Now I carried credentials6 from the Ministry7 of the Colonies in Paris, which is to New Caledonia what the Russian Ministry of Justice was to Siberia, and these, under ordinary circumstances, authorised me to have every prison door in the island opened to me. But M. Albert Décrais knew nothing about[110] the coming visitation when he gave them to me, and the Governor would have been well within his powers if he had answered my letter by expressing “his infinite regret that exceptional circumstances made it impossible for him to act under the instructions of the Ministry during the present disastrous8 epidemic, etc.”
In this case my mission would have been brought to nought9, and I should have travelled fifteen thousand miles for the privilege of sojourning an indefinite time in a plague-stricken town. It was three days before I got an answer, and during that time I allayed10 my anxieties by making a closer acquaintance with Noumea.
Through the kindness of the Earl of Dunmore, who was then acting11 as Administrator12 of one of the greatest mining enterprises in New Caledonia, and a member of the Municipal Council with whom I had travelled from Sydney, I was made a guest of the Cercle. Only the most exclusive aristocracy of Noumea breakfast and dine at home. The rest—officials, merchants, and professional men—knock off work at eleven, having begun about six, breakfast at half-past, and then play or sleep till three.
[111]
At six everything, except the hotels and cafés, shut up; then comes a drive or a ride, tennis or a sail in the bay, then dinner, followed by cards and drinks till midnight—and of such is the daily life of the capital of New Caledonia. I learnt afterwards that this delightfully14 situated16 little town is also one of the wickedest spots on earth, but of that I shall have more to say hereafter.
Socially, Noumea struck me as being somewhat cramped17. Its society is composed of educated, highly trained, and, in the main, well-mannered men, living a little life among themselves, and being crushed into smallness by the very narrowness of their environment. They were a thousand miles from anywhere. Their only immediate18 connection with the outer world was the cable to Sydney, controlled by the all-powerful Administration, which published and suppressed whatever it pleased.
There were the monthly Messagerie mails, and a few odd traders, now mostly laid up in the harbour flying the Yellow Jack19. Every night the same men met and discussed the same subjects, the chief of which was la Peste. Every day the same men went to the same duties, the same women[112] discussed the same gossip and the same scandal. Every night the same men and women met in the Place des Cocotiers, under its swaying palms and flaming flamboyants, and listened to the same music—which, by the way, they will never listen to again.
I had gone to Noumea full up to the roots of my hair with the utterly20 erroneous notions which I had picked up from books and conversations. The books appear to have been written mostly by returned déportés or communards who had been banished21 in ’71 and ’72, and allowed to return to France after the general amnesty. The people with whom I had conversed22 had apparently23 got their knowledge from somewhat similar sources, but all agreed in representing New Caledonia as a second Tasmania, or Norfolk Island, where all the uncivilised barbarities of our own transportation system had been prolonged to the end of the nineteenth century.
Its population consisted of a vast horde24 of convicts, the most abandoned and bloodthirsty wretches25 on earth, ground down into hopeless slavery by the irresistible26 and unpitying strength of an official engine called the Penitentiary27 Administration. The[113] officials were a set of soulless gaolers in whose natures every spark of humanity had been quenched28 by the performance of their pitiless task. The surplus of the population consisted of half-tamed natives and a few thousand libérés, or ticket-of-leave men, any one of whom would knock you on the head or stick a knife into you for a couple of francs.
Finally I was regarded in Paris as rather madder than the average Englishman for wanting to go to such a God-forsaken place, being neither a convict who had to go nor an official who wanted to earn a comfortable retraite and save up the wherewithal to purchase rentes on which to spend the balance of his days in that peace and quiet which is the domestic heaven to which all good Frenchmen look forward.
Now this is what I actually saw of convict-life in Noumea before I had passed the prison gates for the first time. I had eaten my second dinner at the Cercle, and Lord Dunmore, taking pity on my isolation29, said:
“The convict-band is playing in the square to-night, suppose we go and get some seats?”
