The twenty years which had rolled over the head of Robert Meredith, the anxiously expected guest, since last we saw him, may be thus briefly2 recapitulated3. The school selected by James Dugdale for his protégé's education was the now celebrated4, but then little heard-of Grammar-school of Lowebarre. Not that the _alumni_, as they delight to call themselves, recognise their old place of education by any such familiar name. To them it is and always will be the Fairfax-school; they are "Fairfaxians," and the word Lowebarre is altogether ignored.
The _fons et origo_ of these academic groves5, pleasantly situate in the immediate6 vicinity of the metropolis7, was one Sir Anthony Fairfax, a worthy8 knight9 of the time of Queen Elizabeth, who, having lived his life merrily, according to the fashion of the old English gentlemen of those days, more especially in the matter of the consumption of sack and the carrying out of the _droits de seigneurie_, thought it better towards his latter days to endeavour to get up a few entries on the other side of the ledger11 of his life, and found the easiest method in the doing a deed of beneficence on a large scale. This was nothing less than the foundation of a school at Lowebarre, where a portion of his property was situate, for the education of forty boys, who were to be gratuitously12 instructed in the learned languages, and morally and religiously brought up. How the scheme worked in those dark ages it is, of course, impossible to say.
But ten years before Robert Meredith was inducted into the _arcana_ of the classics the Fairfax school was in a very low state indeed, and the Fairfaxians themselves were no better than a set of roughs. The head master, an old gentleman who had been classically educated, indeed, but over whose head the rust13 of many years of farming had accumulated, took little heed14 of his scholars, whose numbers consequently dwindled15 half-year by half-year, and who, as they neglected not only the arts but everything else but stone-throwing and orchard-robbing had no manners to soften16, and became brutal17.
This state of affairs could not last. One of the governors or trustees acting18 under the founder's will saw that not merely was the muster-roll of the school diminishing, but its social _status_ was almost gone. He called a meeting of his coadjutors, impressed upon them the necessity of taking vigorous steps for getting rid of the then head master, and of at once procuring19 the services of a man ready to go with the times. Advertisements judiciously20 worded were sent to all the newspapers, inviting21 candidates for the head-mastership of the Fairfax school, and dilating22 in glowing terms on the advantages of that position; but time passed, and the post yet remained open. Those who presented themselves were too much of the stamp of the existing holder23 of the situation to suit the enlarged views of the trustees, and it was not until Mr. Warwick, the governor who had first suggested the reform, busied himself personally in the matter, that the fitting individual was secured.
The Rev24. Charles Crampton, who, having taken a first-class in classics and a second in mathematics, having been Fellow of his college and tutor of some of the best men of their years, had finally succumbed25 to the power of love, and subsided26 into a curacy of seventy-five pounds a year, was Mr. Warwick's selection. He brought with him testimonials of the highest character; but what weighed most with Mr. Warwick was the earnest recommendation of James Dugdale, who had been Mr. Crampton's college friend.
Poor Charles Crampton, when he sacrificed his fellowship for love, had little notion that he would have to pass the remainder of his life in grinding in a mill of boys. To study the Fathers, to prepare two or three editions of his favourite classic authors, to play in a more modern and refined manner the part of the parson in the "Deserted27 Village," had been his hope. But though the old adage28 was not followed, though when Poverty came in at the door (and she did come speedily enough, not in her harshest fiercest aspect it is true, but looking quite grimly enough to frighten an educated and refined gentleman). Love did not fly out of the window, yet Charles Crampton had suffered sufficiently29 from _turpis egestas_ to induce him at once to accept the offer.
The salary of the Fairfax head-mastership, though not large, quintupled his then income; the position held out to him was that of a gentleman, and though he had not any wild ideas of the dignity and responsibility of a school-mastership, the notion of having to battle in aid of a failing cause pleased and invigorated him, more especially when he reflected that, should he succeed, the _kudos_ of that success would be all his own.
