势力范围 | |
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66 counterfeiting | |
n.伪造v.仿制,造假( counterfeit的现在分词 ) | |
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67 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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68 screeched | |
v.发出尖叫声( screech的过去式和过去分词 );发出粗而刺耳的声音;高叫 | |
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69 torment | |
n.折磨;令人痛苦的东西(人);vt.折磨;纠缠 | |
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70 agitation | |
n.搅动;搅拌;鼓动,煽动 | |
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71 shrieked | |
v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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72 heeding | |
v.听某人的劝告,听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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73 accomplice | |
n.从犯,帮凶,同谋 | |
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74 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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75 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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76 hush | |
int.嘘,别出声;n.沉默,静寂;v.使安静 | |
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77 undone | |
a.未做完的,未完成的 | |
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78 frantic | |
adj.狂乱的,错乱的,激昂的 | |
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79 exclamations | |
n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 );感叹;感叹语;感叹词 | |
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80 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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81 softened | |
(使)变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 ); 缓解打击; 缓和; 安慰 | |
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82 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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83 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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84 dames | |
n.(在英国)夫人(一种封号),夫人(爵士妻子的称号)( dame的名词复数 );女人 | |
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85 fawned | |
v.(尤指狗等)跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的过去式和过去分词 );巴结;讨好 | |
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86 needy | |
adj.贫穷的,贫困的,生活艰苦的 | |
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87 courteous | |
adj.彬彬有礼的,客气的 | |
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88 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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89 dissimulation | |
n.掩饰,虚伪,装糊涂 | |
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90 fawning | |
adj.乞怜的,奉承的v.(尤指狗等)跳过来往人身上蹭以示亲热( fawn的现在分词 );巴结;讨好 | |
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91 cringing | |
adj.谄媚,奉承 | |
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92 evasions | |
逃避( evasion的名词复数 ); 回避; 遁辞; 借口 | |
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93 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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94 spurn | |
v.拒绝,摈弃;n.轻视的拒绝;踢开 | |
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95 paltry | |
adj.无价值的,微不足道的 | |
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96 reverted | |
恢复( revert的过去式和过去分词 ); 重提; 回到…上; 归还 | |
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97 retaliate | |
v.报复,反击 | |
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98 meditations | |
默想( meditation的名词复数 ); 默念; 沉思; 冥想 | |
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99 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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100 inflexible | |
adj.不可改变的,不受影响的,不屈服的 | |
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101 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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102 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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103 morsels | |
n.一口( morsel的名词复数 );(尤指食物)小块,碎屑 | |
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104 doggedly | |
adv.顽强地,固执地 | |
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105 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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106 pretence | |
n.假装,作假;借口,口实;虚伪;虚饰 | |
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107 hesitation | |
n.犹豫,踌躇 | |
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108 testily | |
adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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109 perjury | |
n.伪证;伪证罪 | |
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110 conspiracy | |
n.阴谋,密谋,共谋 | |
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111 remonstrated | |
v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 );告诫 | |
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112 irritably | |
ad.易生气地 | |
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113 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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114 drudge | |
n.劳碌的人;v.做苦工,操劳 | |
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115 wreaked | |
诉诸(武力),施行(暴力),发(脾气)( wreak的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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116 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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117 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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118 grudge | |
n.不满,怨恨,妒嫉;vt.勉强给,不情愿做 | |
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119 abashed | |
adj.窘迫的,尴尬的v.使羞愧,使局促,使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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120 reminder | |
n.提醒物,纪念品;暗示,提示 | |
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121 hatred | |
n.憎恶,憎恨,仇恨 | |
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122 avaricious | |
adj.贪婪的,贪心的 | |
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123 shrugs | |
n.耸肩(以表示冷淡,怀疑等)( shrug的名词复数 ) | |
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124 thwarted | |
阻挠( thwart的过去式和过去分词 ); 使受挫折; 挫败; 横过 | |
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125 secondly | |
adv.第二,其次 | |
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126 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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127 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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128 syllable | |
n.音节;vt.分音节 | |
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129 marvelling | |
v.惊奇,对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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130 ripen | |
vt.使成熟;vi.成熟 | |
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131 consternation | |
n.大为吃惊,惊骇 | |
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132 relinquishment | |
n.放弃;撤回;停止 | |
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133 expatiate | |
v.细说,详述 | |
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134 decrepitude | |
n.衰老;破旧 | |
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135 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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136 encumbered | |
v.妨碍,阻碍,拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137 utterly | |
adv.完全地,绝对地 | |
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138 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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139 undertaking | |
n.保证,许诺,事业 | |
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140 uncommon | |
adj.罕见的,非凡的,不平常的 | |
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141 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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142 persuasions | |
n.劝说,说服(力)( persuasion的名词复数 );信仰 | |
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143 situated | |
adj.坐落在...的,处于某种境地的 | |
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144 favourably | |
adv. 善意地,赞成地 =favorably | |
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145 maxim | |
n.格言,箴言 | |
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146 riddles | |
n.谜(语)( riddle的名词复数 );猜不透的难题,难解之谜 | |
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147 retrieve | |
vt.重新得到,收回;挽回,补救;检索 | |
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