“The convict what?” I said, harking back[114] mentally to the rigid30 English system, and trying to picture to myself an English convict blowing a cornet.
“It’s what they call here the Musique de la Transportation. It’s quite an institution in Noumea. I don’t suppose there’s anything like it anywhere else.”
So I went, feeling verily a stranger in a strange land.
It was an absolutely perfect tropical night. The moon was getting up over the eastern end of the Chaine Centrale, a ridge31 of mountains which runs through Caledonia from north-east to south-west; the cafés along the top of the square were glittering with light; a deliciously cool breeze was blowing down from the mountains through the trees.
Little groups of people, mostly clad in white, were sitting on chairs about the lawns, and others were strolling slowly round and round the square and across the paths which radiated from the big kiosk in the centre. There were pretty costumes and brilliant uniforms, stars and medals and all the rest of it, and the one finishing tropical touch that was needful was added by wandering bands of laughing Kanakas with gaudy32 waistcloths and[115] fantastic headgear, big, luminous33 eyes, and teeth that gleamed whitely as they laughed.
Saving these last there was nothing that would have been incongruous with one of those delightful15 portions of outdoor Paris where “l’on s’amuse.” The shadow of the Black Death seemed to have been lifted for the time, and as for crime and convicts—well, presently up one of the avenues through the flamboyants there appeared a line of grey-clad figures carrying musical instruments. There were twenty-five of them all told.
They sauntered up to the band-stand laughing and chatting as though they hadn’t a care in the wide world. Possibly they had very few; fewer certainly than the peasant toiling34 his sixteen hours a day for a bare living in far-away France.
They were guarded by a very bored-looking surveillant, who carried in a sling35 a revolver which he was not allowed to use unless one of his charges struck him first!
The gentlemen of the orchestra took their places, and a short, thick-set man, with a clever, but most unpleasant face, went into the middle and looked around with an air of command, which reminded me oddly of the preliminary gestures of other[116] conductors of very different orchestras. There was a little tuning-up, then the conductor tapped his music-stand, waved his baton36 of authority, and forthwith the sweet strains of the Intermezzo from “Cavalleria Rusticana” began to float out through the drowsy37 hush38 of the tropical evening.
There is really only one word which could describe the scene, and that is bizarre. Take five-and-twenty musically inclined convicts out of an English prison, put them into the Western Gardens at Earl’s Court on a warm July evening and you would have something like it, but not quite. At Earl’s Court the convict-band would be stared at as a curiosity, but people would probably keep at a respectful distance from the band-stand, especially if there was only one tired-looking warder to keep guard over the musical criminals.
The Convict Band playing in the Kiosk in the Place des Cocotiers, Noumea.
But in Noumea no one, save, perhaps, myself, looked twice at the enclosure which contained an amount of assorted39 villainy and potential violence, rapine, and sudden death as you could find the wide world over in a similar space. There were men from every station of life—soldiers, priests, lawyers, politicians, financiers, and men who had[117] once belonged to the Golden Youth of France—inside the kiosk of the Musique de la Transportation.
Collectively they had committed every crime, from forgery40 to outrages41 for which civilised speech has no name. The chef d’orchestre, for example, was the man who, a few years ago, sent a thrill of horror through the world by cutting the heart out of a man whom he believed to be his rival in his wife’s affections, getting her to cook it as a sheep’s heart, dining off it with her, and then telling her what she had been eating. In addition to being a talented musician he was also a very clever painter who has won quite a reputation in the island.
And yet, while this unspeakable scoundrel was controlling with his baton the flood of sweet sounds which flowed out from the kiosk over the moonlight-spangled lawns, the most respectable people in Noumea were sitting about in chairs smoking and chatting; young men and maidens42 were wandering about among the trees; and little children were playing round the grassy43 slope on which the band-stand stood, taking no more notice of these human hyenas44 than if they had been the[118] most respectable musicians that ever wore long hair and swallow-tailed coats.