So the Reverend Charles Crampton was installed at Lowebarre, and the wisdom of Mr. Warwick's selection was speedily proved. Men of position and influence in the world, who had been Mr. Crampton's friends at college; others, a little younger, to whom he had been tutor; and the neighbouring gentry30, when they found they had resident among them one who was not merely a scholar and a man of parts, but by birth and breeding one of themselves,--sent their sons to the Fairfax school, and received Mr. and Mrs. Crampton with all politeness and attention.
By the time that Robert Meredith arrived at Lowebarre the school was thoroughly31 well known; its scholars numbered nearly two hundred; its "speech-days" were attended, as the local journals happily expressed it, "by lords spiritual and temporal, the dignitaries of the Bar, the Bench, and the Senate, and the flower of the aristocracy;" while, source of Mr. Crampton's greatest pride, there stood on either side of the Gothic window in the great school-hall, on a chocolate ground, in gold letters, a list of the exhibitioners of the school, and of the honours gained by Fairfaxians, at the two universities.
To a boy brought up amidst the incongruities32 of colonial life the order and regularity33 of the Fairfax school possessed34 all the elements of bewildering novelty. But with his habitual35 quietude and secret observation Robert Meredith set himself to work to acquire an insight into the characters both of his masters and his school-fellows, and determined36, according to his wont37, to turn the result of his studies to his own benefit.
The forty boys provided for by the beneficence of good old Sir Anthony Fairfax--"foundation-boys," as they were called--were now, of course, in a considerable minority in the school. They were for the most part sons of residents in the immediate neighbourhood; but for the benefit of those young gentlemen who came from afar, the head master received boarders at his own house, and at another under his immediate control, while certain of the under masters enjoyed similar privileges.
The number of young gentlemen received under Mr. Crampton's own roof was rigidly38 limited to three; for Mrs. Crampton was a nervous little woman, who shrunk from the sound of cantering bluchers, and whose housekeeping talent was not of an extensive order. The triumvirate paid highly, more highly than James Dugdale thought necessary; and Hayes Meredith was of his opinion. The boy would have to rough it in after life, he said,--"roughing it" was a traditional idea with him,--and it would be useless to bring the lad up on velvet39. So that Robert found his quarters in Mr. Crampton's second boarding-house, where forty or fifty lads, all the sons of gentlemen of modern fortune, dwelt in more or less harmony out of school-hours, and were presided over by Mr. Boldero, the mathematical master.
On his first entry into this herd40 of boys, Robert Meredith felt that he could scarcely congratulate himself on his lines having fallen in pleasant places. He had sufficient acuteness to foresee what the lively youths amongst whom he was about to dwell would reckon as his deficiencies, and consequently would select and enter upon at once to his immediate opprobrium41. That he was colonial, and not English born, would be, he was aware, immediately resented with scorn by his companions, and regarded as a reason for overwhelming him with obloquy42. It was, therefore, a fact to be kept most secret; but after the lapse43 of a few days it was inadvertently revealed by the "chum" to whom alone Robert had mentioned the circumstance. When once known it afforded subject for the keenest sarcasm44; "bushranger," "kangaroo," "ticket-of-leave," were among the choice epithets45 bestowed46 upon him.
It would not be either pleasant or profitable to linger over the story of Robert Meredith's school-days. They have no interest for us beyond this, that they developed his disposition47, and insensibly influenced all his after life. He regarded his schoolmates with scorn as unbounded as it was studiously concealed48, and he cultivated their unsuspecting good-will with a success which rendered him in a short time, in all points essential to his comfort, their master. He made rapid progress in his studies, and kept before his mind with steadiness which was certainly wonderful at his age--and, had it been induced by a more elevated actuating motive50, would have been most admirable--the purpose with which he had come to England.
When the end of his schoolboy life drew near, and the much longed-for University career was about to begin, Robert Meredith took leave of Mr. Crampton with mutual51 assurances of good-will. If the conscientious52 and reverend gentleman had been closely questioned with regard to his sentiments concerning his clever colonial pupil, he must have acknowledged that he admired rather than liked him. But there was no one to dive into the secrets of his soul, and in the letter which Mr. Crampton addressed to Mr. Dugdale on the occasion, he gave him, with perfect truth, a highly favourable53 account of Robert Meredith, of which one sentence really contained the pith. "He is conspicuous54 for talent," wrote the reverend gentleman; "but I think even his abilities are less marked than his tact55, in which he surpasses any young man whose character has come under my observation."