The performance finished, as usual, with “La Marseillaise.” I stood up and took off my helmet. Then I put it on again and sat down somewhat suddenly. Not another person rose; not another head was uncovered. For all the notice that was taken of it, the National Hymn45 of the Republic might as well have been “Mrs. ’Enery ’Awkins,”—which did not strike me as a particularly good thing for France generally.
When the performance was over the artists gathered up their instruments, lolled out on to the path in front of the kiosk, and shuffled46 into a sort of double line. The weary warder counted them in a languid fashion, right-about-faced them, and gave the order to march. They shambled away through the gaily47 dressed crowds in the square. No one even turned to look at them, and I, who had seen a party of English convicts on their way to work through a public road, ranged up with their faces to the wall because a break-load of excursionists was passing by, wondered greatly.
The Musique de la Transportation is now,[119] happily for the credit of Noumea, a thing of the past. The pampered48 artists got to think themselves indispensable to the gaiety of the town. So one night, having collected more surreptitious coppers49 than usual, they halted on their way to barracks, bought wine and brandy, and told the warder to go and report them if he dared. He did dare, and the next day the Director of the Administration published a brief edict which abolished them as musicians for ever.
The next morning, soon after coffee, a white-helmeted, gorgeously uniformed gendarme50 presented himself at the door of the Hotel Gaquon with a request to see “Monsieur Griffitte.” An Englishman or German official would have saluted51. He took his helmet off, bowed, and handed me a letter from the Governor appointing an interview for the next day. I went to breakfast at the club as usual, and before the meal was over I found that everybody knew of the sending of that letter. I had been an interloper before, and an Englishman at that. Now I was a guest, the guest of the omnipotent52 Ministry upon whose will the fate of every official in Caledonia depended.
That was a morning of introductions, and I was[120] surprised to find how many friends I had in Noumea.
The Governor’s offices at Noumea are in a corner of the lovely grounds in the midst of which his official residence stands. It was a little, unpretentious, two-storey building, wooden built, and with a verandah giving on to the street.
I gave my card to a collarless clerk, who appeared to be getting very hot over the task of sorting a few papers. He sent it up to His Excellency, and asked me “to give myself the trouble to sit down,” which I did.
Soldiers, civilians53, gendarmes55, and convict messengers kept dropping in every now and then to deliver messages or letters, or have a chat with somebody by way of beguiling56 the tedium57 of official hours, and then a half-caste boy came down with my card and requested me to give myself the further trouble of going upstairs. I don’t know whether this was another official, but if he was his uniform consisted of a pair of trousers and a shirt, a linen58 jacket which hadn’t seen the laundry for some time, and a pair of canvas deck-shoes.
The Town and Harbour of Noumea. Across the bay are the Barracks and the Military Reservation, which no civilian54 may enter without authority. On the peninsula to the right are the stations of the libérés collectifs.
I followed him upstairs. He opened the door[121] without any ceremony, and I found myself in the presence of the Governor—a man of medium French height, with a square, close-cropped head, moustache, and close-clipped beard. If the chin had matched the forehead it would have been a strong face, but it did not.
I learnt afterwards that his Excellency Monsieur Feuillet is a man of decided anti-English tastes; but for all that he received me very cordially. He had already received notice of my coming from the French Government, and expressed himself as willing to do anything to further my mission. As a matter of fact, this came to countersigning59 my credentials from the Minister of Colonies and writing a letter to the Director of the Administration. I then shook hands, and saw Monsieur Paul Feuillet no more save from a distance.
Then I went to the Direction, and in a few minutes I was sitting in a half-darkened, comfortable room, with double doors, through which no sound could penetrate60. This room is the centre of the system which really controls the destinies of bond and free throughout New Caledonia. On the other side of an ample writing-table sat a square-headed, strong-jawed man of about five-and-thirty,[122] with close-cropped hair, and moustache and shaven chin à l’Anglais.
This was M. Edouard Telle, Director of the Penitentiary Administration for New Caledonia and Dependencies, the strongest, politest, and most friendly Frenchman I have ever met.