"So in argument, and so in life--tact is a great matter." Behold56 the guiding spirit of Robert Meredith's career, even in its present fledgling days. It was tact that made him eschew57 anything that might look like "sapping," or rigidity58 of morals, as much as he eschewed59 dissipation and actual fast life while at college. It was tact that made his wine-parties, though the numbers invited were small, and the liquids by no means so expensive as those furnished by many of his acquaintances, the pleasantest in the university. It was tact that took him now and then into the hunting-field, that made him a constant attendant at Bullingdon and Cowley Marsh60, where his bowling61 and batting rendered him a welcome ally and a formidable opponent; and it was tact which allotted62 him just that amount of work necessary for a fair start in his future career.
Robert Meredith knew perfectly63 that in that future career at the bar the honours gained at college would have little weight--that the position to be gained would depend materially upon the talent and industry brought to bear upon the dry study of the law itself, upon the mastery of technical details; above all, upon the reading of that greatest of problems, the human heart, and the motives64 influencing it. To hold his own was all he aimed at while at college, and he did so; but some of his friends, who knew what really lay in him, were grievously disappointed when the lists were published, and it was found that Robert Meredith had only gained a double second. George Ritherdon grieved openly, and refused to be comforted even by his own success, and by the acclamations which rang round the steady reading set of Bodhamites when it was known that George Ritherdon's name stood at the head of the first class.
The two friends were not to be separated--that was Ritherdon's greatest consolation65. Mr. Plowden, the great conveyancer of the Middle Temple, had made arrangements to receive both of them to read with him; and in the very dingy66 chambers67 occupied by that great professor of the law they speedily found themselves installed. A man overgrown with legal rust, and prematurely68 drowsy69 with a lifelong residence within the "dusty purlieus of the law," was Mr. Plowden; but his name was well known, his fame was thoroughly established; many of his pupils were leading men at the bar; and the dry tomes which bore his name as author were recognised text-books of the profession.
Moreover, James Dugdale had heard, from certain old college chums, that underneath70 Mr. Plowden's legal crust there was to be found a keen knowledge of human nature, and a certain power of will, which, properly exercised, would be of the greatest assistance in moulding and forming such a character as Robert Meredith's. It was, therefore, with a comfortable sense of duty done that James Dugdale saw the young man established in Mr. Plowden's chambers, and, from all he had heard, he was by no means sorry that Robert was to have George Ritherdon as his companion.
There are certain persons who seem to be specially10 designed and cut out by nature for prosperity, and with whom, on the whole, it does not seem to disagree. They bear the test well, they are not arrogant71, insolent72, or apparently73 unfeeling, and they make more friends than enemies. Such people find many true believers in them, to surround them with a sincere and heartfelt worship, to regard all their good fortune as their indisputable right, and resent any cross, crook74, or turning in it as an injustice75 on the part of Providence76, or "some one." We all know one person at least of this class, for whose "luck" it is difficult to account, except as "luck," and of whom no one has anything unfavourable to say, or the disposition to say it.
Robert Meredith was one of this favoured class of persons. He had the good fortune to possess certain external gifts which go far towards making a man popular, and under which it is always difficult, especially to women, to believe that a cold heart is concealed. The handsome lad had grown up into a handsomer man, and one chiefly remarkable77 for his easy and graceful78 manners, which harmonised with an elegant figure and a voice which had a very deceptive79 depth, sweetness, and impressiveness of intonation80 about it.
The ardent81 admirer, the unswerving true believer in Meredith's case was, as we have seen, George Ritherdon; and it would have been curious and interesting to investigate the extent and importance of the influence of this early contracted and steadily82 maintained friendship on the lives of both men, and on the estimation in which Meredith was held by the world outside that companionship.
He would have been very loth to believe that any particle of his importance, a shade of warmth in the manner of his welcome anywhere, an impulse of confidence in his ability, leading to his being employed in cases above his apparent mark and standing83, were the result of an unexpressed belief in George Ritherdon, a tacit but very general respect and admiration84 for the earnest, honest, irreproachable85 integrity of the man, who was clever, indeed, as well as good, but so much more exceptionally good than exceptionally clever, that the latter quality was almost overlooked by his friends, who were numerous and influential86. Wherever George's influence could reach, wherever his efforts could be made available, Meredith's interests were safe, Meredith's ambition was aided.
Naturally of a frank and communicative disposition, liking87 sympathy and the expression of it, fond of his home and his family, and ever ready to be actively88 interested in all that concerned them, there was not an incident in his history, direct or indirect, with which he would not have made his "chum" acquainted on the least hint of the "chum's" desiring to know it; and, in fact, Robert Meredith, who had too much tact to permit his friend to perceive that his communicativeness occasionally bored him, was in thorough possession of his friend's history past and present.
But this was not reciprocal, except in a very superficial scale. Robert Meredith was perhaps not intentionally89 reticent90 with George Ritherdon, and it occurred very seldom to the latter to think his friend reticent at all, but he was habitually91 cautious. The same quality which had made him a taciturn observer in the house at Chayleigh, able to conceal49 his dislike of Mr. Baldwin, and to appreciate thoroughly without appearing to observe the tie which bound James Dugdale to his old friend's daughter, now in his manhood enabled him to win the regard of others, and to learn all about them, without letting them either find out much about him, or offending them, or inspiring them with distrust by cold and calculated reserve.
As a matter of fact, George Ritherdon knew very much less of his friend than his friend knew of him, and of one portion of his life he was in absolute ignorance. It was that which included his residence at Chayleigh, and his subsequent relations with the families of Carteret and Baldwin. George had heard the names in casual mention, and he knew that when Meredith went for a fortnight or so to Scotland in the "long" he went to a place called the Deane, where a retired92 officer of artillery93, named Haldane Carteret, lived, who kept a very good house, and gave "men" some very capital shooting.
But George did not shoot; and had he been devoted94 to that manly95 pursuit, he would never have thought it in the least unkind or negligent96 in Meredith to have omitted to share his opportunities in that way with him; he would never have thought about it at all indeed; so the Deane was quite unknown territory, even speculatively97, to this good fellow. He knew nothing of the young heiress and her sister. No stray photograph or missish letter, left about in the careless disarray98 of bachelor's chambers, had ever excited George's curiosity, or led to "chaff99" on his part upon Meredith's predilection100 for travelling north, whenever he could spare the time to travel at all, upon his indifference101 to "the palms and temples of the south." George was not an adept102 in the polite modern art of "chaff," and few men could have been found to offer less occasion for its exercise than Robert Meredith.
It had sometimes occurred to George to wonder why a man so popular with women, so "rising" as Robert Meredith, a man who had undoubtedly103, in default of some untoward104 accident, a brilliant professional career and all its concomitant social advantages before him, had not married; but this was a matter on which he would not have considered that even their close friendship would have justified105 him in putting any questions to Meredith.
The _tu quoque_ which might have been Meredith's reply was of easy explanation. George Ritherdon had had a disappointment in his youth, and had never thought seriously about marriage since. The disappointment had taken place in his early imprudent days, when no connection, even distantly collateral106, existed in his mind between money and marriage, and he had long since arrived at the conviction that, even if it did come into his head or heart to fall in love again, he could not afford to marry, and therefore must, acting upon the gentlemanly precepts107 which had always governed him, resist any such inclination108 as dishonourable to himself and ungenerous towards its object.
The world had "marched" to a very quick step indeed since the days of George's almost boyhood, when the beautiful but penniless Camilla Jackson had fascinated him "into fits" at a carpet dance in the neighbourhood of his father's house, and he had forthwith set to work, in the fervent109 realms of his imagination, to fit up, furnish, and start a most desirable and charming little establishment, to be presided over by that young lady in the delightful110 capacity of wife. Of course the beautiful Camilla was always to be attired111 in the choicest French millinery and the clearest white muslins. Laundresses' bills had no place, nor had those of the _modiste_, in the unsophisticated imagination of the young man, and breakages were as far from his thoughts as babies.