He is supreme61 chief of an army of commandants, surveillants, and jailors, whose duty it is to keep watch and ward13 over between ten thousand and twelve thousand convicts, relégues and libérés—terms which I have already explained.
He is absolutely independent of the Governor, who cannot even employ convicts on public works without his permission. He is responsible to no one but the Minister of Colonies and the President of the Republic, and they are many a long thousand miles away. With the stroke of a pen he could instantly stop all convict labour throughout the colony, and so bring its principal industries to a standstill. It was he, too, and not the Governor, who could have issued that ukase which would have closed the prisons and turned my long journey into a wild-goose chase.
In the Harbour, Noumea.
But, instead of this, he took quite as much trouble with me as if I had been an inspector[123] sent out by the French Government, rather than a wandering Englishman who was only there on sufferance. He took the utmost pains to find out exactly what I wanted; he mapped out my journeys for me; gave me special passes authorising me to inspect all the prisons and camps en détail—which is a very different thing to the ordinary, but still rarely bestowed62, visitor’s pass.
He addressed a circular letter to the commandants, enjoining63 them to do everything to help me; and, not content with this, he telegraphed to each prison and camp so that conveyances64 might be ready for me. At the same time, when I suggested fixing dates, he replied:
“No, Mr. Griffith, go when you please. I wish you to see the establishments exactly as they are always, and not as they might be if they were got ready for you. When you have seen them come back and tell me what you think of them. From what you have told me of your English prisons”—this was at the end of a somewhat long conversation—“your opinion will be most valuable to me.”
Then I thanked him, and mentioned the delicate subject of photographs, and his good nature[124] and indulgence once move proved equal to the strain.
“Photograph anything you please,” he said, “inside or outside the prisons; but I shall ask you to remember that good English rule of yours about photographing individual prisoners.”
Of course, I agreed to this, and left the Direction well at ease and wondering more than ever at the misconceptions I had managed to form of the Caledonian prison system. I frankly65 admit that I had expected to be received with suspicion and reserve, perhaps even with hostility66.
Instead of this the most powerful man in the colony had greeted me with perfect cordiality and frankness, and had taken more trouble to make my tour a success than I should certainly have expected a good many English officials to take.
During another interview with M. Telle, before I had yet seen the inside of a Caledonian prison, we both managed to astonish each other not a little. The Director is a criminologist and the son of a criminologist, who was Director before him, but he was sufficiently67 French only to have studied the continental68 systems.
Therefore he was about as much surprised when[125] I told him that the cat and the birch were still used in English prisons; that English prisoners ate and slept in absolute solitude69 and worked in silence, as I was when he told me that, in this land of supposed horrors not only had all corporal punishment been abolished, but that the surveillants were not permitted even to lay a hand upon a prisoner, except in actual self-defence; that cells and silence were only used as punishments; and when he added that the better-behaved prisoners might smoke and drink wine, I confess that I was almost shocked. All this, however, with other strange things, I was soon to see for myself.
I dined that night, as usual, at the club, in a more contented70 frame of mind than heretofore, for now the omnipotent Administration had spoken, and I was free of the colony—free to go where I pleased, to see what I liked, and, within the limits of the law, do as I liked.
No man might say me nay71. All the prison-houses in the land must give up their secrets to me. In short, I had in my pocket the keys of every cell door in New Caledonia.
Under these circumstances I naturally found things much pleasanter than before. I listened[126] with equanimity72 to a local editor’s remarks on the war news—which he had been spending the day in mangling—and even the military doctors’ descriptions of the new plague cases and the ghastly operations which they had just been performing with those nail-stained hands of theirs did not seem quite so loathsome73 as before.
There was, by the way, another peculiarity74 of New Caledonian social life to which I was already becoming accustomed. There are practically no free servants in the colony. Male or female, they are either convicts or ex-convicts, and it was no uncommon75 thing to have your knife and fork laid for you at breakfast or dinner by a hand which had stuck a knife into somebody else, or to take your food from hands that had poisoned.