George had lived and learned since then, and he dreamed no more dreams now; he knew better. Unless some tremendous, wholly unexpected, and extravagantly-unlikely piece of good luck should come in his way--something about as probable as the adventures of Sindbad or Prince Camaralzaman, in which case he would immediately look about for an eligible112 young lady to take the larger share of it off his unaccustomed hands--George would now never marry.
Camilla had disdained113 the white muslin and the millinery regardless of the washing bill, of which indeed she had early been taught by an exemplary and fearfully managing mother to be ceaselessly reminiscent; and George not unfrequently saw her now in a carriage, the mere1 varnish114 whereof told of wealth of perfectly aggressive amount, in a carriage crammed115 with healthy, clean, rich-looking children, and gorgeously arrayed in velvets and furs of great price.
That Meredith was not a marrying man was the conclusion at which George Ritherdon arrived, when he discussed with himself the oddity of the coincidence which threw them together, and speculated upon how long the engagement would last.
In one respect the friends were very differently circumstanced. George Ritherdon had "no end" of relations, cousins by the score, aunts and uncles in liberal proportions. But Robert Meredith was a lonely man. His colonial origin explained that. He had never sought to renew any of the ties of family connection broken by his father when he left England; he had found friends steady and serviceable, and he wisely preferred contenting himself with them to cultivating dubiously116 disposed relatives. Boy though he was, he made a correct hit in this.
"If they were likely to be any use to me, my father would have put me in some kind of communication with them; he certainly would have looked them up when he came home, which he never did."
Therefore Robert never troubled himself more about any of the family connections on this side of the world, and, indeed, troubled himself very little about those on the other. As time went by he was accustomed to say to himself that he knew they were all getting on well, and that was enough for him. Sometimes he wondered whether he should ever see them again; whether, if he did not "see his way" here, he might not go in for colonial practice; whether one or more of his brothers, children when he saw them last, might not take the same fancy which he had taken for seeing the old world. But nothing of all this happened.
Robert Meredith had neared the end of his college career when intelligence of his father's death reached him, and caused him genuine, if temporary, suffering. His thoughts went back then to the old home and the old times, and he did feel for a time a disinterested117 wish that he had been with his mother--how she had loved him, how she loved him still, through all those years of separation!--when this calamity118 came upon her. The necessity for a large correspondence with his brothers, and the feeling, always a terrible one in cases where a long distance lies between persons affected119 by the same event, that his father's death had taken place while he was quite unconscious of it, and was already long past when he heard of it, touched chords dulled if not silenced.
The account which he received of family affairs was prosperous: one of his sisters was already married, the other would follow her example after a due and decorous lapse of time. His brothers were to carry on Hayes Meredith's business, in whose profits his father left him a small share. Altogether, apart from feeling--and it was unusual for Robert Meredith to find it difficult to keep any matter of consideration apart from feeling--the position of affairs was eminently120 satisfactory, and the young man, ambitious, industrious121, and self-reliant, felt that he and his were well treated by fate.
He felt the blank which his father's death created a good deal. He had corresponded with him very regularly, and the freshness and vigour122, the plain practical sense and shrewdness of the older man's mind had been pleasant and useful to the younger. He had not expected the event, either. Hayes Meredith was a strong, hale, athletic123 man, and his son had always thought of him as he had last seen him. No bad accounts of his health had ever reached Robert, and he had never thought of his father's death as a probable occurrence.
On the whole, this was the most remarkable event, and by many degrees the most impressive, which had befallen in Meredith's life, and its influence upon him was decidedly injurious. He had always been hard, and from that time he became harder--not in appearance, nothing was more characteristic of the young man than his easy and sympathetic manner, but in reality he felt more solitary124 now that the one bond of intellectual companionship between him and his home was broken, and this solitude125 was not good for him. As for his mother, he was apt to think of her as a very good woman in her way--an excellent woman indeed. A man must be much worse than Robert Meredith before he ceases to believe this of his own mother; but she knew nothing whatever of the world--of the old world particularly--and could not be made to understand it. He wrote to her--he never neglected doing so; but there was more expression than truth of feeling in his letters, and the mail-day was not a pleasant epoch126.
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1 mere | |
adj.纯粹的;仅仅,只不过 | |
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2 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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3 recapitulated | |
v.总结,扼要重述( recapitulate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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5 groves | |
树丛,小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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6 immediate | |
adj.立即的;直接的,最接近的;紧靠的 | |
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7 metropolis | |
n.首府;大城市 | |
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8 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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9 knight | |
n.骑士,武士;爵士 | |
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10 specially | |
adv.特定地;特殊地;明确地 | |
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11 ledger | |
n.总帐,分类帐;帐簿 | |
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12 gratuitously | |
平白 | |
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13 rust | |
n.锈;v.生锈;(脑子)衰退 | |
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14 heed | |
v.注意,留意;n.注意,留心 | |
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15 dwindled | |
v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16 soften | |
v.(使)变柔软;(使)变柔和 | |
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17 brutal | |
adj.残忍的,野蛮的,不讲理的 | |
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18 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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19 procuring | |
v.(努力)取得, (设法)获得( procure的现在分词 );拉皮条 | |
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20 judiciously | |
adv.明断地,明智而审慎地 | |
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21 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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22 dilating | |
v.(使某物)扩大,膨胀,张大( dilate的现在分词 ) | |
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23 holder | |
n.持有者,占有者;(台,架等)支持物 | |
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24 rev | |
v.发动机旋转,加快速度 | |
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25 succumbed | |
不再抵抗(诱惑、疾病、攻击等)( succumb的过去式和过去分词 ); 屈从; 被压垮; 死 | |
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26 subsided | |
v.(土地)下陷(因在地下采矿)( subside的过去式和过去分词 );减弱;下降至较低或正常水平;一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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27 deserted | |
adj.荒芜的,荒废的,无人的,被遗弃的 | |
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28 adage | |
n.格言,古训 | |
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29 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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30 gentry | |
n.绅士阶级,上层阶级 | |
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31 thoroughly | |
adv.完全地,彻底地,十足地 | |
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32 incongruities | |
n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 );不一致;不适合;不协调的东西 | |
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33 regularity | |
n.规律性,规则性;匀称,整齐 | |
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34 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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35 habitual | |
adj.习惯性的;通常的,惯常的 | |
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36 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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37 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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38 rigidly | |
adv.刻板地,僵化地 | |
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39 velvet | |
n.丝绒,天鹅绒;adj.丝绒制的,柔软的 | |
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40 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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41 opprobrium | |
n.耻辱,责难 | |
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42 obloquy | |
n.斥责,大骂 | |
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43 lapse | |
n.过失,流逝,失效,抛弃信仰,间隔;vi.堕落,停止,失效,流逝;vt.使失效 | |
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44 sarcasm | |
n.讥讽,讽刺,嘲弄,反话 (adj.sarcastic) | |
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45 epithets | |
n.(表示性质、特征等的)词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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46 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47 disposition | |
n.性情,性格;意向,倾向;排列,部署 | |
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48 concealed | |
a.隐藏的,隐蔽的 | |
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49 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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50 motive | |
n.动机,目的;adv.发动的,运动的 | |
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51 mutual | |
adj.相互的,彼此的;共同的,共有的 | |
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52 conscientious | |
adj.审慎正直的,认真的,本着良心的 | |
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53 favourable | |
adj.赞成的,称赞的,有利的,良好的,顺利的 | |
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54 conspicuous | |
adj.明眼的,惹人注目的;炫耀的,摆阔气的 | |
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55 tact | |
n.机敏,圆滑,得体 | |
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56 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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57 eschew | |
v.避开,戒绝 | |
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58 rigidity | |
adj.钢性,坚硬 | |
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59 eschewed | |
v.(尤指为道德或实际理由而)习惯性避开,回避( eschew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60 marsh | |
n.沼泽,湿地 | |
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61 bowling | |
n.保龄球运动 | |
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62 allotted | |
分配,拨给,摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63 perfectly | |
adv.完美地,无可非议地,彻底地 | |
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64 motives | |
n.动机,目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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65 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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66 dingy | |
adj.昏暗的,肮脏的 | |
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67 chambers | |
n.房间( chamber的名词复数 );(议会的)议院;卧室;会议厅 | |
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68 prematurely | |
adv.过早地,贸然地 | |
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69 drowsy | |
adj.昏昏欲睡的,令人发困的 | |
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70 underneath | |
adj.在...下面,在...底下;adv.在下面 | |
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71 arrogant | |
adj.傲慢的,自大的 | |
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72 insolent | |
adj.傲慢的,无理的 | |
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73 apparently | |
adv.显然地;表面上,似乎 | |
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74 crook | |
v.使弯曲;n.小偷,骗子,贼;弯曲(处) | |
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75 injustice | |
n.非正义,不公正,不公平,侵犯(别人的)权利 | |
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76 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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77 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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78 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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79 deceptive | |
adj.骗人的,造成假象的,靠不住的 | |
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80 intonation | |
n.语调,声调;发声 | |
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81 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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82 steadily | |
adv.稳定地;不变地;持续地 | |
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83 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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84 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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85 irreproachable | |
adj.不可指责的,无过失的 | |
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86 influential | |
adj.有影响的,有权势的 | |
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87 liking | |
n.爱好;嗜好;喜欢 | |
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88 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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89 intentionally | |
ad.故意地,有意地 | |
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90 reticent | |
adj.沉默寡言的;言不如意的 | |
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91 habitually | |
ad.习惯地,通常地 | |
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92 retired | |
adj.隐退的,退休的,退役的 | |
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93 artillery | |
n.(军)火炮,大炮;炮兵(部队) | |
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94 devoted | |
adj.忠诚的,忠实的,热心的,献身于...的 | |
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95 manly | |
adj.有男子气概的;adv.男子般地,果断地 | |
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96 negligent | |
adj.疏忽的;玩忽的;粗心大意的 | |
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97 speculatively | |
adv.思考地,思索地;投机地 | |
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98 disarray | |
n.混乱,紊乱,凌乱 | |
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99 chaff | |
v.取笑,嘲笑;n.谷壳 | |
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100 predilection | |
n.偏好 | |
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101 indifference | |
n.不感兴趣,不关心,冷淡,不在乎 | |
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102 adept | |
adj.老练的,精通的 | |
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103 undoubtedly | |
adv.确实地,无疑地 | |
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104 untoward | |
adj.不利的,不幸的,困难重重的 | |
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105 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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106 collateral | |
adj.平行的;旁系的;n.担保品 | |
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107 precepts | |
n.规诫,戒律,箴言( precept的名词复数 ) | |
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108 inclination | |
n.倾斜;点头;弯腰;斜坡;倾度;倾向;爱好 | |
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109 fervent | |
adj.热的,热烈的,热情的 | |
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110 delightful | |
adj.令人高兴的,使人快乐的 | |
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111 attired | |
adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服,使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112 eligible | |
adj.有条件被选中的;(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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113 disdained | |
鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 ); 不屑于做,不愿意做 | |
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114 varnish | |
n.清漆;v.上清漆;粉饰 | |
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115 crammed | |
adj.塞满的,挤满的;大口地吃;快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满;填入;临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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116 dubiously | |
adv.可疑地,怀疑地 | |
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117 disinterested | |
adj.不关心的,不感兴趣的 | |
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118 calamity | |
n.灾害,祸患,不幸事件 | |
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119 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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120 eminently | |
adv.突出地;显著地;不寻常地 | |
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121 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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122 vigour | |
(=vigor)n.智力,体力,精力 | |
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123 athletic | |
adj.擅长运动的,强健的;活跃的,体格健壮的 | |
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124 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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125 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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126 epoch | |
n.(新)时代;历元 | |
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