I admit that I did not like the idea at first, but in time I got accustomed to it, just as I did later on to being shaved by a most amiable76 and accomplished77 murderer, and having my bed made up by a lady who had cut her child’s throat. It is, in fact, the fashion in New Caledonia to have murderers for servants. As a distinguished78 resident said to me:
“You see, the assassins are reliable. They are[127] the aristocrats79 of the place. They don’t condescend80 to smaller crimes. In fact, they would be absolutely insulted if they were accused of a theft, at least, the good murderers would, and as for killing81 you, they would never dream of it. Why should they? Besides, they know perfectly82 well that there wouldn’t be the remotest chance of escape for them.”
This I found afterwards to be the cold-drawn truth. Fewer after-crimes are committed in New Caledonia by those who are sent there for assassination83 than by minor84 criminals. Later on I shall have some curious information to give on this subject.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
misgivings
|
|
| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
rumour
|
|
| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
severed
|
|
| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
epidemic
|
|
| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
credentials
|
|
| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
ministry
|
|
| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
disastrous
|
|
| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
nought
|
|
| n.／adj.无，零 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
allayed
|
|
| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
administrator
|
|
| n.经营管理者，行政官员 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
ward
|
|
| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
delightfully
|
|
| 大喜，欣然 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
delightful
|
|
| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
situated
|
|
| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
cramped
|
|
| a.狭窄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
immediate
|
|
| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
jack
|
|
| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
utterly
|
|
| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
banished
|
|
| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
conversed
|
|
| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
horde
|
|
| n.群众，一大群 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
wretches
|
|
| n.不幸的人( wretch的名词复数 )；可怜的人；恶棍；坏蛋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
irresistible
|
|
| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
penitentiary
|
|
| n.感化院；监狱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
quenched
|
|
| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
isolation
|
|
| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
rigid
|
|
| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
ridge
|
|
| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
gaudy
|
|
| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
luminous
|
|
| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
toiling
|
|
| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
sling
|
|
| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
baton
|
|
| n.乐队用指挥杖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
drowsy
|
|
| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
hush
|
|
| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
assorted
|
|
| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
forgery
|
|
| n.伪造的文件等，赝品，伪造（行为） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
outrages
|
|
| 引起…的义愤，激怒( outrage的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
maidens
|
|
| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
grassy
|
|
| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
hyenas
|
|
| n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
shuffled
|
|
| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
pampered
|
|
| adj.饮食过量的，饮食奢侈的v.纵容，宠，娇养( pamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
coppers
|
|
| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
gendarme
|
|
| n.宪兵 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
saluted
|
|
| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
omnipotent
|
|
| adj.全能的，万能的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
civilians
|
|
| 平民，百姓( civilian的名词复数 )； 老百姓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
civilian
|
|
| adj.平民的，民用的，民众的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
gendarmes
|
|
| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
beguiling
|
|
| adj.欺骗的，诱人的v.欺骗( beguile的现在分词 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
tedium
|
|
| n.单调；烦闷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
linen
|
|
| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
countersigning
|
|
| v.连署，副署，会签 （文件）( countersign的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
60
penetrate
|
|
| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
supreme
|
|
| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
bestowed
|
|
| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
enjoining
|
|
| v.命令( enjoin的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
conveyances
|
|
| n.传送( conveyance的名词复数 )；运送；表达；运输工具 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
frankly
|
|
| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
hostility
|
|
| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
sufficiently
|
|
| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
continental
|
|
| adj.大陆的，大陆性的，欧洲大陆的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
nay
|
|
| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
equanimity
|
|
| n.沉着，镇定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
loathsome
|
|
| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
peculiarity
|
|
| n.独特性，特色；特殊的东西；怪癖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
uncommon
|
|
| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
amiable
|
|
| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
accomplished
|
|
| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
aristocrats
|
|
| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
condescend
|
|
| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
killing
|
|
| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
perfectly
|
|
| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
assassination
|
|
| n.暗杀；暗杀事件 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
minor
|
|
| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |